by Brian Murray
The men surrounding the king cheered wildly and Zane walked forward to each, thanking them for protecting his family. He wished the men luck, and gave them directions to where his army waited. Zane stood in the fresh morning air until all of the men had departed in their different directions.
When the last man disappeared over the hill, Zane turned towards Dax.
“Fine speech, Zane.”
Zane ignored the compliment. “How long before we’re ready to march?”
“I would say about two, maybe three weeks,” replied Dax grimly.
“Three weeks to gather my army and at least a month to cross the Steppes. Do you think Rowet can hold out that long?”
“Let’s hope he can, my friend . . . let’s hope he can.”
***
Rowet woke just before dawn, and exercised as the sun rose gracefully, staining the sky orange. After washing, he broke his fast with his daughters. He dressed in his new battle armour forged by Platos and strapped his short sword to his back. Slowly, he made his way along the long corridors of the white palace, escorted by six imperial guards. When he stepped outside, he took a deep breath.
The morning air was still cool and fresh. Today will be a beautiful day, thought the Chosen, Emperor of the Phadrine. Slowly, he descended the palace steps where an imperial guard brought his white stallion forward. Rowet mounted his horse, then gave the signal and the company of fifty riders made their way down the winding road to the city.
The city began to stir. The rumours of the army of beasts camped outside the city left people with worried, haunted expressions. The city had been filled with extra people from the surrounding area as well as the defending army. The Chosen was sure they had enough supplies and knew his city would survive. His convoy rode slowly through the city and people came out and waved at their emperor, wishing him luck.
Throughout the journey, the Chosen remained deep in thought. He looked up at the brilliant pale blue sky and smiled. After an hour, he reached the defensive mound and greeted his master armourer, Platos.
“Morning, your Highness,” said Platos, bowing. The huge blacksmith wore a simple brushed iron helm, breastplate, and a mighty war-hammer strapped to his back. He removed his helm in deference to his emperor. “Shall we go and greet our uninvited guests?”
The Chosen did not answer but slowly made his way up the mound. He crested the mound and saw the sheer number of creatures he faced. The Chosen’s face remained grim and set as he gazed out over the black view. While watching, he noticed movement slightly to his left. Without thinking, he drew his new short swords and held them crossed before his chest. He watched as four riders approached the moat.
Three of the riders wore gleaming silver armour, the last was in jet black armour. The four riders stopped and the rider in the black armour urged his black stallion forward a few more steps. He removed his ebony sword and pointed it directly at the Chosen. When the warrior spoke, his voice rumbled like thunder, chilling Rowet’s soul.
“I am the Dark One and before you stand my army, the Dread. I will not waste your time or mine with a long speech but simply give a warning. If you do not open the gates to the city, I will kill every man, woman, and babe. That is not a threat but a promise. I will give you one month to decide. If you do not open the gates at that time, I will unleash my Dread and your blood will flow. A show of my power is in order I believe.”
The Dark One recalled a spell and uttered the word of power. A black bolt of lightning streaked from the Blade of Yallas towards the Chosen. The black bolt slammed into the Chosen, knocking the emperor from his feet in a cloud of black smoke.
“That is only a taste of my power. You have one month, citizens of the white city, to give me your answer,” boomed the Dark One, gazing up at the mound.
EPILOGUE
The Dark One left the mound surrounding the white city with Malice, Fury, and Chaos at his side. He cantered his horse straight to the Darklord’s black tent. The Dark One dismounted his black stallion and ducked into the tent. The tent was shrouded in gloom, except for a small fire blazing in the middle, fighting the darkness. Slowly, the Dark One removed his black helm. He stepped forward into the light of the fire.
His skin colour was dark as ebony, blackened from magic, with scars criss-crossing his face and bald gleaming cap. He had piercing red eyes that danced with malevolence and a grim line for a mouth curled up into a smile—a very rare sight. The Dark One reached for a goblet and drank deeply its contents—fresh, warm human blood.
“I do not understand, why have you given them so much time?” asked the Darklord, who sat the other side of the fire. “We could raze the city within the time you have given them. The Dread will become restless with all this waiting.”
“That I know,” said the Dark One, his voice low and menacing.
“Then why?”
“I have seen the future, my friend. I know this time, this will be the place of the one and only battle. The other Children of the Light will travel here to face me. I will wipe out Her protectors in one go. I will not have to wait and hunt the others—they will come to me.”
“Are you sure, my master?”
“Naats, I have walked the Paths of Time, I have seen the future and they are coming, I can sense it. Your kin has dropped his shield and they are coming to me.”
“Does that mean our Wraith Hounds have failed?” asked the Darklord, shocked.
The Dark One’s eyes blazed bright red and he pulled the Blade of Yallas from its sheath, pointing it at the Darklord. The air around the blade began to hiss as the Dark One spoke. “Yes, they failed, my friend, but it is of no consequence. I have seen the future and our foes will come here to die.” The Darklord bowed his head and he looked up at the Blade of Yallas.
“The Children of the Light will bring their pitiful armies and I will destroy them all. Once we have destroyed the armies, there will be nothing to stop us. I will rule this realm and then we can feast and enjoy the pleasures these mortals will give us.” The Dark One chuckled without humour; the sound was dry and full of malevolence.
“Naats, I have seen the future and the future is dark, pure darkness. We cannot be defeated; I will not let it happen again. I will rule this realm and be all-powerful. As for the Dread, we will send them out in hunting parties to keep them occupied, but they know when the time comes the bloodletting will be excruciatingly good.”
“But master, will it not be better and simpler to destroy the white city first and then face our other enemies?”
“No—the future is set. We will meet all comers here in one battle and we will be victorious. I have spoken and that is the way it will be.” The Dark One chuckled.
“Yes, master,” said the Darklord, bowing but unconvinced.
The Dark One’s laughter grew louder, rumbling like thunder
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Like Forgotten Hero, Dark Times was created a long, long time ago and so I would like to thank some people for their encouragement and support. To my mum, wife and in-laws for putting up with me—and that says a lot.
Thanks must go to Roger Le Flem, who read all my work and reintroduced a spark, and also to Nick Beckett, who, through reading his work, rekindled my love for writing.
I would like to thank my editor, Donna, again for her excellent contribution, to my cover artist Lynn for producing another awesome cover. Once again, to Edd, Kindra and the team (including the other Inmates) at Burning Willow Press, thank you for your trust, support and help.
Again, for those reading this—thank you for the chance to entertain you, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I had writing it.
Brian G Murray (2017)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born and educated in London, Brian now lives in Jersey (in the English Channel), with his family and a large collection of comics and books. His genre of choice is dark, heroic fantasy, but he loves testing his writing prowess by delving farther into his dark side. When he is not writing, he’s plot
ting, when he’s not plotting, he’s reading and when he’s not doing those—he’s a pain in the ass (so his wife tells us).
Brian has had several short stories in anthologies published with BWP, as well as The Forgotten Hero, the first part of a completed trilogy. He has many more finished manuscripts and short stories yet to see the light of day.
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