Darkness Falls (Tales of the Wolf) (10 page)

Soon, the party was well underway and Anasazi stepped back to watch. It was the happiest he had ever seen Graytael. He knew all too well, that it would be short lived.

*    *    *    *    *

Blackfang was getting impatient.

Actually, he had passed that an hour ago. Now, he was downright antsy. It was nearly Highsun and he ached to begin his assault but he understood his orders all too well. The moment any of his troops stepped foot inside the Great Forest, the elves would be alerted to their presence. He knew that the rest of the armies of the Dark Alliance were already on the move through the Southland and had possibly encountered some outlying farmers. By Clotho’s orders, their armies were banned from invading any town until the eclipse began. Minor skirmishes were fine, just not a full-fledged attack. At least, not yet.

Blackfang raised the brass spyglass Lalith had commissioned for him to his one good eye.

The spyglass was a beautiful piece of artisanship. It could slide open and triple its length with nothing but a simple pull. It was powerful enough to enhance his vision by a factor of twelve, or so the gnome engineer had said, but more importantly to his task was the fact it also came with a shaded lens cap that would allow him to look directly at the sun without damaging his eye.

He grinned as he witnessed the fainted beginnings of the eclipse. It was time.

Blackfang nudged his spider-steed forward and began the long descent down the Wall. The true invasion of the Southlands had begun.

*    *    *    *    *

Tarax the joten outcast stopped his army just shy of the village. According to his map, Homestead was the largest and closest community in the region. From here south all the ways to the walls of Asylum, there would only be scattered farmsteads and small hamlets. To the east lay Krantos, the vast fortified human kingdom. There was a well-traveled road that ran right to its gates and Tarax planned to raid every hamlet between here and there. But for now, his orders were to raid the eastern side of Homestead and capture the bridge.

Lalith had made sure that he understood how paramount to her plans this bridge was. If the Dark Alliance could capture and control this link, then they would cripple the Southerners’ war effort. The only other bridge was far to the south and just north of Asylum. There were numerous fords, low water areas with good footing for crossing, all along the Draken River but controlling a major thoroughfare was always a good strategy during a war.

Tarax had one hundred and twenty-three goblins under his command and had dedicated them to overwhelming any resistance the villagers might offer. His jotens would move through the village and capture the bridge first. Once secured, they could branch off to assist the goblins. The fifty orcs Kralm had attached to his command had one objective, the capturing of younglings. It was a good plan, it was a solid plan or at least as far as he was concerned. Tarax had pledged his service to Lalith and the Dark Alliance. If the price of Grunk’s death was the destruction of the Southlands, then he would happily pay it.

Tarax looked west across the river and could just make out the army hidden along the far bank. They calmly lay in wait for the signal to attack. He had to admire the discipline of those soldiers but then he remembered that the Dark Queen herself was leading that army and he realized that it was probably fear that held them in check more than discipline. With that thought, he turned his attention back to his men; they were impatient to begin the attack.

Tarax glanced down at the pearl the Dark Queen had inset on his gauntlet. She had told him that it would turn black when it was time to attack. It was already a murky grey instead of the pearly white it had been early this morning. That is when he noticed that his men were quiet, too quiet. Looking up, he noticed that everyone was looking skyward.

Raising his one great eye upward, he watched in disbelief as the skies darkened. It was amazing to witness the glowing orb of the sun slowly blacken. He glanced down at his pearl-set gauntlet. It was solid black. Now that he had seen the eclipse, he was not sure why Lalith had taken the time to enchant the precious gem but she had. Tarax shrugged his massive shoulders. It was beyond him but for whatever reason, it did not matter. It was time.

Tarax raised his huge claymore above his head and swung it in a circle twice before pointing it at the village. Without a word, his army began moving forward. First at a slow walk but getting faster and faster with each step until it was a charging horde. The invasion had begun.

*    *    *    *    *

Aaron Trollslayer checked his pearl-set gauntlet. It was solid black. It was time.

Today he would gain justice for the insult he had received a dozen years earlier. He really wanted revenge on that blue-haired, snotty-nosed elf that had made a mockery of him in the Arena. But Lalith had pointed out that not only had the King orchestrated the challenge, he had bet against him. She was right. It was King Padric’s fault.

He had worked long and hard over the last decade to get this close to the King. As a matter of fact, only the Captain of the Guards Derek Ironhand and the King’s brother Midach Bonecrusher had more influence in Darkmoor than he did right now. But that was all about to change.

With the pearl turning black, the true invasion and destruction of Darkmoor was beginning. Any minute now, some scout would stumble across one of the advancing spiders and the alarm would be raised. Even as he thought this, he heard the first faint echoes of the horns. Now, Midach and Derek would rush off to confront whatever threatened their precious kingdom. The damned glory hounds. But then, that would leave him alone with the King. And that was exactly what he wanted. What the Spinner had demanded.

True to form, as the scouts began rushing in with conflicting reports, Midach Bonecrusher headed to the south gate while Derek Ironhand went to the west gate leaving Aaron Trollslayer alone with the king.

The old man did not even suspect him and he slid his dagger in between his liege’s ribs and into his heart. The look of shock and betrayal was legendary and one that Aaron would remember for many years to come. Even as he pilfered the dead king’s enchanted hammer, Aaron contemplated a name change.

Aaron Kingslayer had such a nice ring to it. Grinning, the assassin slipped out of the royal chambers by seldom-used passageways and left the Kingdom of Darkmoor to the mighty onslaught of the spiders. The dwarves would fall, it was the will of the Spinner and there was nothing that they could do about it, except die.

*    *    *    *    *

Mortharona could not help but grin when he saw his newest recruit. He made the young elf sweat for a moment as he studied his personal scroll. His brother had sent over his latest evaluations and recommendations. Evidently, Jactatör was the youngest son of his mother’s personal assistant and seemed to be a bit outspoken. This tended to rub many people the wrong way, which made him a perfect choice for the part Mortharona had planned for him. It was enjoyable to think that his brother sent him the perfect pawn for the mission the Spinner had decreed for him. It was the simple things that made revenge sweet.

Fishing in his desk, Mortharona pulled out the red silk diadem set with a black moonstone, the symbol of the Palace Guards. “Here you go, Jactatör. Try this on.”

Jactatör gingerly accepted the coveted headband. “I…I don’t know what to say…sir.”

Mortharona grinned and moved around his desk.

Jactatör vaguely noted that the raven-haired elf prince moved extremely gracefully, almost catlike. The newest Palace Guard slipped the badge of office on and turned to face his new commander. “How does it look, sir?”

Mortharona chewed on his lip for a second before stepping forward and adjusting it slightly. He also sprinkled some dried dark elf blood on Jactatör’s shoulders. Not a lot, just enough for the spell he was planning on casting. “There. That looks better.” Mortharona nodded. “Come…walk with me. I’ll introduce you around.”

The dark-haired prince led his new recruit throughout the palace pointing out different artifacts or paintings while reciting the general history of the item. Every Palace Guard they met, he called them by name and introduced them to Jactatör. When they reached the upper areas of the palace and were approaching the royal suites, Mortharona stopped him with the back of his hand. “Now when we enter, you must present the Queen with your sword. Only those she blesses can carry in her presence.”

Jactatör seemed shocked. “You want me to draw my sword when I see her?”

“Unless you can think of another way to present it to her.” Mortharona shrugged and subtlety checked the pearl inset bracer Lalith had given him. It was shifting from white to black. It was time.

When they opened the double doors of the royal suite, Jactatör was once again overwhelmed with the beauty of Queen
Rhiánön. She had a petite but curvy body that would fire any man’s imagination, especially when it was combined with her perfect alabaster skin and long flowing red hair that was extremely rare in the elven community. In a word, she was beautiful and Jactatör found that his tongue was frozen in his mouth. He knew he should say something but he was dumbstruck by her beauty. 

As they entered, Mortharona stepped to the side and whispered the words of his illusion spell. The magic interacted with the dried dark elf blood on Jactatör’s shoulders and his whole visage changed. Instead of a handsome young elf, the Queen and her two personal bodyguards saw a dark elf in the process of drawing his sword. They acted appropriately. They attacked.

Jactatör had no idea why he was being attacked but he was. He fought valiantly but futility. Even as skilled as he was, he knew that he was no match for two royal guards. It was only a matter of time before one of them struck him down. Then suddenly he felt himself flying across the room as numerous glowing balls of fire struck his body. His last image was of the Queen standing next to her throne with her arms outstretched and magic missiles pouring out of her hands right at him.

Mortharona smiled as the Royal Guards attacked. They had been so easy to manipulate. They were about as smart as rabid dogs. Give them a target
and they would attack, even if it was not logical for a dark elf to be in the royal suites. Then his mother had to help her precious guards and cast her one, purely offensive spell, which she memorized every day. Magic missiles were an extremely powerful spell and one that she could cast faster than any defensive spell he knew. However, she typically only had one in her daily arsenal unless she was going off to battle or leaving the palace. Considering she had a full day of negotiations and other menial tasks, the odds were against her having more than one to use. Besides, once he got next to her he had a way of neutralizing her magic.

Seeing Jactatör fall, Mortharona rushed forward, the epitome of a concerned son.

“Mortharona, what is a dark elf doing inside Elfholm?” the Queen asked as she fell into her son’s arms. When she heard the click of the bracers and felt their dampening effect on her magic she instinctively tried to jerk away but the dark haired prince was too strong. “What…what is this?”

“The beginning of the end,” Mortharona grinned and gestured at the two royal guards that were checking the body of his fallen pawn.

The Queen could not help but look where he pointed.

When Mortharona pressed the black pearl inset on his left bracer every diadem worn by the Palace Guards exploded…along with their heads.

Chapter 12

Graytael had never been happier.

Even though, Anasazi and Rjurik had always treated him as their own, there was always a slight rift between him and them. It was more that they wouldn’t, or couldn’t, let themselves get too attached to him. Gray had always played it off that he probably reminded them of his parents. After all, according to both of them, he had his mother’s crooked grin and his father’s eyes. They would always praise him for the good things and punish him fairly for his numerous infractions but the one thing he most remembered was that neither of them was very physical in their affection. Rarely did he get a hug from either guardian and contented himself with a small pat on the back or a thump on his shoulder. These were the common signs of their affections but not today.

They, along with the rest of the gathering, gave him plenty of hugs. Especially Annabelle. She seemed to find any reason to get close to him and give him a squeeze. Not that he minded. It all just felt strange and slightly overpowering. The cake had been delicious and the presents overwhelming. None of them had been too extravagant. Most were simple handcrafted items; such as a new set of boots from Kariah and the younger strays, a set of leather bracers inset with a black onyx gem from Raz, a bone handled kukri from Rjurik, a black leather sheath for his new knife from Abban and a leather-bound book from Anasazi. Annabelle had not given him a gift, yet.

Even as everyone was clearing away the tables, Annabelle pulled him aside. “Gray, I left your present upstairs but it’s hidden in the attic and I’ll need your help to get it.” She batted her eyes a few times. “Would you help me?”

Gray swallowed heavily as his heart went aflutter and he stammered, “Sur…sure.”

She grabbed him by the hand and led him upstairs to the attic.

Gray looked around and tried to figure out where she could have hidden anything. There was not a nook or cranny in this room that he did not already know. “Where?”

As he turned to face her, Annabelle pushed herself close to him and kissed him on the lips.

Gray was completely shocked and overwhelmed. He resisted for all of about two seconds before he let his own passions loose. Grabbing her tightly, he pulled her body close as his mouth sought hers.

She responded in kind, as her hands began to move up and down his back.

Gray shifted one hand to the back of her head and he intertwined his fingers in her long raven hair.

It was pure passion that they both felt. They both fell victim to that rush of excitement when they knew they had crossed the line into the forbidden zone. Without words both adolescents’ hands began to roam up and down each other’s body, exploring areas that they were prohibited to see. How far this tryst would have gone, neither could predict as the silence outside the inn was broken with the shrill call of a war horn.

Only one part of Gray’s mind even registered the sound since he was so engrossed with the girl he desired. Then came the second horn, and a third, and a fourth. Gray broke the embrace and gently pushed Annabelle away.

“Did you hear that?”

“What?” she asked innocently and looked around.

Gray looked back her and his heart skipped a beat. Annabelle’s hair was a complete mess, her cheeks were flushed and her shirt only had one button still attached, which partially revealed her milky white breasts. The vision of her beauty fired his lust. However, something in the horn blasts had ignited his budding combat instincts. Before he could say anything else, the village warning bell began to ring and the two young lovers knew that something was wrong. The town bell would only be sounded in case of a fire or an attack.

Gray rushed to the front window. He did not need to look long when he saw hundreds of goblins running down the street. “We’re under attack.”

Annabelle was hastily fixing her clothes and had just finished buttoning her shirt when the trapdoor popped open. It was Abban and Raz.

Her brother was completely oblivious to what his sister and friend had been doing but not Raz. He took one look at Annabelle’s hair and flushed cheeks and he did the math. Raz did have the decency not to say anything but he did give Gray a grin and a wink before adding, “Anasazi said that we should get to the storm cellar.”

Gray’s emotions were running wild. He was still sexually excited from his little tryst with Annabelle but now, his blood was heating up with the precursor feelings of battle. Even as he wrestled with emotions, more of the Inn’s strays came flooding into the attic. Some ran to the window to peer out, two began grabbing their belongings and one even climbed in bed and pulled the covers over his head. Seeing the fear on their faces was enough to jar him from his inactivity and he began giving orders.

“Annabelle, get Fergal out of bed. Abban, you and Raz get downstairs and open the storm cellar. We’ll be right behind you.”

To their credit, all three did as they were asked without question and Gray gathered up the other strays with a minimum of fuss. Minutes later, they were ready to depart.

“Annabelle, I’ll lead the way. You make sure we don’t lose anyone.”

She swallowed hard but nodded. “Okay…just be careful.”

He flashed her a crooked grin, drew his warclub and curved short sword and slowly exited the attic. The inn was quiet but that did not mean that it was silent. Numerous screams filled the air along with the clash of steel. One part of Gray wanted to rush outside and join in the defense of the town. But he had responsibilities to the other strays that could not be ignored. They made their trek through the top two floors without meeting any resistance. That changed as they came down the staircase where it emptied onto the main floor.

Gray was five steps from the landing when the front door burst open and in flooded goblins. He stopped counting at five because by that time he was in battle with them.

Goblins are the scavenger race of Terreth. At only about three feet tall, they typically had pale green skin with large mouths and protruding lower tusks. They are wicked, cruel and nasty. Their only redeeming feature was their total lack of courage unless they had overwhelming numbers, which in this case they did.

Gray had been training for combat since he was a toddler. Now he had an opportunity to apply everything he had learned in the defense of others including the girl he loved.

Without thinking, he leapt forward and tackled the leading three goblins. Then he was up, slashing back and forth with his sword while swinging the warclub at anything that moved. He intended to cry a warning to Annabelle but all that came out was a bestial growl. The more he fought, the more he felt himself fall into a battle frenzy. It was intoxicating. Gone was anything around him except his enemy. They were his prey and he was the predator. Even as they died, more goblins flooded through the front door but Gray did not care. The more that came at him, the more he could kill.

Suddenly a scream cut through the red haze of battle that was clouding his thoughts.

It was Annabelle calling his name. Gray looked over his shoulder and past the goblins to see seven larger and better-outfitted grey-skinned creatures carrying her and the other strays out the back door. He longed to give chase but he was surrounded by nine goblins that refused to die and were trying their best to kill him. Luckily, the goblins were not very skilled with their swords and tended to hack and chop with their rusty blades.

Gray forced himself to focus on the dangers at hand and rolled out of the way of one attack only to find himself in the path of a different goblin. He instinctively knew he would not be able to avoid this attack and his only hope was to block it. Even then, that was a slim possibility due to the awkward position he was in but he had to try.

Rjurik had always told him of those moments in battle where time seemed to slow down and everything appeared more vibrant. The stillness of the air, the coppery scent of spilt blood, the malicious grin of the goblin about to kill him…hell, Gray even noticed the line of drool dangling off its left tusk. Everything was magnified and in slow motion.

Gray tried to twist his body and raise his father’s warclub into a defensive position. He was not going to make it and he knew it. Even as he watched the goblin’s rusted and pitted short sword bypass his hastily raised defense, he blinked in disbelief as the goblin’s head exploded.

Gray’s perception of the battle snapped back to normal as the eight remaining goblins shifted their attention to his savior, Garoth. The blacksmith’s son was wielding a huge sledgehammer, which the town farmers typically used to pound fence posts into the ground. Garoth’s massive strength, size and familiarity with this weapon made it extremely formidable as the poor goblins found out.

Gray seized this opportunity to regain his balance and get back into the fight. It was not long before all the goblins in the immediate area were dead or dying. The two rivals stood in a mound of bodies and struggled to regain their breath. Gray looked over and said, “Thanks.”

Garoth gestured with his maul at the first set of bodies that the half-elf had dispatched. “You’re welcome but judging from that mess, I doubted that you needed my assistance.”

Gray focused his attention on the same set of bodies and realized the truth in his statement. When he had first attacked the goblins, he fought with the fury of the wolverine. It had been a near overwhelming rage but he had been one with the battle. Something had broken his concentration and he had fallen back into learned patterns. He pondered for a moment what been different? What had changed or stopped the rage?

Gray felt the cold hand of fear close on his heart. “Annabelle!”

Garoth looked up. “What about her?”

“Orcs carried her out the back door along with the rest.”

Garoth cocked his head to the side. “Orcs? What’re those?”

Gray pointed at the bodies around them. “Larger versions of these guys but with grey skin and an unquenchable thirst for blood.”

Garoth nodded. “Ah, my dad always called them hobgoblins.”

Gray was already on the move and heading toward the back of the inn. The kitchen door had been kicked in and the body of Fergal lay in two pieces. Gray’s best guess was that he had broken away and tried to run but as he rounded the counter, one of the orcs had cleaved him in two. When they passed through the kitchen and out the back door, Gray absentmindedly grabbed his backpack and bow and slung them over his back. Their first stop was the storm cellar.

Even as they approached, it became obvious that the door had been hacked open and there was not anyone inside but Garoth still rushed inside calling Annabelle’s name.

Gray had stopped a short distance away and began studying the ground. He was trying to pick out the captured children’s tracks from the attackers. It was not long before he discovered their tracks, they were faint but they were there and they were heading south into the plains. The young half-elf looked over at Garoth and raised one eyebrow in a silent question. The blacksmith’s son nodded and without a word, the two rivals began their chase.

*    *    *    *    *

Khlekluëllin
knew something was wrong the moment the spiders entered the forest. Being a Forest Warden, he was completely in tune with the trees of the Great Forest. It came with the job. But he was also a friend to the Meliai, the tree nymphs which inhabited the Malloran trees.

The Great Forest had been the home to the elves since the Godwar. Aurora had placed them here and here is where they stayed. The elves had tended and infused the small forest until it became the greatest woodland area on Terreth. Along the way, their magic had awakened the spirits of the trees. The golden boughs of the Malloran trees made up the interior of the Great Forest and became the foundation of Elfholm. Instead of building traditional homes, the elves guided the Malloran trees with magic until they grew into the proper shapes needed for domiciles. They did not do this to every Malloran tree, only to a select few and only with the Meliai’s permission. This meant that the Elfholm was constructed in harmony with nature and the elves strived every day to live that way. 

Unknowingly, it did give the elves three distinct advantages. One, the Meliai were in complete harmony and communication with every tree in the Great Forest, be it ash, birch or oak. Not every tree had a nymph, more commonly called a dryad, but they could talk with every tree. Two, the Forest Wardens could rally at nearly any point in the Great Forest quickly just by asking a dryad for permission to travel through their tree. This allowed them to step inside a tree that might be on the far eastern border of the forest and moments later, step out of another two hundred leagues away. More importantly for Khlekluëllin, he could send messages to his men through the dryads. He typically did not like to do this as he felt he was taking advantage of them. However, when the spiders entered the Great Forest, he knew they were under attack.

He was rushing back to his office when he witnessed the heads of two Palace Guards explode. In his heart of hearts, he knew they had been betrayed. Knocking on the wall of his office, he began speaking even before Dryope fully stepped out of the wood.

“Get a message to every Warden; squads one, two and five are to rendezvous at the northern barrier. They are to hold that line at all cost. Squad Four must act as a reserve until the army arrives.”

Dryope the Meliai was stunningly beautiful. Her form was that of an eternally young elven maiden, perfectly formed with long flowing golden hair but only about three feet tall. Only the concern and fear on her face marred her beauty. “And what of squad three?”