Dark Times

by Brian Murray

  Aurillia turned and smiled at her father. “Thank you.”

  Rayth stood for a long moment with his arms around her, his chin resting on her head. “He’ll be here soon.”

  “I know, Father,” said Aurillia softly. “I know.”

  Rayth kissed his daughter on the top of the head, then returned inside.

  Aurillia pulled the blanket tightly around her body, hugging herself. She tried to stop the tears of worry, but they started to flow. Zane should have arrived a day ago and now she fretted for her lover. Her father had said if Zane did not arrive that evening, he and some others would go searching for him. That, at least, gave the young woman some heart.

  Aurillia turned to enter the house when something caught her eye. Through her tears, she saw someone or something crest the hill overlooking the house. She wiped her eyes with the blanket and peered into the silvery moonlight. More and more shapes emerged, cresting the hill.

  “Father!” she called into the house.

  “Yes dear,” answered the former axe-wielder as he came out and stood next to his daughter on the porch.

  Aurillia just pointed to the hilltop.

  Rayth squinted through the gloom and without turning called, “Dax?”

  The warrior strolled out of the house and stood next to his friend. He too saw the silhouettes cresting the hill, then turned back to the house, calling for Thade and Tanas.

  The two younger warriors emerged from the house, carrying their weapons. Thade handed Dax his axe harness and the three men walked down the porch steps to greet the newcomers. They stopped in the middle of the clearing at the front of the house and spread out. The strangers slowly rode their tired horses down the slope towards the house. Dax noticed the man leading the group was swaying badly in his saddle. Someone next to him held the man by the shoulder so he remained in the saddle. Suddenly, Dax turned and called for Gan-Goran, then raced forward to the riders.

  He reached the leading rider just in time. The man slumped off the horse and Dax caught him. “That’s no a way for a king to dismount a horse,” he said softly.

  Zane smiled weakly at his friend. “Dax, it’s good to see you. I knew you would catch me and not let me fall on the ground.”

  Dax helped Zane to his feet and put his arm around the young man’s waist. Zane grunted in pain.

  “Bit sore?” asked Dax, concerned.

  “Just a scratch.” Zane shrugged, his face a grimace.

  “Let’s get you inside,” said Dax, who turned and walked the King of the Rhaurns to his home.

  Aurillia recognised her lover when Dax turned; she dropped her blanket and raced forward. She got closer to Zane and even in the gloom of night, she could see all was not right. He had dark smudges around sunken eyes and his skin appeared ashen and clammy, pulled tight over hollow cheeks. She took a step closer and Zane smiled weakly at his future wife and queen.

  “Aurillia,” he said softly.

  “Zane,” replied Aurillia. She rushed in, throwing her arms around Zane’s neck and hugging him tightly. She brushed his long, sweat-matted black hair from his face, and looked into his tired eyes.

  Zane smiled at his lover, then passed out.

  Dax just caught the young king as he collapsed. He carried Zane into the house, again calling for the master magiker. He took Zane straight to Thade’s room and laid him gently on the bed. Gan-Goran entered the room, pushing past everyone. Around the bed knelt Aurillia, Queen Larene, and Cara. Standing in the room were Rayth, Dax, Tanas, and Thade. All of the occupants had the same worried expression. Gan-Goran quickly examined the king, then asked Dax to help turn him. Zane had arrived without his armour, wearing just a thick woollen tunic and heavy cloak. Gan-Goran lifted the tunic up and saw the bandages stained dark red.

  “Right,” started Gan-Goran. “You,” he continued, pointing to the women, “I need hot water and lots of it. Dax, I need fresh bandages. The rest of you leave the room and close the door. I need to keep the room warm. Cara, please prepare a hot broth, he will need it when he wakes.”

  Everyone left the room except for Rayth. Gan-Goran looked up at the huge innkeeper. Rayth just shook his head. “I’m staying,” he announced, folding his arms on his broad chest.

  Gan-Goran smiled at Rayth. “Good, you can help me.”

  The two men removed Zane’s tunic and cut the bandages off. Both of the men pulled back from the putrid smell of the thick pus filling the wound in the man’s side.

  “I would suggest your daughter does not see him like this,” said Gan-Goran.

  Rayth nodded, his eyes wide.

  “I need to rouse him and ask him some questions. Please, can you bring over the water jug? He’ll probably need a drink.”

  Rayth poured some of the water into a clay goblet and knelt by the bed.

  Gan-Goran closed his eyes and rubbed his hands together. He placed his golden glowing hands on Zane’s head and spoke to him softly. “Zane, can you hear me?”

  Zane moved his head and moaned. “Yes Gan,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

  “Good, I need to know what happened before I can treat your wound. You must tell me everything. The wound has festered and filled with greenish pus.”

  “Thanks for the description,” said Zane, trying to make a joke, but he coughed instead of laughing. Rayth offered him a drink and the young man greedily accepted the cool water.

  Dax silently entered the room and stood in the corner with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

  “Zane, what happened?” asked Gan-Goran patiently.

  “I faced him.”

  “Faced who, Zane?”

  “It was like the dream I had. Shortly after I’m crowned King of the Rhaurns, Dark Times will come.”

  “How were you injured?”

  “I think he struck me with his blade.”

  “Who, Zane?”

  “The Dark One,” said Zane in a low, tired whisper.

  Gan-Goran dropped his head and thought for a moment. “Did he strike you with a black blade?”

  “Yes, a black broadsword. The strange thing was it did not reflect light.”

  “The Blade of Yallas,” whispered Gan-Goran softly. The master-magiker thought for a while, then closed his eyes. Opening his eyes, he used his power to see Zane’s aura. Gan-Goran smiled when he saw a pure golden aura. He looked closer and nodded. Underlying the golden aura was one of pure, brilliant white. As Gan-Goran had suspected, Zane was a Child of the Light.

  Gan-Goran turned and looked up. “Dax, get me a large piece of meat. I need to remove the corruption from his wound.”

  “Will he live?” asked the old warrior.

  “Yes, he will live, but he has other problems.”

  “What problems?”

  “Not now, Dax. The meat please, I need to remove the corruption quickly.”

  Dax left the room and, soon after, returned with a large leg of beef that had been hanging in the pantry. Gan-Goran put the meat down beside him and placed a hand on it. He placed his other hand on Zane’s wound and closed his eyes. The hand on the wound glowed golden and the other hand shimmered green. In front of the warriors’ eyes, the pus around the wound began to shrink. At the same time, the meat started to turn yellowish-green. A fetid stench of death filled the room, causing Dax to gag. Beads of sweat popped onto Gan-Goran’s bald cap as he held his head down, concentrating on healing.

  Half an hour later, Gan-Goran opened his eyes and peered at the wound. All of the pus had disappeared; the wound looked clean. He glanced at the meat on the floor, and nearly vomited. The meat oozed with steaming pus, and maggots writhed in the foul green mucus.

  Weakly Gan-Goran rose from the bed. “Please bury the meat and have the women tend to Zane’s wound. The healer outside should be able to sew the cut. Then just bandage it. He will need some rest, but then we need to talk.”

  Dax stood before the door, not letting the old man exit. “We’ll talk now, Gan,” he said coldly.

  “Please Dax, I
need some rest also. I am not as young as I used to be. We will talk shortly.”

  Gan-Goran left the room and walked straight into Dax’s room. He lay down on the bed and instantly fell into a deep slumber.

  In Thade’s room, the healer and the women tended to Zane’s wound whilst Rayth took the meat out in a sack and buried it, trying hard not to heave from the pungent smell.

  Dax spent much of the evening with Rayth, speaking to the Royal Lancers who had returned with Zane. They explained to the two men that most of the warriors had been killed in the charge. Those who survived had scattered as ordered, waiting for Zane to raise his banner. With much sadness, the men described the fall of General Brooks, and how badly Zane had taken the man’s death. Dax and Rayth left the men to eat a hot broth and returned to the house. In the kitchen, Tanas sat with Thade and Cara, drinking warmed wine. The two men joined them and Cara poured drinks for them.

  It was dawn before anybody realised it. Aurillia walked from Thade’s room into the kitchen with reddened eyes.

  Rayth rose and embraced his daughter.

  “How is he?” asked Rayth.

  “He’s breathing better and sleeping peacefully,” answered Aurillia.

  “That’s good to hear,” said Dax, his demeanour relaxing.

  At that moment, Gan-Goran entered the kitchen looking older than usual. “I did not think that would take so much out of me.”

  “How are you faring?” asked Thade.

  “Old,” snapped the master-magiker.

  “And grouchy,” added Cara, pouring him a mug of coffee.

  “What have you to tell us, Gan?” asked Dax.

  “We will wait for Zane.”

  Dax was about to ask another question, but the magic-master raised his hand. “We will wait, for I do not want to repeat myself.”

  Gan-Goran gazed around at the people present in the room. He closed his eyes and whispered a spell. When he opened his eyes, he saw his friends in a different light, as he looked at their auras. Most had beautiful colours of happiness; some were tinged with the blue of sadness, others with the red of danger, and one with another colour that he blocked from his mind.

  Around three of the friends there was an underlying colour—pure white. These were Children of the Light. Gan-Goran had read about them and knew they were protectors of the Divine One’s magic. Instinctively, Gan-Goran knew the Dark One would pursue them. The old magic-master closed his eyes again and recited a different spell. Around the house, he created a magical shield. The shield would block the Dark One and his twin, the Darklord, and prevent them finding the Children of the Light. For the time being, that was all he could do.

  ***

  In the foul stench of the sewers, Zorain, Conn, Emyra, and several of her bashers listened to the howling above them. The bashers distanced themselves from the two City Watchmen. Zorain could understand why, but nevertheless he found them polite. Zorain and Emyra enjoyed many conversations together. They got on well, enjoying each other’s company; neither of them brought up the subject of the Night Band or Emyra’s position as the Mistress. During the Dread’s occupation of the city, men scurried silently through the sewers and all reported back, confirming the tunnels had not been breached.

  On one occasion, Zorain and Conn were peering through a drain by the City Watch offices when a Talon Hunter came close to the inlet. The pair remained motionless as the Talon Hunter sniffed the air. It turned and faced the drain. When it moved closer, Conn reacted first. He grabbed some floating refuse and threw it in front of the beast. The Talon Hunter reared up, howling in disgust, and snorted, releasing ribbons of slimy snot from its muzzle. Quickly, knowing the sewer stench was masking their scent, the two men waded back to their hiding place. Now, all they could do was wait.

  After a few days, came consistent reports. Using the sewers, men had been sent out around the city. They all reported the same: the beasts had gone.

  ***

  A week after capturing Teldor, the Dark One’s army had left the abandoned city. The Talon Hunters and Shadows had damaged much of the city in their search for blood, but some parts were left intact. After leaving the city, the Dread marched south-easterly, heading for the Glass Mountains.

  Once the last of the Dread had left Teldor, Emyra and Zorain cautiously emerged from the sewers. Emyra smiled, and sucked in her first breath of fresh air in over a week. Zane’s plan had worked perfectly. He had predicted that if there was no one in the city the army would leave.

  Emyra called to her men waiting in the sewerage system with her, and asked them to search the city. Her men moved stealthily around the city, using dark alleys to their advantage. After a while, all of the men reported back, confirming that the city was indeed empty of creatures. They also reported that the gate on the outer wall had been destroyed. Zorain ordered two of her bashers, one being a woodworker, to start working on a new temporary gate. Another four were ordered to accompany Zorain and Conn to watch the gate and let no one enter the city.

  Emyra and the remaining bashers crept down to the docks. Darkness settled on the city and Emyra lit a signal fire. She watched the bay and smiled when she saw a light from a ship; Admiral Rendel was on his way.

  By dawn the following day, part of the Rhaurien fleet sailed gracefully into the docks, led by Admiral Rendel on the Gliding Falcon. Admiral Rendel was the first to disembark from his ship.

  He found Emyra and could not help himself; he embraced the woman warmly. “We have done it. Zane’s plan worked perfectly.”

  “We still have much work to do, though, Admiral,” stated Emyra.

  “Please call me Reedie,” said the admiral, who turned to direct the disembarking of the men. “Oh,” he called to Emyra, “I would suggest you take a bath, my dear.”

  Emyra turned and smiled at the admiral. “Are you saying my new scent is not pleasing?”

  “It may be to sewer rats, ma’am,” replied Reedie, laughing aloud.

  The axe-wielders and Royal Lancers onboard the vessels disembarked, and took up positions around the city. Teldor was back under the control of the Rhaurns. Admiral Rendel commanded the standing army in the city, waiting for the rest of his fleet to return. Slowly, over the next few days, the city residents started to return from the sea.

  Two ships mysteriously did not return.

  ***

  Salom was a small man with a bald cap and round metal-rimmed glasses. His role was treasurer, looking after the finances of the Rhaurns and Teldor for his king. He was a man trusted by Zane, as by Logan before him. Salom was an honest man who loved his job and his king. When he had been told of the evacuation of the city and which ship he would be sailing on, he was nervous, terrified of the sea, but knew he had no choice. He was a passenger on the Grey Sunset along with the other city administrators, and the City Watch.

  The ship did not travel too far as it would be one of the first to return to Teldor when the recall came. The small man felt quite safe on the vessel in the docks at Teldor, but on the open sea he fully realised he did not have good sea legs. He constantly leaned over the railing, his breakfast, lunch and or dinner revisiting in streams of vomit. Every minute, the man prayed the ship would return to the docks, where he would again stand on solid ground. He promised he would never stop foot on a ship again.

  This particular night, a couple of days before the recall, the sea was rough and, as usual, the treasurer stood on deck looking rather green. Visibility was down to a few feet as the spray from the large waves rose above the deck and a strange soupy, dense fog shrouded the area in a blanket for the last few hours. Many of the sailors had gotten accustomed to the small man standing by the rail, and let him stay on the deck. The sailors had seen the man sleep on the deck so he was not far from the railing.

  Salom leaned over the rail and heaved his dinner over the side. A lump stuck in his throat, causing him to vomit again until nothing was left in his tight, aching stomach. He stood up, snatched a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the bile
from his mouth with it, taking deep breaths. He turned and leaned his back against the rail, cursing his luck. Seawater was thrown up onto the deck as waves slammed into the side of the ship, and his clothes were soaked. The ship pitched to one side, riding the waves. Salom felt his stomach tighten again and turned to retch. He held his head up and thought he saw a light through the watery spray.

  Salom wiped his tearing eyes and peered into the salty spray. The water stung his eyes but he looked on. Again, the ship rose on a wave and again he saw the light, but he could not tell the distance. Must be another Rhaurn vessel, thought the treasurer. The ship sank into another trough, then swiftly rose on a crest. Suddenly, there was a thunderous bang and the ship lurched sideways. Salom gripped the rail and looked up at the night sky. Lightning streaked across the heavens, illuminating angry clouds. Salom’s last thought was that it had happened the wrong way round—thunder before the lightning.

  A warship struck the side of the Grey Sunset. The sounds of snapping, splintering wood was drowned out by the roaring waves. Salom’s wide eyes watched in astonishment as a spear skewered his body, sending him backwards, pinning him to the outside of a cabin. He heard an almighty clap of thunder overhead as he tried to pull the slippery spear from his chest. He tried to call out but blood bubbled in his throat, drowning the sound. He died when the first raider loomed above him and slashed his throat.

  The Grey Sunset was boarded before any alarm could be raised.

  ***

  Zane woke, alone in a strange room. His mouth and throat were dry and he needed something to drink. He tried calling out but very little sound came from his tight, parched throat. He winced at the sharp pain in his side, but rose and wrapped a blanket around his naked body. He staggered to the door, taking shallow, deliberate breaths with every step. Slowly, he pulled it open and heard laughter coming from one of the other rooms and, more importantly, an inviting smell of food. The aroma of cooking drew the hungry king to the kitchen. Zane pushed open the door and stood in the doorway, slightly swaying. Thade was the first to react and helped Zane to the nearest chair. Zane’s colour looked better, but his complexion remained ashen and clammy. He had lost weight when he fell into a fever, which only broke the day before.