Dark Times

by Brian Murray

  ***

  Suddenly fearful, Dax stalked out of the cave. He was worried about the length of time the two men had spent out in the storm. Covering only a few strides into the howling storm, his vision disappeared and white flakes stung his eyes. He heard a cry and ran blindly through the blizzard.

  ***

  North of the Great Mountains, deep within Rafftonia, the people known as the Rafftons resided in large sprawling stone cities. Within one of those cities, in a golden room within an imposing residence, two men sat discussing the past, the present, and the future. These two men were part of the all-powerful Council who ruled the nation. As part of the Council, the two men could guide and even dictate the nation’s politics, and today they were having one of those critical conversations.

  The room in which they sat was brightly lit, and many slaves, several from Rhaurien, scurried around ensuring that their masters had everything they required. The slaves were well cared for. Having little chance of getting home, they tended to their masters diligently, but any digression was swiftly dealt with by the feel of a whip.

  “Are the reports accurate?”

  “Well, according to our sources, they are.”

  “So, they marched to the aid of their enemy. I must admit nothing now surprises me about those barbarians.”

  “But we missed an opportunity.”

  A slave silently placed two golden goblets before the men and poured some wine while the two men continued their conversation, oblivious of the slave’s actions.

  “Maybe we did miss an opportunity, but the reports were delayed and I do believe we were not ready.”

  “We can defeat them, of that I am sure.”

  “Yes, yes, but the reports say they have new peace treaties with the darkies to the east. That is a strange development and causes me some more concerns.”

  “Now that, I must admit, I cannot believe. They have been enemies for generations. The two nations have always hated each other and now . . . now they are friends. How sickening. With the darkies, how could they?”

  “It is said they marched their army across the Steppes to assist them. Can you believe that, they put the safety of their entire army into their enemies’ hands? That’s something I find extremely strange, actually unbelievable but damn—it happened.”

  “I can believe they would have done something so stupid. The idiots naïvely believe in honour.” The man lifted his golden goblet and sipped the contents. He smiled and rolled the deep red wine around his tongue. “Fine year, my friend.”

  “Only the best for you,” the other man replied, and smiled at his companion. “What do we do now? It seems we may have missed our only opportunity.”

  “I believe not. Their king has been slain in the east and they may still have some trouble. We have our friend in the Great Mountains and our general is among them in Teldor.”

  “Has he reported anything recently?”

  “We have not had word from the good general recently, but I believe and hope all is well. He is our best man and very loyal.”

  The two men drank some more, pondering over the situation. “I believe,” started one of the men, “that the time is now right.”

  “No, no they still have their army camped by the capital.”

  “Let’s see how things develop. Our friend may still have those surprises and help us. And of course, our general is perfectly placed.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  The two men finished their drinks and a slave woman with large breasts and full hips entered the room and bowed low, showing her ample cleavage. “Supper, master,” she announced softly, her voice sweet and young. The guest looked at his host and smiled.

  “Jolly good! Come, my friend, let’s go and discuss matters over dinner, it’s far more civilised.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  The two men spent the rest of the evening plotting and scheming. They decided to wait for word from their general before making a decision.

  Unbeknownst to either of them, a report from the general was making its way north. Its contents would surprise both men.

  ***

  Tanas spun his body so he slid towards the cliff on his belly. Both legs dangled over the edge. He screamed in defiance and reached up. His panic rose. His hand grasped something solid—a wrist. Gratefully, he felt fingers circle his wrist.

  “You two will be the death of me,” said Dax grimacing under the strain. “Don’t just lie there, boy, climb!”

  Even in such a dire situation, Tanas could not help but smile at Dax’s calmness. Climbing up Dax’s body, Tanas rose slowly to his feet, then both men pulled on the rope. Thade’s unconscious body emerged from the cliff edge and Dax visibly relaxed, letting out a long, misty breath. Tanas scurried over and pulled Thade from the edge.

  Dax walked forward and patted Tanas on the back. “You did good, boy.”

  But the emotion and stress of the situation overwhelmed Tanas, as water crystals formed under his blindfold. “He is breathing, but it does not sound too good,” he said when he found his voice. “We had better get him to Gan.”

  Dax did not need telling twice. He lifted Thade onto his shoulder and Tanas led the way to the cave.

  Back at the cave’s mouth, Gan-Goran anxiously waited for the warriors to return. He had not seen Dax disappear into the storm. Only after calling for the warrior and getting no reply, had he realised he was alone. He strained his eyes and saw the faint outline of a figure moving towards him. The master-magiker sent out a light spell to help guide the men to the cave. The glowing orb left Gan-Goran’s hand and floated towards the figures. Only when Dax was nearly on top of him did Gan-Goran realise it was him.

  Even with the aid of the light spell, Dax found it hard to follow Tanas, stumbling through the blizzard to find the cave.

  Seeing Thade thrown over Dax’s shoulder, Gan-Goran hurried after him. He pulled out a blanket for Dax to lay him on. Once down, Gan-Goran immediately got to work. First, he assessed the injuries, and found a lump on Thade’s head. Turning to Dax, he said, “The boy will be fine, but we need to keep the fire going.”

  Dax nodded and looked at Tanas, who sat slumped in the corner with his head bowed and his scarf removed. He ambled over to the younger warrior. “We need to go out again and get some firewood. Are you willing?”

  Tanas glanced up in Dax’s general direction with his head cocked to one side. Putting his scarf back on, he nodded, and the two men left the cave on their errand, tied together with a rope.

  Inside, Gan-Goran closed his eyes and rubbed his hands together to gain some warmth while he uttered a healing spell. Placing his hands on Thade’s head, they began to glow. The golden light pouring from the master-magiker’s hands expanded and wrapped around Thade’s entire body, like a translucent blanket. After several minutes, Gan-Goran removed his hands, opened his eyes, and peered at Thade’s head. The lump on his head had reduced and his breathing was even.

  Sighing, Gan-Goran now felt the chill in the cave, as sweat from his magical efforts froze on his body. He hoped Dax would return soon with more firewood. His old bones felt the cold like never before; the man felt his ancient age. A while later, two snow-covered figures appeared at the cave mouth and shook the white flakes free of their clothes. Dropping their precious cargo of wood, they both moved inside to see Thade.

  “He will be well in an hour or so,” croaked Gan-Goran wearily. “Let him rest for the time being and we will wake him later to eat.”

  “Thank you, Gan,” said Dax softly.

  “Yes, yes, now bring the wood here before we all freeze,” snapped the old man, rubbing his arms trying to gain some warmth.

  Dax smiled. “Now that’s the miserable, cantankerous Gan-Goran I know,” he said, his smile broadening.

  Gan-Goran’s reply was a short, sharp profanity.

  “No need for such vulgarity,” chastised Dax with a childish giggle.

  Ignoring Dax, Gan-Goran laid out some of the wood and with a nonchal
ant gesture started a blazing fire. Feeling the warmth, the magic-master’s mood mellowed. He craned his neck and peered round at Dax, ready to rebuke the warrior. But when he saw Dax crouched next to Thade, tenderly touching his brow, he swallowed his comment.

  An hour later, the four men were eating a rich, filling stew inside the now warm cave. Thade had woken, but feeling nauseous from being knocked unconscious, ate sparingly and almost instantly after eating fell asleep. After the meal, Gan-Goran treated the strained muscles and torn palms suffered by both Tanas and Dax. The next day, the group remained in the cave so that Thade could regain his strength. Outside, the blizzard howled wildly, while inside the cave, the mood was mellow and the conversation light. Only when they again discussed what had happened during the previous months did the discussion get tense. Gan-Goran sat listening to the men and absorbed all they told him. He felt pride at the way they had approached each and every drama faced, and was thrilled for the new king of the Rhaurns, Zane, the boy he had taught long ago. The boy had grown into an admirable young man—the natural leader Gan-Goran had predicted to Zane’s father many years earlier.

  The next day the blizzard eased. The group ventured out into heavier snow but lighter winds. They left the shelter of the cave and headed due east for the Grey Castle.

  ***

  Deep within the bowels of the Grey Castle, Chaos waited impatiently. He had hoped to face his nemesis in Teldor, but the Darklord had refused his request—the time was not right. He had to leave it to Davron, his shield man, to face the warrior in the palace. Chaos even missed the mortal’s company and this further darkened his mood. Now, he had to wait even longer. He was told he had to wait until the Dark One was resurrected and then, only then, would he be given permission. This infuriated the warrior and he paced furiously back and forth, trying to ease his rage. Leaving his room, the warrior entered a windowless hall, where Fury sat gently cleaning his small crossbows.

  Chaos took a seat opposite his brethren and watched him meticulously clean his weapons. He smiled. “I can never understand why you would want to use them.”

  “They are part of me as your blades are a part of you,” replied Fury.

  “Why do we wait?”

  “We wait for our master.”

  “That I know, but why do we wait?”

  “Chaos, my brother, I can sense your impatience for blood, especially the blood of our fallen brother. But the resurrection of our master is the priority.”

  “I know that,” snarled Chaos with vehemence.

  “Then you should be more patient.”

  “Patience, wait, hold—that’s all I hear.”

  “When he has completed the little task we need from him, I am sure our master will give you the opportunity to kill our brother if you can.”

  Chaos surged to his feet, drawing his blades, his red eyes aglow with anger. “You do not think I can slay him?” he hissed.

  “Chaos, my brother, relax. I did not say you could not slay him. But remember he is perfect, the best warrior who ever lived, and our master still mourns his loss.”

  “He will mourn his death soon enough.”

  “Death, our brother with the name that is most fitting, and you wish to challenge him freely? I cannot see the sense in your eagerness to face him. If I were you I would wait until he comes to you. Your rage may cloud your skill when the time comes. Do not let your rage shroud your judgement, brother, or you will soon be windborne or buried deep within Moranton.”

  Chaos smiled at Fury, an expression lacking mirth. “For an assassin, you speak wisely.”

  “An assassin needs patience, brother, and that is all I preach. You can take our fallen brother, of that I have no doubt. But be patient.”

  “I will. But I sense he is close.”

  “I sense him too,” whispered Fury, watching Chaos sheath his black-bladed short swords.

  Fury returned to cleaning his crossbows as Chaos departed. When Chaos left the hall, Malice entered.

  “He is not stable at the moment,” commented Malice, standing before Fury.

  “He was always the wildest, the most unruly. Our brother has a lot on his mind. To be honest, I think he is showing signs of fear.”

  “I hope he does not do anything rash until our master is here.”

  “That is up to you, Malice. You are the leader and you should control him.”

  “Yes, I will. But his hatred for our fallen brother is strong and I think that is controlling his feelings.”

  “As I said, Malice, you have to control him.”

  Malice left the hall without replying to his brethren’s comment. He had plans to complete and time was growing short. Chaos was an issue he hoped would not erupt any time soon.

  ***

  After several more days’ slow progress through the thick snow, the four men camped in a deep cave just to the east of the Grey Castle. It was a relatively short walk to the castle but far enough for them to remain undetected, beyond any scouts. Dax left the cave and climbed the rise that overlooked the Grey Castle.

  The castle was built in a steep-sided cirque with the keep built onto the back, on a cliff face of the same grey granite. Two walls snaked across the valley, with the killing ground between them littered with wooden buildings. With its back to the cliff, the castle was an impressive, defensive stronghold. There was only one side for attackers to charge, and the castle had only been breached once in its long history.

  Dax stared down into the castle grounds and saw the distinct black-armoured warriors shuffling through the white snow. He squinted against the wind and saw one of the Dark Brethren issuing orders. He did not have to see the man’s face or hear his voice to know it was him—General Polalic. The black plume on his helm and the way the other warriors scurried around gave the general away. Thade reached the older warrior on the ledge and surveyed the activity below.

  “What are we going to do, Dax?” asked Tanas, joining the others.

  “We are not going to do much from up here. We will wait until nightfall, then take a closer look.” He turned to face the younger men and smiled.

  Tanas could not see the smile, which was fortunate—the expression was full of venom. The men returned to the cave where Gan-Goran made another of his rich broths. No one bothered to ask him where he got the ingredients, as they were happy to have their stomachs full of the warm meal.

  At nightfall, Dax, Thade, and Tanas left the cave and led their horses down the steep slope to the castle.

  ***

  General Polalic finished giving his orders and gazed east beyond the walls towards the mountains. The range was lost in the whiteness of swirling snow, as forbidding as the darkness of night. Shivering, the general turned and scampered back to the keep, pulling his cloak tight around his shoulders. He stopped on the top step, turned, and stared out dreamily. He thought of the warrior with the violet eyes, and of Teldor. He cast his mind back to the fighting at the palace. Polalic knew his men were failing after the death of the blacksmith with the fiery hair. With a few other Dark Brethren, he had broken through the axe-wielders at the inner gate and raced through the city. The docks were swarming with more axe-wielders and escape by ship was blocked off. They had reached an alley near the outer gate but saw the Rhaurns were taking control there. Horsemen were galloping in, attacking the Horde. Escape seemed impossible. They had the option to fight their way out, but against the Rhaurns that would have been suicide. A Dark Brethren warrior had suggested another option—they hide. The seven men and Polalic had headed for the only place where they should be safe—the Temple of the Path. When they reached the temple, they informed the priests of their identity and demanded sanctuary. The priests were told they would gain favour from their master if they helped them.

  For three days, the Dark Brethren had hidden deep within the temple’s bowels, in a secret room behind a false wall in the cellar. Polalic had expected and waited for Rhaurns to search the temple. When a search did not happen, the general could not understan
d why, but he did not complain—he still lived. During their concealment, the priests had brought the men civilian clothes, a wagon, and horses.

  On the fourth day, as dusk approached, the general had decided the time had come for them to leave. Two Dark Brethren soldiers had driven a wagon from the temple, while the others had ridden on horseback. In twos, the men rode through the outer gate to freedom. The general remembered sitting on the wagon as it approached the gate. They were stopped and asked a few questions while a soldier searched around the wagon. Then thankfully after a few minutes, the wagon was allowed to pass.

  Once out of the city, the general had passed the prison camp detaining the Horde. When the others joined the general, the wagon was discarded and they headed north. Not until they had reached the Great Mountains did they change back into their black armour. When he had returned to the Grey Castle, Polalic expected to be punished, but all he received was a cold welcome.

  An icy gust dragged the general’s thoughts back to the present. With a shrug of his shoulders, he entered the keep. As he did, the warrior with the violet eyes again loomed large in his mind. Again, he shivered.

  ***

  Inside the Grey Castle, the Darklord summoned Malice. The tall warrior entered the small room and bowed.

  “It is time. Is everything ready?” asked the Darklord.

  “Yes, my lord, everything is in place.”

  “Good, then go and welcome our guests.”

  Malice turned and left the room, to meet Chaos and Fury. The three had a brief discussion, then Chaos strode off with his eyes glowing, his smile cruel.

  ***

  The sun dropped behind the mountains and a white swirling darkness cloaked the land. The three friends approached the Grey Castle’s outer wall on horseback. They hid their horses in a sheltered hollow, covering the animals with their sleeping blankets, then scurried along the steep sides of the valley to reach the outer wall. Using a long rope and grappling hook, they scaled it with ease. They stood inside the outer grounds of the castle close to their prey, close to the answers they sought.