by Brian Murray
***
General Polalic gained courage and pulsed a telepathic command to his men for the warrior with the violet eyes to be left for him.
All around Dax, men were fighting and men were dying. His initial attack killed a Dark Brethren warrior who gave his life defending his general. The old warrior stepped closer to his prey, his gait sure. This time there would be no stopping Dax, this time he would complete his mission—he would reap vengeance. None came near Dax or the general. Dax stood stock-still and stared at his foe.
Slowly, General Polalic removed his black helm and placed it on the ground beside him. He drew his sword.
Dax stared into the man’s tired, gaunt eyes but felt no pity or compassion. He attacked.
***
Thade stopped the killing blow aimed for Chahar by hacking through the Dark Brethren’s neck, giving the Kharnack time to regain his feet. Smiling at the Rhaurn, the Silverswords clansman dispatched his next would-be killer. He turned to Thade and nodded—a silent message between warriors—‘let’s finish this’. They continued killing.
***
Tanas killed the Dark Brethren in front of him and sensed other warriors were close behind him. He knew Kavlon was struggling. Taking a deep breath, the blind warrior turned. Crossing his short swords before his chest, he bowed his head and concentrated. The first Dark Brethren attacked the blind warrior.
There was no clash of steel. Tanas calmly flicked out his left arm, slicing the soldier’s neck between his chinstrap and the top edge of his black breastplate. It took a fraction of a heartbeat before a crimson fountain plumed from the wound. The Dark Brethren dropped his sword and grabbed his throat in a vain effort to prevent his life fluid escaping. He fell to his knees gagging for breath, blood bubbling in his throat as his eyes rolled up and he died.
Tanas stepped to one side and waited. A second Dark Brethren soldier attacked the blind warrior.
Tanas stabbed out low with his right arm, slicing the man’s groin. The Dark Brethren doubled over. Tanas hunkered down and struck up with his right arm. Pulling his fist, his elbow caught the Dark Brethren under his chin, sending the dying man flying back into his comrades. He slowly rose to stand opposite the remaining four Dark Brethren, his head bowed, his long brown coat billowing behind him, his swords dripping with blood. Drifting snowflakes landed on the patiently waiting Tanas. The four Dark Brethren attacked.
Four against one. Tanas held his stance for a heartbeat longer and then took action, his movements fluid, his short swords utterly deadly.
The first of the four Dark Brethren died in a heartbeat, his throat cut, his crimson life fluid spraying out in a fountain of death. Tanas dived under a wild swipe and rolled on the ground. Rising quickly, he reversed his sword and stabbed out backwards, striking his enemy in the back of the neck, his blade protruding from the man’s mouth like a long metallic tongue. Two down.
Tanas turned quickly and crossed his swords above him, protecting his head from a crushing chop. Pushing up, forced the Dark Brethren back a step. With amazing speed, the blind warrior spun, dropping to one knee. Using both swords, arcing round, down and then up, he hacked the Dark Brethren across the groin, then up, slashing his neck. The dying soldier started to scream, but died before the sound could leave his throat. That left one. The blind warrior rose smoothly.
Tanas rested his dripping swords at his side, waiting for the warrior attack. He did not have to wait long. The Dark Brethren charged, howling. Tanas stabbed out high with his right arm, burying his blade into the Dark Brethren’s eye, lodging it in place. The Dark Brethren stopped his charge and the soldier’s battle cry turned into a shrilling scream.
Without mercy, Tanas spun round backwards, his sword extended out, aiming for the soldier’s neck. His blade sliced through leather strap, skin, sinew, and bone, decapitating the dying man. Continuing his spin, and before the Dark Brethren’s head started to drop, Tanas grabbed his other sword wrenching it free.
Thud!
He stopped spinning and stood to face Kavlon with his head bowed, his wide-brimmed hat covering his face, and his bloodied swords crossed before his chest.
Kavlon, Maldino’s son, stood opposite Tanas with his mouth gaping and eyes wide open in amazement, staring at the six bodies littering the ground at the blind warrior’s feet.
“You’d better close your mouth or you’ll attract flies, my friend,” said Tanas calmly.
“How can you . . . ?”
“I can smell your rotten breath,” answered Tanas, turning towards the sound of clashing steel where Dax fought.
The blind warrior raced to his friend’s aid.
***
The ferociousness and power of Dax’s attack surprised General Polalic. He just managed to raise his sword in time to block a murderous chop to his head. The general defended blow after blow, as he sought to tire his opponent. After several attacks, the general thought his plan would not work.
The man must be possessed by a malevolent being, thought Polalic. He counterattacked but the warrior held his ground; he could not be pushed back but surged forward again. The two men clashed swords, pressing against each other’s blades. They pushed against each other, their faces close together, only inches away. The general stared into the man’s violet eyes, using his skill to ‘read’ the warrior, but saw madness there. Looking into the warrior’s eyes chilled Polalic; in those violet eyes he saw something that gnawed at his soul, his strength, his courage.
Something dark and menacing that scared Polalic lay dormant in the man. A power that caused the general to think twice about his own mortality and ability. In that moment, the general thought back over his life and decided he had made too many mistakes—and that was his biggest mistake. Dax stepped backwards and using his shoulder, pushed the general away. Swinging round with one mighty slash with the broadsword, the blade crafted by Gammel’s father, he hacked through chain mail and cut through skin, through muscle and bone. The general’s eyes dimmed. His body slumped to the ground and his head bounced free.
***
When the general fell, all the remaining Dark Brethren around Dax hesitated. Their power had been focused through the general and with his death, their links and amalgamated power disintegrated like shattering glass. The psychic bonds and their combined power were no more.
The hesitation was enough for the Kharnacks and Rhaurns. They cut and hacked at the stunned enemy soldiers, killing them where they stood without mercy, before they could gather their wits. In a matter of a few heartbeats after the general had fallen, his men, the last of the fabled Dark Brethren, fell, staining the virgin white snow red.
***
Dax turned to face the group of survivors, his eyes gleaming with victory. Slamming the broadsword into the ground, he moved off into the night, leaving the scene of carnage behind him. The exhausted men in the clearing gazed upon the mighty broadsword, its hilt still swaying in the icy air, chilled by both the cold and death.
Striding through the woods, the old warrior felt thankful, but tears mixed with blood splattered on his face. He stopped walking, sat down on a boulder, and gazed up at the night sky filled with floating ice flakes.
“It’s done, my friend. It is done,” he whispered sombrely.
The warrior wept, allowing himself only now to mourn the loss of his friend. Dax had known many men during his life, but something about Gammel had touched him deeply. Maybe it was the man’s plight, his loss, or his true honesty; Dax did not know which. All he knew was that he missed the former blacksmith.
From behind Dax, a hand reached out and squeezed his shoulder. Dax lifted his hand and patted Thade’s, who stood over him in silence.
“I am fine,” Dax whispered without turning. “I’m fine.”
***
After burning the dead, only half of the Kharnacks who had arrived, returned to the cave. The next morning the battered and bruised group of Kharnack and Rhaurn warriors gathered their belongings in silence and rode off into the mou
ntains. They had only travelled for a few hours when the weather closed in on them again. The snow was again whipped up by a chilling northern wind blowing the snow into their flanks.
The men rode in single file along dangerous mountain paths, heading for the safety of the Silverswords camp.
CHAPTER 7
Since battling with the Kharnacks, who had fought alongside the Dark Brethren, and the departure of Zane, the outpost of Ubert had been under Commander Waid’s control, and the inhabitants enjoyed a time of peace. The men and women of the outpost had begun rebuilding their lives, many returning to their farms surrounding the small fortress. Life slowly returned to normal.
News soon arrived that King Logan had been slain at Kal-Pharina, and shortly afterward Zane had been crowned king. The outpost also learned of the battle at Kal-Pharina, the defeat of the Kharnacks, and the new peace pacts agreed with the Phadrine. In Ubert, there was a period of mourning for the loss of their sovereign, but also joyful revelry for their new king.
Commander Waid, once a Royal Lancer serving with Zane, now leads the defences at Ubert, personally led the merrymaking in honour of his friend and the others joined in his joy. During the celebrations, the men who had fought beside Zane told of his sagas. Unusually, the stories were not exaggerated. The sagas told of great deeds, without embellishment, for they were monumental in their own right. Now, after the merriment, it was back to the business of running the outpost.
After the battle at Kal-Pharina, the people of Ubert had seen many Kharnack clansmen heading back to the Great Mountains. The outpost was not attacked, the clansmen just travelled north with a look of defeat in their eyes. One morning Commander Waid sent out scouts, who returned with reports of a large Kharnack camp in the mountains, to the north of the outpost. The clan showed no aggression towards the Rhaurns and soon continued farther north, camping a couple of days’ ride from Ubert.
The snows had yet to arrive in this part of the Kingdom, but the temperature in the region had dropped considerably. The cold season was taking an icy grip on the lands and everyone waited for snow to cover the ground with a thick, white blanket. Inside the outpost, the mood remained warm with everyone still talking about Zane and his heroics.
Ubert had started to establish itself as the new trading post in the northeast of the Kingdom. After the total destruction of Evlon, land around the outpost was quickly purchased and businesses started to move in. As wealth in the region surged, the outpost needed more security. Commander Waid sent scouts north to monitor the Kharnack clans, and south to the ruins of Evlon. He felt obliged to keep watch, to ensure that nothing was pillaged and the dead rested peacefully until it was decided what to do with the ruined city.
In his office, Waid gave orders to two of his soldiers.
“Captain, don’t make contact with the clan but ascertain whether the Kharnacks are still peaceful, or whether they’re preparing a strike against us. Following their defeat at Kal-Pharina, they may seek revenge for their fallen kin. We must be prepared and have warning of their intentions.”
“I will report back in a week or so,” replied the captain, his face stern.
“Good.”
To the other captain, Waid ordered, “Go south to Evlon, then southeast to the border of the Steppes. Ensure the city of Evlon is empty, has not been plundered, and the dead remain undisturbed. We will wait for instructions from Teldor on what changes or rebuilding work should be completed before acting.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And gentlemen, be careful. I know we have new treaties with the Phadrine, but you must still remain alert.”
The captains departed and with their men started their missions.
***
As Dax and his comrades made their way slowly through the blizzard, the Dark One and his four companions used the power of the Black Crystal to magically transport themselves and their horses to the border of the Steppes, southeast of the dead city of Evlon. The Darklord had attacked the city months earlier to ensure the area for the Dark One’s fortress was free of Her priests and other mortals. The Dark One had chosen the site, two thousand years earlier, during the Dark Wars.
The Dark One now intended to rebuild his fortress from the same sand that had formed his previous residence. All life on the land had been eradicated when his first fortress was built using the foulest magic, and the Divine One had not the power to regenerate the lands. Even now, after so many years, the presence of evil necromancy oozed from the land, saturating the soil and hindering Her power. Again, the fortress would stand proud in the dead lands southeast of Evlon.
The Dark One took another shuddering deep breath of the warm arid Steppes air and smiled inside his helm. Looking around, he stared at the scorched lands and his smile broadened.
“Just as we left it all those years ago,” he mumbled thoughtfully.
“Yes master, nothing has managed to grow on the lands since you were made to leave.”
“It looks just like home; only one detail is missing,” said the Dark One as he removed the Blade of Yallas from its scabbard and held the sword aloft. Summoning all the black necromancy available to him, the once mortal muttered an enchantment in an ancient language unuttered for generations, his voice as deep and powerful as rumbling thunder.
Overhead, the skies darkened as enormous thick, black storm clouds gathered, blocking out all sunlight, covering the land in an ominous shadow. The ground started to tremble, causing the Dark One’s four companions to take a step back. The Dark One’s booming voice chanted. The ground continued to shake and roll, and dust began to rise into the air. The storm clouds billowed, growing even darker. Lightning tore across the sky with a sharp crackle and thunder rumbled. No rain fell.
***
The scouts from Ubert camped north of the once city of Evlon, venturing into the city after dawn. The men approached Evlon and scouted around all the burnt out houses. Nothing had been touched or plundered and they in turn touched nothing. Few words were spoken; all four men had heard the gruesome stories of the slaughter in the formerly thriving city. The city had been left to its own death. Now it served as its own massive mausoleum—a monument to the atrocities evil was capable of.
Nothing had changed since their last scouting mission. The men prepared to leave the city and head east, when to the southeast they saw storm clouds billowing out from a central point over the border with the Steppes. Staring, the men watched the sky fill with menacing black clouds.
“Something’s wrong. This is not the storm season,” said Verun, captain of the scouts.
“Then what is it, Captain?”
“I’m not too sure, but I think we should take a closer look.”
“Are you sure about that, Captain? There is black magic in the air,” said a scout named Abe, his voice filled with fear.
“How do you know?”
“I just know,” replied the scout, peering about nervously. “Something foul is definitely at work over there.”
“Well, we cannot just sit here and watch. Let’s take a closer look, then report back to Commander Waid.”
The other men nodded their agreement and the Ubert scouts made their way southeast towards the ominous storm clouds. They did not see the lightning but heard the low rumble of distant thunder.
***
The Dark One continued to chant. The land shook; an unnatural earthquake rumbled, splitting the ground, forming deep cracks in the rock beneath the sand. Trembling continued around the Dark One as he spoke in the language of the dead, preparing to unleash the blackest magic.
***
On the Steppes, members of a Dar-Phadrin clan watched the skies fill with storm clouds. The men stared fearfully as thick black clouds billowed out. The clan leader, an old man with leathery skin, walked out of his tent and shielded his eyes against the sun. He watched the clouds filling the sky obscure the sun, engulfing the Steppes in darkness, and shivered involuntary. Making the sign of the Chosen, tracing a ‘C’ over his heart with his t
hree middle fingers, the old man ordered his clan to break camp. It was time for him to move his clan farther into the Steppes and away from the clouds. Within an hour, the clan was moving away from the black magic, deeper into the centre of the arid landscape.
***
As the Dark One continued to chant, the Darklord assisted the once mortal, adding his own black magic to the spell. The ground shook more violently, but the Dark One remained as still as a statue with his right hand raised. Gesturing with his left hand, sand began to fuse together, forming first one small wall, then another. The walls thickened and grew, and his fortress began to take shape. Within the walls, the dust and sand started to swirl around a central point. Starting as a small eddy, the vortex rotated slowly at first, then expanded outwards, getting bigger and bigger, and increasing in speed.
The Dark One continued his sorcery.
Growing in height, the whirlwind sucked more and more debris into its heart. The vortex thickened and within its sandy swirls, the shape of a building started to form. The vortex’s density thinned as the sand, stones, and other debris was used to create the keep of the fortress.
The Dark One stopped his enchantment and pointed at the vortex. Suddenly, it collapsed into itself, revealing the monstrous keep with its high wide battlements. The Dark One slowly lowered his arm and concluded his spell. Before the five men stood a mighty fortress—the image of the Dark One’s Black Palace in Yallaz’oom, but with two differences. This fortress was sandy brown, whereas the fortress in the Dark One’s own realm was the deepest jet black. Surrounding this fortress, a moat full of flowing sand swirled and eddied as it moved around the fortress. In Yallaz’oom a moat of molten rock bubbled and flowed lazily around the Black Palace. The Dark One and his companions stepped forward towards the newly constructed edifice. They approached the moat and the sand beneath their feet solidified to form a crossing, spanning the flowing sand. Part of the wall fell away, as though melting, producing an arched gateway for them to enter the fortress. After they crossed, the sand solidified again behind them, reforming the thick high wall.
