by Brian Murray
On the sixth day after arriving in Balasal, the Merry Storm navigated out of the port and started its journey across the Endless Sea. Frazellon stood on deck smiling, watching the city disappear on the horizon. He sucked on a black crystal and watched the sea, and the sky changed into a wonder of colours and tones. Suddenly feeling tired, Frazellon went below to sleep.
While Frazellon slept, a violent storm blew in from the north, pounding the ship and crew for a week. During this time, Frazellon remained in his fitful slumber.
***
It was near dusk when the former general roused from his sleep and walked up onto the deck. All was silent and still. This surprised Frazellon, but initially he thought nothing of it until he walked back to the wheel. It was unmanned. Frazellon called out the captain’s name. He received no answer. He ducked below and searched the ship—he was alone. Not a living soul remained on the ship. Even Cleo, his faithful war-hound, had disappeared, part of a sacrifice that took the last living thing Frazellon cared about. Now fearful, Frazellon returned to the deck. Blood red stained the skies, colouring the clouds as the sun began to glide below the watery horizon. During the night, another storm blew in from the north, battering the ship, lurching and bucking to and fro.
That night, the demon reappeared.
“Frazellon, I have come for my tribune,” boomed the voice of the demon that had visited Frazellon in the stone house when he completed the Spell of Calling.
“I am ready,” answered Frazellon without any fear.
“Do you know who I am?”
“I have guessed your identity, my master.”
“Good, so I do not have to explain myself. You have travelled the Paths of Time and know what I want. I want Her destroyed from the lands that you have just left where Her hold is strong. But first I want you to destroy Her presence on your lands. I want all destroyed—do this for me and your power will be enhanced beyond your dreams. But remember you are my servant—you are mine to command. You will do as I demand. First, I need to give you another gift, then I will take my tribune. My gift will be a blade of immense power, but what gives the blade its power is what I want. Go up to the deck.”
Frazellon walked slowly to the deck, his mind and body calm. The ship lurched when he reached the deck, knocking the man from his feet. Frazellon righted himself and gripped onto the rail. The demon appeared before him, looming large above the rolling ship. With a circular gesture of its finger, the demon calmed the storm. The demon’s power impressed Frazellon. Around the ship for a few hundred strides all was calm and perfectly still. Beyond the calmness, the storm raged wildly and the sea rolled, forming white waves. Above the ship, thick steely-grey clouds filled the sky. Lightning flashed inside the angry clouds. Thunder rumbled as though the storm protested against the magic. The beast lowered itself to the ship and its talon feet clicked on the wet wooden deck. The demon gestured again. This time, a black sword materialised before Frazellon. It absorbed light around it, soaking up goodness and leaving only darkness.
“Take it,” commanded the demon. “This will be your weapon. It is a weapon of power—dark power that can destroy armies and flatten mountains. It will be yours to wield—you will wield the Blade of Yallas.”
Frazellon reached forward and curled his fingers around the hilt of the broadsword. The weapon was surprisingly light and he rolled his wrist, slicing through the air with the black blade engraved with the text mirroring the script in the Tomes of the Damned.
“Now for your tribune. The Blade of Yallas is just a blade that can cut through any metal and kill any man or beast. But its true power will come from you. Step forward.”
Frazellon stepped forward and the demon held out its elongated, black glistening hand. Its clawed index finger touched the man’s chest. In an ancient language, the demon uttered a dark, black spell. It looked directly into Frazellon’s eyes. The man shivered when he gazed into the demon’s fiery red eyes—the image of the fires of hell. The demon’s face creased with what Frazellon surmised to be a smile. The demon paused, then uttered a word of power. It clinched its hand into a fist. Frazellon screamed as searing pain ripped through his body. He fell to his knees, clasping his chest and gulping air. The demon’s smile grew.
For several heartbeats, the fierce pain gripped Frazellon’s body and he clenched his eyes closed against the throbbing. Perversely, the demon enjoyed the sensation, feeding from it and holding the man in agony for longer than required. Suddenly as though bored, the demon ended the spell and Frazellon collapsed onto the wet deck, panting heavily. The man slowly rose to his feet, rubbing his chest that burnt with lingering pain. The demon slowly opened its hand and sitting in the middle of its narrow palm pulsated a black crystal. Frazellon opened his eyes. Gone were his tawny-brown eyes, instead they were crimson red. Gone was his light tanned skin, now an ebony tone as black as coal. He smiled at the demon.
“What have you done?” asked the man.
The demon did not answer, instead reaching for the black sword. It curled its long, talon fingers around the hilt. Pressing the black crystal onto the end of the hilt, the demon cast another spell. Its ebony hand glowed and Frazellon could feel the heat from its hand. The demon removed its hand and the crystal was embedded into the hilt. It handed the blade back to the man. Frazellon reached for the blade and when his fingers touched the hilt he felt a sensation of ecstasy. He looked questioningly into the demon’s eyes.
“I have leached Her essence from your body and placed it bound in black magic in this crystal. Never will you feel Her pull—Her goodness. From this day on you will feel and love only the purest darkness. Foulness, evil, and maliciousness will be your calling, your want and your desire. From today on you are the Dark One. Now go, my servant, and do my bidding, the Prince of Darkness wants Her destroyed—go and carry this out on my behest. Go and crush Her.”
“I will do as you command,” boomed the man, his voice now deep and resonant. He bowed to his master. Gone was Frazellon the man, once known as the Night Shadow, once a druid. No longer stood a man; in his stead was a beast of darkness. The Dark One was born.
“Remember one thing, Dark One,” warned the demon. “Never allow the crystal to become separated from the sword. If you do, you will lose much of your powers. You will not be able to cross realms and you will be trapped. I, too, have seen the futures, but much is clouded. Go and do my bidding. Do not fail me.”
An eerie sound came from the demon as it disappeared into the darkness. When the demon vanished, the storm closed in on the ship. The Dark One lifted his sword and lightning streaked down to strike the blade. The Dark One felt a surge of power and roared with delight. He pointed the blade towards his lands and the ship eased forward through the raging sea.
***
The Divine One felt a tremor in Her magic. She had felt such a disturbance before, but thankfully, this one did not seem as large. She travelled the Paths of Time and saw some more of the futures had become cloudy. However, she knew She had a problem and had to prepare for the worst.
***
Three weeks later, the Merry Storm glided into Riosocho. The ship drifted perfectly to its mooring point at the docks. Fearfully, dockworkers made the ship secure then climbed onto the deserted vessel. Over the next couple of days an investigation followed, but nothing untoward could be found on board and this led to wild speculation. No one could understand where the crew had disappeared to, but the precious cargo in the hold remained intact and unharmed. It baffled the port officials. During the investigation, no one saw the cloaked Dark One disembark down the gangplank nor did anyone see him make his way through the docks. He came and went like the night, without a sound.
On the fourth day following the Merry Storm mysteriously arriving back to Riosocho, Frazellon’s father suffered a sudden, fatal heart attack. Frazellon had returned to the port, but no one had seen him. People only knew that he claimed his father’s fortune and left the city to travel to Prodillia.
The Dark One
made a detour on his way to Prodillia—he had unfinished business. He reached the gates to the monastery that had been Frazellon’s home. He raised the Blade of Yallas and pointed it at the large wooden gates. Uttering a spell, the gates shattered into small splinters, exploding out away from him. He entered the grounds. The Dark One walked toward the building, each step crunching on the gravel path. Either side of the path where he stepped, all of the plants and trees instantly withered and died from the foul magic he emitted. He approached the stone building and summoned another spell. All of the windows, wooden shutters, and outer doors slammed shut. He pointed the Blade of Yallas at the building. Black bolts of energy flowed from the sword and smashed through shuttered windows. Within several heartbeats, the building was ablaze and death screams oozed from the crackling flames. So intense was the inferno, the stonework started to crack noisily and crumble, falling to the floor in a black heap. Within a couple of hours, the building was no more. Only a pile of smouldering blackened charred rubble remained. The expressionless Dark One turned from the devastation and walked from the grounds. Swiping his sword before him, black bolts leapt out and scorched all of the trees and shrubs. He sundered the monastery’s outer walls into piles of blackened debris. When he passed through where the gates had stood, nothing in the monastery grounds lived. Nothing except one bush—a single yellow rose bush survived the devastation, surrounded by dead shrubs and trees.
The beast, once the man Frazellon, had enacted his revenge.
The Dark One arrived in Prodillia and found his country in the grip of a vicious war with the barbarians. He arrived at the emperor’s palace and was warmly greeted. The emperor proclaimed that the Night Shadow, the undefeated general had returned and that was a good omen. The Dark One promised the emperor that he would finish the barbarians once and for all. His only wish was that he would have total control of the armies. The emperor eagerly agreed and the Dark One marched his army south to face the barbarians once again. Travelling with the Dark One were three men of talent. The first was Clamie, a battle strategist without equal among men. He prepared the army to travel, planning supplies and overcoming all other logistical problems. The other, Shaocon, was an awesome swordsman who fought like a man possessed and became the Dark One’s personal bodyguard. Lastly, there was Rufyac, who was a tracker and assassin. The man had the ability to read all tracks—many said he could tell the sex of a horse from its droppings, while others said he could track a fish swimming in the sea.
These three men, like the rest of the army, were given the intoxicating black crystal from the balamine plant. They were told it would aid them by stopping fatigue, but it also gave them strength, fuelling them with the lust for blood. So, the army travelled south wanting blood and led by the undefeated Night Shadow. The army knew no different and could not see the changed appearance of the Dark One. Before his visit to the emperor, he had altered his helm. Chain mail hid his altered face and more importantly, his glowing red eyes.
Within three weeks the Cecillian army, charged on the black crystals, were camped on the border ready to conquer the barbarians. Only now did the Dark One send Rufyac back to Prodillia to complete a special mission for him.
***
The fighting against the barbarians was bloody and fierce. The Cecillians killed all who stood in their path in a murderous frenzy. They killed everyone—men, women, and children with equal brutality. They had one agenda—annihilate the barbarians. Hundreds of thousands of people died in the war, people who had fed the land with magic. The Cecillians killed the men in battle—the strategy of Clamie and the Night Shadow meant they won every battle. Once the battles were won, the army would swoop on surrounding settlements to rape, pillage, and slaughter all without remorse. Then they put the towns and villages to the torch.
The Cecillians pushed deeper south into the barbarians’ lands, forcing them into the mountains. But the mountains were not a safe haven for the people fleeing the Cecillians. Trackers and hunting parties climbed into the mountains to kill the people where they hid. Most died, only the few who took refuge in the deepest parts of the range survived. Exposure and hunger ravaged many of the survivors, turning and twisting them to hate all.
***
After completing their conquest, the Dark One marched into Prodillia to a heroes’ welcome. They found the emperor had mysteriously died in his sleep without marrying or leaving an heir to the throne. The Dark One proclaimed himself the new emperor and sat on his throne. In a reign of terror, the Dark One turned his drug-charged army on the Cecillian civilians. Lynch mobs ran riot, killing any and all who spoke out. But even innocent men and women were killed as the Dark One gripped the country in utter fear. Soon, whole towns and villages were put to the torch, temples and monasteries destroyed, while priests, priestesses, monks, and druids were all horribly butchered. Crucified bodies lined roads, their guts slashed open, so their innards hung below their feet. The country imploded on itself in a frenzy of hate. Neighbours killed neighbours, friends killed friends, and families turned on their own kin. During this bloody time, the Dark One’s powers grew and conversely, the Divine One’s magic started to wane as blood and hatred shrouded the land like a shadow and the blood of innocents saturated the soil. Soon normal, decent civilians saw the Dark One and his sword, which they called the Sword of Doom, as the symbol of utter hatred and evil. But they remained powerless to challenge the emperor as he had the might of the army behind him.
In a summer of blood, the Cecillian army went on the rampage and killed all. No one was safe during this time. The soldiers killed all Cecillians, loyal or not. Whole cities were razed to the ground and the army marched throughout the lands in a mad frenzy brought on by the black crystals.
Some of the richer citizens escaped the slaying. They chartered ships and sailed around the massive land, beyond the mountain south of Cecillia, beyond the rampaging army.
Eventually, the army had no one left to slaughter, and so they fought among themselves. Within two years of the Dark One arriving back on his own lands, there were only five survivors of the atrocities. The land had been tarnished with blood and Her presence had been wiped from the earth. Nothing good remained—the land had been purged of Her goodness. The Dark One had succeeded. Now he needed a new challenge. Casting the Spell of Calling, the Dark One sacrificed a young girl, calling forth the demon—the Prince of Darkness.
“You have done well. Now you must build a new army to destroy Her presence in the lands across the sea. I will send you to a place where darkness and evil rule. There you will ready your army to face Her where She is all powerful.”
“It will be as you command, my master,” replied the Dark One.
“Bring your three men with you but they will have to change to survive the journey. You should rename them as your servants, your bodyguards. Do this, and they can pass through the portal. There is one other, one who can wield the Blade of Yallas. He you must also find to complete your circle.”
The demon gestured in the air and a portal between realms tore open, ripping though the fabric of time and space, good and evil. The Dark One peered through the portal at the lands on the other side, which seemed scorched and black. The soil was black and the sky also ebony with billowing red clouds. The demon slowly faded, leaving the men peering into the portal.
“Before we travel, my friends, I need to ensure your loyalty to me and our Master. When you pledge your loyalty to me, I will arm you with weapons that will cut through armour and be second only to my blade. You will also be immortal, as I am immortal.”
Clamie stepped forward and bowed deeply on one knee. “Master, you have my body and soul from this day forth to eternity.”
The Dark One held his clenched fist over Clamie’s head and spoke a spell. The kneeling man screamed in pain and the Dark One smiled inside his helm. In front of the man, a long black-bladed broadsword materialised. The Dark One concluded the spell, and in his hand, he held a deep blue crystal. He reached for the broadsword and
held the crystal against the rounded end of the hilt. His gauntlet hand glowed brightly. When he removed it, the crystal was imbedded in the hilt.
“This sword already existed and has picked you. People long since forgotten made it using methods that have now slipped from man’s knowledge. It will never lose its keenness and always come back to you as you are now bonded to it. Rise, Malice, and take your sword.”
The once-man now named Malice rose to his feet, his eyes glowing the same red as the eyes of the Dark One. Stepping forward, he took his sword. “Thank you, master,” he said, bowing and stepping back.
The Dark One completed the spell twice more. Rufyac became Fury. The weapons that chose him were two small black crossbows and a curved-bladed cavalry sword to which the Dark One embedded a grey crystal in the hilt. Shaocon became Chaos and the weapons that chose him were two matching black short swords. The Dark One embedded a deep green crystal in the hilt of one short sword, the one the warrior would hold in his right hand.
“I have one last gift for you, my friends.” The Dark One spoke another spell and behind the men appeared three sets of gleaming silver armour with a cloak folded in front of them that matched the colour of the men’s crystals.
The men donned their armour and turned to face their master.
The Dark One nodded his approval then gazed at the dead land devoid of goodness. The land would eventually recover, but no man walked on the land giving it magic or love. He turned towards the portal and stepped forward.
