As they emerge at the other end of the spillway and step into the city itself, climbing up to a wide stone platform a couple feet above the water, which serves as a harbor for small boats, they find nothing but silence and stillness. The city itself, were it not for a pervading sense of restlessness and fear that fills the air, would seem as empty and lifeless as a sepulcher. Rórlain prays it is not as lifeless as that, but holds captives still living somewhere within its bowels, that they may be freed. He dare not hope that it is devoid of foes, however, but he rather looks about desperately to catch sight of the enemy before the enemy catches sight of them. The troops gradually move forward along the harbor, remaining as quiet as they can, while others filter into the city behind them. The more men they can manage to bring into the city before they are spotted the better, for thus they shall have a greater chance of successful combat.
But the silence is confusing and uncanny. Why have they not been seen? As his mind casts about for an answer, a realization comes to Rórlain. Never before have they seen the vrû’ádach lingering about as though living a life of their own, however base and mindless this life may be. Rather, they only appear when they are summoned by their lords. It may be likewise for the eötenga, though he also recalls the troll-like beast who had taken him hostage in the cavern in the Aldéra Highlands. That one lived as much as any other beast of the earth, though drawing its power and life not from the creative and sustaining activity of the Maker of all, but from the twisted fashioning of the Draíon, whose creation is but a mockery and whose sustenance is but the ceaseless pouring forth of evil and malintent in order to project and sustain shadows born of the darkness.
Turning to Sénfyr, Rórlain says, “It is possible that the creatures may not even be manifest at this moment. It could be that only their lord remains within the city and they shall be called forth at his bidding only when we are discovered.”
“Is that good or ill?” Sénfyr asks.
“I do not see how that could be anything but ill, at least for ourselves. But it may bode well for the captive.”
“But do you really believe that it is so? After all, why would they wish to take the city as their own fortress if they do not require a fortress to defend them?”
“To that question…I do not know the answer.” Rórlain turns and looks at Tilliána, her figure dimly visible in the darkness, and, beyond her, at the great number of men and women who are now emerging from the spillway and filling the entire space of the platform. “But if this is the case then I fear that our plan is ill-conceived. If the city is left mostly empty, then less men is better than more, and hope lies not in numbers but in secrecy.”
“What then do you propose?”
Rórlain shakes his head, trying to dismiss the sinking feeling of futility and of fear that grips him, that his mind may focus and begin again to think clearly. Laying hold of some answer, however frail it may be, he says, “We should halt where we are for now since we know not what lies before us. I would like us to continue with our plan, but also to have the possibility of a swift retreat if that proves to be called for. Send word to the people behind us of this change. Meanwhile I shall move forward with a few chosen men to scout ahead. Only with such information as that provides can we get a sense of what awaits us and thus of what we should do.” Then, remembering that he is only second-in-command, Rórlain corrects himself abashedly, “I mean, if that is what you judge to be most prudent and wise.”
Were the situation not so grave Sénfyr would smile at these last words, but instead there is only the subtlest hint of humor in his voice when he replies. “I do indeed think that is prudent and wise, Rórlain, as much as it can be in such a situation. But if we are attacked while you are absent, forget not that we need the light that you channel in order to slay these beasts with any degree of ease.”
“Aye,” says Rórlain, “I shall not forget. I must do so for the company led by Tûric as well, and my heart is in readiness for when it shall be asked of me. But let us pray it does not come to that.”
“You shall feel it when the combat begins, even if you can see it not?” asks Tilliána.
“The floodgates are already opened, if it is appropriate to express it so,” answers Rórlain simply. “When blade strikes flesh of darkness, I trust and believe that the light shall come.”
A single glance shared between him and Tilliána communicates an agreement: though he wishes her near him so that he may protect her, she is safer now remaining where she is. Thus, and without further conversation, Rórlain picks twenty trained warriors and proceeds down the platform into the unknown that is concealed by the darkness. As the small group presses forward, the harbor platform gradually begins to widen as the wall to their right recedes, and then they find a wide set of stairs leading up toward the ground level of the city above them. As they come to cobbled streets with the figures of stone and half-timber houses looming over them, Rórlain calls to mind the last time he was in Minstead so as to gain a sense of their location. The darkness makes this very difficult. But as they continue down the streets and the minutes pass, he begins to recognize certain landmarks, and he knows that they are progressing toward the center of the city, where lies the “great courtyard,” themarasýstra.This is a wide pavilion paved with stone with a gurgling fountain at its center, where market days and fairs are often held, with traveling merchants from nearby settlements coming to barter their wares, and musicians and performers as well. But how different now is the city in this slumber of blackness and despair and loss!
No citizens greet them but those whose bodies still lay in the streets without reverence or burial, untouched for weeks and decaying now with the stench and the appearance of death. Upon seeing this, Rórlain’s heart yearns for the deliverance of the city still more deeply, if only to remedy the sacrilege that the creatures of darkness have committed and to take from their grasp what should be a haven of light and peace, but which has been made instead a place of darkness and death. It takes a quarter of an hour for them to reach the great courtyard, and as it comes into view they know that they have found the end of their scouting expedition. Rórlain turns to one of his companions and says to him, “Hurry back to the rest of the company and bring them warning. Bring aid immediately, as fast as your feet can carry you.”
The man, shaking with fear to be sent off alone, nods and turns to go, but then Rórlain realizes his mistake and says, “I am so sorry.” Looking at two other men standing near, he adds the command, “I ask the two of you also to accompany him on the way. But pause for nothing, and if you encounter the enemy do not fight. Your task is to bring word to the rest of our warriors, and that is all.”
When the three messengers have gone, Rórlain and the remaining seventeen warriors make their way cautiously forward along the edges of the courtyard. Before them are many things to behold, though the eyes and heart would wish not to see them. In the center of the courtyard, where the fountain stands, burns a massive bonfire, and though they cannot make out the nature of its fuel at first, they soon realize that it is being fed by fallen bodies and other refuse of the city, which the creatures have apparently gathered together and set to flame, covering the fountain in its entirety and burying it under the mass. It appears that the Lord of Death gloats in his victory and uses his minions as tools to express his own form of sadistic delight. Rórlain and his men also see, however, living warriors standing about the fire, their weapons drawn. They do not engage in combat but stand at the ready, though to all appearances they are defeated beyond hope. For around them in a wide circle stand numerous vrû’ádach, and among them also a few larger eötenga, closing them in and trapping them, making fighting unfeasible and escape impossible.
“It is Wýgrec!” the man at Rórlain’s side exclaims softly. “He still lives, and many of his men.”
“Indeed so,” responds Rórlain. “Let us hope our messengers return with the rest of our company soon. If they arrive in time, there is yet a chance that we may save them.”
“But why do they not fight?”
“I do not know. Let us risk drawing a little nearer, that we may see.” With this Rórlain guides the men further into the courtyard, where they crouch behind a large wooden cart that has been tipped onto its side and its contents spilled wildly across the ground. Peering around it, Rórlain gains a better view of the mass of man and beast that fills the center of the courtyard. He sees Wýgrec Stûnclad’s face, fraught with terror and yet remaining defiant, looking directly into the face of a figure that at first he cannot recognize, for it is turned away from him. While he squints his eyes and cranes his neck to try and get a better view, the figure turns, as if pacing, and Rórlain immediately recognizes it. The figure is that of Maggot, who calls himself the Lord of Worms. He is speaking and addressing the encircled warriors, though Rórlain and his companions cannot hear his voice.
Let us be grateful that he loves to boast and to parade his own victory, Rórlain thinks silently. It once served us in the liberation of Eldárien. May it now serve us also in the liberation of these men. This wish, even as he voices it, becomes also a spontaneous prayer, a deep plea of the heart.
While they wait for the return of the messengers and the arrival of the rest of their company, however, they feel the pressing danger of every passing moment. There is no known reason for the creatures of darkness to allow these men to live unless it be for their own wicked games, and it is only a matter of time before they are either slain where they stand or taken captive. Indeed, as he tries to gauge the number of men still under Wýgrec’s command, Rórlain sees that a good half of their number must already have been slain, and only half still stand at his side. But why this stalemate now?
As if in answer to his thoughts, there is a sudden rush of movement among the eötenga, and a roar of sound, and they leap forward to beset Wýgrec and his men once again. Seeing this, Rórlain says to those at his side, “We cannot overcome them all, but perhaps we can distract them long enough that our company may arrive and these men may be saved. Forward now, my friends!”
Rórlain leaps from behind the cart, knocking an arrow to his bow and letting it loose into the mass of eötenga. In the same moment the light streams forth, not only into the arrow that he has loosed, but into all the weapons wielded by the men at Wýgrec’s side. This sudden outburst of brilliant light in contrast to the deep and abiding darkness has an overwhelming effect on those caught in the fray, men and beasts alike, and for a moment they all pause, startled, and look around. Rórlain turns this to his advantage by rushing forward and calling out, “For Telmérion! Let the light be your bane, creatures of darkness!” He releases another arrow into the heart of a vrû’ádach at the edge of the group so that all may see how, on contact with the light, it dissolves into nothingness. A moment later his bow is again over his shoulder and his axe is drawn, his shield of myéllion in his other hand. He collides with the still confused creatures at full sprint, and those who have accompanied him are but a few steps behind.
Upon seeing this, Wýgrec’s warriors take heart and begin to cut their way out from the prison of bodies in which they have been held captive. And only a minute or two later arrive the rest of the forces that have sneaked into the city with Rórlain, and they need little indication before they too join the fray, completely overwhelming by their sheer number the circle of eötenga who stand in the midst of the courtyard.
“Whom do I have to thank for this timely intervention?” Wýgrec asks, turning to face Rórlain when the battle has subsided.
“We have marched from Onylándun after receiving the messenger sent to to ask for our aid,” answers Rórlain.
“I am Wýgrec Stûnclad, leader of the rebel forces, and you have my gratitude. I know not if we would have been able to fight our way out of that situation alone.”
“I am glad that we arrived in time to be of assistance. Tûric told us that you had set off with the hopes of liberating those still held captive within the city, and we came as quickly as we could.”
“It all worked out well in the end, then,” remarks Wýgrec.
“What do you mean?”
“They told me that attempting assault and rescue with this few men would be suicide, but it all ended splendidly, did it not?”
Rórlain opens his mouth to speak, but he is not sure what to say that would not be either offensive or dishonest, and so he shuts it again and simply nods silently. Thankfully, it does not appear that Wýgrec was looking for a response, and he almost immediately speaks again, “But that bizarre light that came to our aid, tell me of it. Is this the power of which we have heard so many rumors these last months?”
“Aye, it is,” says Rórlain.
“Then you must be the one about whom all the people speak?”
“Well, no, that is actually a friend dear to my heart.”
“He is here as well, I assume?”
“He is not, as he has embarked on another task altogether, though his journey is for the sake of all of us who here fight. And he has entrusted the light to me that I may accompany the armies in his stead.”
“Very well,” sighs Wýgrec. And then, beginning to turn away, he says, “I would hear more of that sometime. But I think we have other affairs to occupy us at present. Can I count on your assistance in rescuing the people of Minstead who have been made captives of the enemy?”
“If I were not to accompany you, I would counsel you to forsake the mission altogether,” Rórlain says.
Wýgrec glances back over his shoulder at Rórlain and cocks an eyebrow curiously, remarking, “You think your presence is that important, do you?”
At this moment the company led by Tûric arrives, and their presence brings this uncomfortable conversation to an end.
“Ah, Tûric, you have come as well!” exclaims Wýgrec, extending his arms wide in welcome. “We are about to see what we can do to infiltrate the castle and free those held within.”
“Where are the rest of your men, Wýgrec?” Tûric asks, casting his eyes over the courtyard and taking measure of those who stand there.
“What you see is all that remains,” answers the leader of the rebellion. “We found ourselves caught in a trap that we were hard-pressed to escape. But that is behind us now, and heroic deeds await us. Our people lie within, and I would see them freed. Shall we go?”
“What plan have we crafted?” asks Tûric. “Shall we rely upon force alone?”
“Look upon our newfound numbers,” responds Wýgrec. “This is more than I had expected to receive in response to our summons. I say that we use it to advantage.”
“I suggest that you first tell us what we may hope to find, and where these prisoners are being held,” Rórlain interjects. “I would hate to see lives lost through negligence or deliberate ignorance. It is better to enter with eyes clear and open than to rush in blindly and to witness later its ill effects.”
“As you wish,” says Wýgrec. “I know not if, now that we have slain those in the courtyard, any of these dark creatures remain in Minstead at all. But then again, even when my men and I arrived, they were not here. That is how we fell into a trap. They appeared all around us, stepping out from the very darkness itself, and before we even realized it we were surrounded.”
“Precisely. And that is likely to happen again at all accounts, and even more likely if we simply charge into the castle relying while upon numbers alone,” says Rórlain.
“I agree with sir Farâël,” Tûric remarks. “And as for a wiser strategy, I suggest that we split our troops into companies and seek entrance into the castle from different vantage points. Such also was the manner of our entrance into the city. A large number should also remain without to prevent such traps as you have mentioned. Then if they appear around us as we enter the castle, we can use this to our advantage and besiege them also from behind.”
“It is the best strategy at our disposal,” says Rórlain, “if any strategy is possible at all against creatures so mysterious and unpredictable.”
“And I am unsure of precisely that,” says Wýgrec. “But I hear your suggestions and see the reason of them. The fury of battle was upon me and I hardly stopped to think before seeking more beasts to slay.”
“And that is unlike you, Wýgrec,” Tûric says, “for you have led us for years in successful warfare against the Empire of Vælíria. Do not lose your touch now in the heat of battle against a newfound foe.”
This is precisely what Wýgrec needs to regain his self-possession, and he shakes his head as if stirring from a long slumber and says, “From all that we know, and from what we witnessed when these creatures took over our dear city, they are vast in number, more than we possess here, though great indeed we may be. I suggest, therefore, that we have three offensive companies, while the rest remain in the vicinity of the castle, keeping vigil in preparedness. The first company shall seek to enter the main gate, even to confront the leader of our enemy himself, our nemesis and the commander of the dark forces. After all, this may be our best or only real chance to take back our city and to free those imprisoned within. The two tasks, in my opinion, shall indeed prove inseparable, and such was my original intent when I sneaked into the city like an assassin in the darkness.”
“Then it is decided,” says Tûric.
“Good,” concludes Wýgrec. “I shall lead the main group, but what of the other two? They shall enter through the side chambers and aim to come to the prisoners undetected or, at least, to meet the enemy from multiple angles at once and thus to wear down their strength.”
“I willingly take command of one of these companies,” offers Tûric. “And the commander of the forces of Onylándun, the man Sénfyr, can lead the other. But if you lead the main company, Wýgrec, it is still imperative that Rórlain accompanies you. For he alone, of all men, shall find it possible to slay the enemy commander.”
“You believe that?” Wýgrec asks doubtfully.
“I have no reason to doubt it and many reasons to believe it.”
“Fine. He can come along.”
† † †
The castle keep of Minstead lies across the river from the great courtyard, built on the crest of a sloping mound of earth dotted with houses and trees, porticoes and palaces. This mound, a hill either harnessed to this purpose or itself cultivated by man centuries ago, arises over the rest of the city, which is mostly flat, occupying the central part of the Místrin Plain that extends across a wide distance between the mountains rising around it in all directions. Nestled as this plain is in the heart of the Finístra Range that reaches from the heart of the Téldrens in the east all the way to the ocean far in the northwest, where lies the city of Brûg’hil, it offers a splendid location for a city to be built. Not only are the natural resources abundant, considering the universal harshness of the land of Telmérion, but so too do the surrounding mountains offer a touching view, standing like sentinels clad in the light and sparkling almost throughout the year with a white crown of snow. Among all the settlements upon the continent, Minstead is one of the foremost producers of metalworks, for the surrounding hills and mountains conceal a multitude of ore-veins, and even in the river itself can be prospected, washed from high in the peaks to the east, silver, and, in rare moments, even myéllion. Such discoveries hint to the even greater riches to be found in the hidden heights of the Téldrens, where few now venture after the collapse of the kingdom of Séra Galáptes, which had its headship precisely in the heights of these mountains. Minstead is rivaled only by such cities as Brûg’hil and the ancient capital of the Galapteäni, the first still thriving, the very capital of Telmérion, though fallen into the clutches of the Imperial occupation and made the base of their operations in Telmérion, and the other long fallen into ruin, nothing but an empty and hollow artifact, ancient stones standing silently in the mountains at the very center of the continent, but a memory of what once was.
At present, of course, such things are neither seen nor come to mind, for darkness presses in around the company and their minds are wholly occupied with the task at hand. A few persons alone, Rórlain among them, raise their eyes longingly and gaze through the darkness, as if to see with the eyes of the heart the splendor and majesty of the mountains now concealed in the distance, and, even beyond them, the sun and the sky shining brilliantly above. Yet the thought comes to Rórlain unbidden: Is Minstead also to become a lasting ruin like the citadel of Séra Galáptes, witness to a glorious past that is no more, the bodies of countless men and women left to turn to dust in her streets, and her stones left to age and crack and yield to nature’s growth as centuries of forgetfulness descend upon her? Rórlain resists this thought and urges himself beyond this fear, turning his attention wholly to the needs of the present moment. The vast company moves as quietly as they can through the silent streets of the city, though by their sheer numbers they have little hope of avoiding detection and are prepared at any moment to engage in conflict. And those who have had the most direct contact with the Draíon—Rórlain, Tilliána, Brýma, and Sénfyr—struggle to believe otherwise than that they have already been discovered; and they are thus troubled and confused that the city nonetheless remains so deathly silent and still. But what plan can one make to gain strategic advantage against an enemy who can appear and disappear in the very shadows themselves, and who neither thinks nor feels, fears nor desires, but is moved solely by the command to destroy every living human heart?
As the company climbs the slope of the hill and comes near to the castle, Rórlain turns and addresses them at length, and his words are shared widely that all may hear. Wýgrec, standing behind him, does not fail to indicate his displeasure at this arrogation of authority, but Rórlain ignores him. He says to his people, “I fear that we walk into an ambush. But such we knew whenever in courage we decided to enter into the city. Our eyes, therefore, are open, and our hearts are ready. Well I know these wicked creatures, and what I know inclines me to believe that they remain hidden now only as a spider remains hidden until its prey is caught in the web, defenseless. I say this not to incite fear in your hearts, my brethren, but to prepare you. We shall walk forward with valor and with honor, with hope and with longing, with compassion and with trust. We shall walk forward for our people and our nation, for our families and our friends. Come what may, we shall seek to save those held captive by the darkness, and we shall seek to liberate the very city itself, that it may be again a city of humankind, flourishing upon the earth. As great as the darkness may be, fear not. Even if we are to die this day, let us stand strong in integrity and refuse to allow the darkness to crush the light within us.
“For a king goes forth to the very heart of the darkness, to the very bastion of our enemy. He goes there on our behalf, with a sister-queen at his side, there to decapitate the force that would rise up against us. Never more beautiful and loving persons have I met, and I am humbled to call them my friends. And it is toward them, the Lightborn, descendants of the ancient king Séra Galáptes and of the people of the Velási, blessed and beautiful, that we look. Yes, not to ourselves but to the light do we turn our gaze, that we may have hope for our victory and our deliverance. Our part is but to stand against the darkness and to resist the despair that its immensity would instill within us. So, my people and my countrymen, my brethren and my friends, let us walk forward beyond fear and beyond doubt, and face what we must with confidence and with faith.”
Shout they would in response to these rousing words, stirring up as they do their ardor before the terrors that close in all about them, but instead the members of the company, one and all, place their right hands upon their breasts, bowing their heads in an ancient gesture of reverence and of homage, of gratitude and of entrustment. And then they all turn toward the castle and begin to move forward without delay. Coming to the base of the walls, the company then splits into four parts, one seeking favorable position outside the castle where they can watch and defend, two splitting off to the sides and seeking the entrances that lead into the keep from opposite ends, and the last braving the main entrance, vaulting doors of iron and wood at the end of a tree-lined avenue now lying in disarray.
When the main company comes to the entrance, they pass within easily, for the doors stand splintered and broken, torn partially from their hinges and hanging loosely, leaving a wide berth for passage. And inside the castle’s corridors an eerie silence reigns. Whatever little light from the sky had pierced through the enshrouding darkness outside now also disappears, and they find themselves stepping into complete blackness. Prepared for this possibility, however, they light torches and hold them aloft to guide their way. As they step forward, they find themselves first in a wide atrium with a floor of polished stone, although fallen bodies and other debris litter it and clutter its surface. Beyond this, to the right, left, and center, extend corridors with vaulted arches and domed roofs, though there is little doubt in which direction to proceed. Yet even as the company moves across the floor and toward the passage at the far end of the room, their suspicion of ambush is confirmed, as the creatures of darkness begin to emerge from the deep shadows that still linger at the edges of the room and in the hallways beyond. Their figures, horrific to behold, begin to close around the men, eyes hollow and lifeless and yet gazing with a gaze of death, and flesh corrupt and decayed as if corroded by a deadly poison and yet still moving. Many vrû’ádach there are, but also greater eötenga as well, whose forms tower over the men, instilling terror into their hearts.
“We fight our way through!” Wýgrec calls out. “Stand firm and show these beasts the true nature of their foe!”
And thus the flickering red hue of the torchlight is soon interspersed with bursts of brilliant and pure blue-white, as the light channeled through Rórlain’s poverty and openness of heart flashes forth upon the weapons of all. Even Tilliána, in their midst, draws a short sword and lashes out against a vrû’ádach that approaches her location, cutting deep into the arms that reach out to her and dissolving the creature unto nothingness. She slays two more in like manner before she sheathes her blade and occupies herself with the reason that she has come: caring for the wounded by drawing them away from the periphery of the company, where the assault is fiercest, and seeking to save their lives by tending to what ailment they have received. Yet because of the sheer violence and destructive force of the eötenga, for most it is too late, and death is swift in coming.
Regardless of how long they fight and how many of these creatures they slay, their foe continues assailing them with numbers as though endless. For when one eöten is struck down, another appears in its place. Evaluating this situation, Wýgrec calls to Rórlain, “If what they say about this light is true, then let us go now and confront the enemy commander directly. That may be our only hope of stopping this assault.”
“I know not the way,” responds Rórlain over the fray.
“I shall show you. Follow me.”