Darkness Falls (Tales of the Wolf) (2 page)

Chapter 2

Graytael scanned the area.

Nothing was moving in the immediate vicinity, at least nothing he needed to worry about. Several chickens and a stray goat wandered through the paddock. However, if the three horses stabled there did not worry about them then he did not need to either. Now came the tricky part. He needed to move into the open to get from his current hiding spot to the far side and reach his goal.

Graytael sniffed the air. He could smell horse manure, wet hay and the faint scent of coal. He stiffened. The odor of coal meant that his enemy was nearby. Not so close that he was in danger…yet. But if he stayed, he would be. The barrel he was currently hiding in offered him a commanding view of the paddock and the fields beyond but only one section of the barn. If his enemy came at him from that side of the barn, his blind side, he would not be able to see him until it was too late. Of course if he kept his head down, he could not be seen either.

Graytael shook his head. That did not seem like a smart move to him, just waiting to be found. His adversary was crafty and highly skilled. It would be better to either be completely hidden or out in the open where he could properly defend himself. Having made his decision, he was starting to crawl out of the barrel when he heard the words he had been dreading.

“Tag….you’re it.”

The stout dwarf shoulder-charged the barrel and knocked it over. Luckily, Graytael was halfway out of the barrel or he would have been rolling through the paddock. As it was, he found himself lying in the dirt at the feet of his enemy. Looking up, he was not surprised to see a huge grin on Rjurik’s face.

“Hiya laddie.” Before the young half-elf could respond, the dwarf swung his axe at him.

Rolling out of the way, Graytael scrambled to his feet and drew his own weapons; a slightly curved sword and a tomahawk. “Arr-jay, we meet again.”

“You still need practice on hiding. Let’s see how your weapon skills are faring.”

Without another word, Rjurik attacked. Dwarves are exceptional fighters. With short legs, a low center of balance and massive strength, they are pound for pound some of the deadliest fighters on Terreth. And Rjurik Silvershield was a veteran of many, many battles. Attacking with an axe in his one good hand, he had his namesake strapped to his severed limb. But his shield wasn’t only for blocking. He used it to good effect in combat as a weapon as many an orc had found out over the years.

However, Graytael or Gray for short was not some snot-nosed whiny kid. He was the son of warriors and had been training since he could walk. Granted, he was only twelve or would be in less than a week. But he was experienced enough to know that he couldn’t effectively block the stronger blows of the dwarf for very long. Although he could redirect them past his body, which would allow him an opportunity to counterattack. Graytael was also more agile than the stout dwarf was and used that to his advantage by leaping or rolling out of the way of the dwarf’s more powerful attacks.

Unfortunately for the young half-elf, Rjurik knew this about him and used it to his own advantage. Purposely attacking low, he waited until Graytael leapt up with the intent of jumping over him before shifting his position enough that he could lash out with his shield over his own head. Rjurik was rewarded with a loud thump and the limp form of the unconscious half-elf fell at his feet.

Picking up his adopted son and apprentice, Rjurik unceremoniously slung him over his shoulder and gathered up his fallen weapons. He made his way back through the paddock to the back door of the Inn of Quiet Repose and gently laid him down next to the woodpile. Whenever the young lad woke up, Graytael would know which chore he needed to accomplish before dinner. Stepping into the Inn, Rjurik hung his weapon and shield on the rack designed just for that purpose and moved into the kitchen.

Rjurik had relocated to Homestead after the death of Tatianna and Hawkeye nearly twelve years earlier. Back then, it was nothing but a small thriving community. Matanza the centaur and Broun the halfling had been right Graytael’s mixed heritage was not even noticed in Homestead. Neither was the fact that a young man which was half-elf and half-highlander was being raised by a dwarf. When Anasazi arrived in town six months later, he bought the rundown inn and the two friends set about making a life for Graytael.

Rjurik ran the local forge and Anasazi ran the inn. Within another six months, the tavern had become the center of the community. Every night, the Inn had plenty of food and drink on hand at reasonable prices.

Within two years, traveling bards would seek out the Inn and request the honor of performing. Homestead soon became a popular stop over town for those traveling from Asylum in the far south to the Kingdom of Krantos in the east or to Elfholm the capital of the Elven Kingdom in the west.

As Rjurik climbed onto his favorite stool, he washed his hand and stump in the water basin. Attaching a spike to the metal cap affixed to his stub, he pulled out a bag of potatoes and began the process of peeling them.

An old man with long white hair pulled back into a ponytail, dressed in simple grey robes and a stained apron came in from the main room. He immediately moved to the stove. “And how did Graytael do tonight?”

Rjurik sighed deeply. “Not bad. He’s still predictable in combat. He relies too much on his agility and not enough on his brains.”

Anasazi turned to face his friend. “Is he that way because you know him too well or is he really predicable?”

“That is the true question. Of course, he
is
only twelve.”

Anasazi shook his head. “Not yet, he has one week left.”

“Are you certain he must go through with the ceremonies?”

“Yes. Both cultures, Elven and Highlander, place a lot of significance on this birthday. We must honor his parents and complete the rituals.”

Rjurik nodded. “Aye. By the beard of Bromios, I still miss da pup. He was a grand friend.”

“He was all that and more. Not to mention that Tatianna was like the morning sun after a night’s storm.” Anasazi wiped away a stray tear. “Have you noticed that Gray has his mother’s crooked smile?”

“Aye…that he does. And his eyes are so much like his dad’s.”

Anasazi sighed heavily. “You would think that it gets easier with age but it doesn’t.”

Rjurik looked up when he asked, “What’s that?”

“Losing those that you love, it never gets easier nor does letting them go off and do something stupid.”

Rjurik set down the potato that he was currently peeling and swiveled his stool until he faced the old shaman. “You’re trying to tell me something, aren’t you?”

Anasazi shrugged. “I don’t know…am I?”

The dwarf pointed the paring knife at the old man but further conversation was interrupted by the untimely arrival of three of their staff members.

Kariah was their first helper. She was a lonely waif that had wandered in one winter morning about ten years ago. She had been begging for food but what she found was a home. Anasazi and Rjurik sort of adopted her and she began working around the Inn. Since then, they had no less than five strays working in or around the Inn and the forge, none were paid a wage but tips were allowed. Some stayed for a few months, others for a few years. It seemed to work for everyone. Kariah was at least twenty. She did not know her exact age nor did she let that bother her. She was pretty, not beautiful and not plain, just pretty. She had a nice round face and a button nose with long brown hair that was straight as an arrow. She normally kept it pulled back exposing her long neck, alabaster skin and hazel eyes. As she had grown older, Kariah had assumed the den-mother role of the Inn’s strays. Neither Anasazi nor Rjurik had asked her to fill the role but she did it anyway and seemed to have a knack for it.

When Kariah stepped into the kitchen with Annabelle and Abban in tow neither of the innkeepers were surprised. Actually, Annabelle accompanied Kariah while she dragged Abban into the kitchen by the ear. The twins were always in trouble. Anasazi and Rjurik had realized long ago that it was usually Annabelle who typically started the trouble but it was Abban who always got the blame.

Anasazi spoke first. “And what did the twins do this time?”

Annabelle was about to say something in her own defense but Kariah interrupted. “Shush now.” Hoisting Abban a few inches in the air for effect, she continued. “This one was caught going through a guest’s saddle bags.”

Both of the innkeepers furrowed their brows and stared hard at the young boy. Off to the side, Annabelle tried to hide a small but self-satisfying smirk. She failed.

Kariah pointed at her with her free hand. “But that was only after the urging of his sister. I overheard her telling him what to do and what to grab.”

Annabelle stomped her foot. “I did no such thing!”

Kariah was about to defend her observation but Anasazi held out his hand to silence her. Turning aside, he picked up a green apple that was lying on the counter and sliced it in half. Speaking a few words in a language that no one in the room could understand, he held one half to each of the twins.

“Here. Take and eat this.”

Kariah was furious. Green apples were her favorite fruit and a rare treat for any of the ‘strays’ of the Inn. The twins grabbed the offered fruit and wolfed the treat down in just a few bites. They both gave a smug smirk to their den mother.

Anasazi sat back and scratched his ivory beard with his right hand. “Okay, now that you have eaten the Fruit of Sincerity we can have our talk.” The bewildered look from the twins told the old shaman that he had gotten their full attention, so he continued. “The spell is simple. For the next week or so, anytime you tell a lie your body will betray you. The first time you lie the consequences will be subtle, your tongue will blacken and your mouth will be filled with a bitter taste. The next lie is worse; you will become sick to your stomach and dizzy. If you lie a third time, your stomach will rebel and your bowels will run.”

Annabelle was the first to respond. “That’s not fair!”

Kariah, Abban and Rjurik all stared as her tongue became as black as night and she gagged.

Annabelle’s twin smiled and said, “That’s so cool! It serves her right!”

The young boy’s face went pale as his mouth became filled with the same acrid taste. Before the twins could run off, Anasazi thumped them both on top of their heads.

“I’m betting that before the end of the first week, you’ll learn the value of speaking the truth. Secondly, if you can go two full days without telling a lie, the spell will be broken. Fortunately for you two, the spell resets each morning and you get a fresh slate to learn.” Standing up, the ancient innkeeper took off his soiled apron, turned his back on the twins, and faced their oldest charge. “Now, which guest did they offend?”

Kariah forcefully closed her mouth and struggled to find her words. “Ro…ro…room three.”

With a slight nod, Anasazi left the kitchen.

Annabelle protested. “He…he can’t do that!”

Rjurik was about to turn back to his potatoes but paused. “Yes lass, he can and he did. You agreed to abide by our rules when you came to live here. We have given you both more than enough chances to learn to walk the path of honor. Now, you will learn or suffer. The choice remains yours.” He pointed at the back door. “Both of you will fetch ten buckets of water from the river before dinner.” He glared at the ebony haired twin and added, “That’s ten buckets each…and without asking for help from the other kids. Remember, I will know if you cheat, all I have to do is ask.”

Abban swallowed heavily but remained silent. At least he knew what was good for him. It was obvious that Annabelle wanted to argue but knew that she wouldn’t win against the surly dwarf since he was correct. They had agreed to follow the rules of the Inn when they moved in. She just wasn’t happy about it. She had always found a way around such things as rules. But with the old man’s spell on her, she would have to rethink her strategy. So, she simply nodded and followed her brother outside to tend their nightly chores. However, her mind was already swirling with ways at getting around this curse and her chores.

Watching the twins exit, Rjurik turned back to his task but spoke over his shoulder to Kariah. “Keep an eye on those two, especially Annabelle. There is darkness inside her that is just looking for an opening.”

Kariah shook her head. “Why did you take them in? They’ve been trouble from the moment that they’d arrived.”

“There is truth in that but if we hadn’t, they would’ve either died by now or be in a worse situation. You and I both know that. At least with us, they have a chance at walking the right path.”

Kariah nodded. She did understand. Even as young as she was when she arrived, she had been desperate and would have sold herself into slavery or worse if Anasazi and Rjurik had not taken her in. It was a chilling thought but one that she forced herself to remember. Seeing the dwarf turn back to his task, Kariah turned back to hers. She had several chores to do before the nightly guests arrived. Heading back to the main room of the Inn, she started counting down her checklist of tasks left to do: there were mugs to wash, tables to wipe down, candles to replace, and lanterns to refill.

Chapter 3

The beast stalked through the castle with the pent up energy of a caged animal. Rounding a corner, he snarled as he spied four gnomes. They were seated around an overturned box playing a game of cards. Actually, there was nothing wrong with this, they weren’t delinquent in their duties nor were they supposed to be doing anything else. Games of chance had always been a favorite pastime of waiting soldiers. Their only mistake was being in the path of the lord of the castle when he was in a bad mood, which was nearly all the time.

Without hesitation, the werewolf leapt through the air and landed heavily on the overturned box. The poor object was never meant to take such abuse and shattered. Spilling cards, coins and gnomes onto the passageway floor.

“Bloody hell,” was all one of the gnomes managed to say before the scarred werewolf grabbed up the closest gnome with one clawed hand and pinned him to the wall with his massive strength.

Blackfang scowled. “And what do we have here?” His voice was very guttural and deep when he spoke and his long canine tongue flicked in and out between words.

The poor soul, which he had pinned, tried to speak but found he could not breathe enough to even try. His friends had all regained their footing and had their hands on their swords. None were drawn…yet. One of the gnomes found his courage enough to speak. “Lor…Lord Blackfang. Our deepest apologies for not seeing you there. We were involved in our game and did not snap to attention fast enough. Please forgive us.”

Blackfang shifted his one good eye to look at the three gnomes. They were down on one knee with their heads bowed low in a respectful manner. This both pleased and enraged him. Pleased in the fact that they knew their place and enraged because they had been so easily cowed.

Hearing someone clear their throat behind him, the werewolf glanced over his shoulder to find a dark elf warrior standing right behind him. And not just any dark elf, it was Darnac the Blademaster: Lalith’s personal bodyguard and the deadliest swordsman alive. 

“Yes?” Blackfang growled, thoroughly upset that the warrior had been able to get that close to him without his knowledge.

The Blademaster kept his arms folded across his chest, which seemed less threatening but in fact positioned his hands closer to the hilts of his twin sabers which he wore on his back. He moved effortlessly and always in perfect balance, while his violet eyes constantly scanned the darkness for hidden threats.

When Darnac finally spoke, it was in a soft whisper. “It is time.”

Blackfang’s heart leapt into his throat. Finally, it was here. Turning back to his prisoner, the werewolf contemplated the trapped gnome’s fate. A huge part of him just wanted to reach out and bite the gnome’s head off. He was nothing more than a digger. They had thousands just like him. However, the logical part of him knew if he did, then he would be delayed in seeing Lalith and that would make her unhappy which in turn would make his life more unpleasant than it was currently. Dropping the gnome, the werewolf stomped over to stand beside the deadly Blademaster.

Taking one last look at the tasty morsel he just released, Blackfang said, “Come. We shouldn’t keep your mistress waiting.”

As Blackfang headed off with the Blademaster in tow, the four gnomes cursed their bad luck at being singled out by the warlord but they also praised the spider goddess for getting them out of the encounter alive.

*     *     *     *     *

The dark elf sorceress was absolutely beautiful. There was no other way to describe her, except maybe mesmerizing. She had the perfect figure; a flat stomach, long legs, firm bottom and perky breasts that were all augmented by the skimpy red silk outfit she wore. Then, there was her face. It was both strong and soft at the same time, depending on her mood. Her waist-length snow-white hair was pulled back off her face by a silver tiara inset with a glowing ruby that tended to enhance her red eyes and onyx skin.

The two warriors found the Dark Queen sitting cross-legged next to a small pool of dark liquid. Built of the finest marble and lined with silver, it was filled with the blood of one-hundred virgins. This was her scrying pool and it was Lalith’s favorite tool. Through its magic, she could see far off events all across Terreth.

Even as the warriors stepped into her spell chamber, she pointed at the images that danced on the pool’s dark surface. The scene was simple and yet, heralded the portent they had been waiting on for years.

It was of the sun shining brightly in a clear blue sky over a heavily walled city. Yet, as they watched, the sun slowly darkened until it was solid black, a solar eclipse. Then the scene would repeat itself.

Lalith pointed at the omen. “It is time. We have waited nearly twelve years for this day. At Highsun on the day of the spring equinox one week hence, Clotho has declared that the time for our invasion has finally come.”

Blackfang grinned and his long canine tongue loudly licked his sharp teeth. Whatever either of the two leaders of the Dark Alliance was going to say next was interrupted when Lalith spied a small head peek around the corner and into the spell chamber.

“Galvorn!”

The young half-elf stepped into the room. His head was bowed low as he did his best to not make eye contact with either of his two parents. “Yes, mother?”

“How many times have I told you that you are not allowed in here?”

“Too many to count, mother.”

“How many times have I told you to never call me mother?”

“Too many to count moth….I mean, mistress.”

Lalith turned her withering glare on the Blademaster. “Darnac, if you cannot control him, I will. This is yours…and his, last warning.”

Darnac lowered his head. “Yes mistress. It will not happen again.”

“See to it. We march in three days. Make sure he does not interfere with your duties.”

“Yes ma’am. All will be taken care of before then. By your leave?”

Seeing her wave of dismissal, the Blademaster turned away and grabbed the young boy by the scruff of his neck with one hand. Galvorn was about to squeal but Darnac slapped his free hand over the boy’s mouth and dragged him from the chamber.

Several minutes and numerous rooms passed before he let go of the young lad. Darnac had intended to scold the boy harshly, but as always, when he saw the pain in the boy’s eyes from the way his mother treated him, he relented.

“Galvorn, how many times must I warn you not to interrupt your mother?”

“But…but I didn’t mean to.”

“What were you doing in her private chambers anyway?”

“You were late for our lesson, so I went looking for you. When I heard her voice in the next room, I couldn’t resist peeking.”

Darnac placed one hand on the boy’s shoulder. “If you want to see your twelfth birthday, you will need to control that urge. She was deadly serious tonight. If she catches you lurking around again…”

“I know…I know, I’m sorry.”

Darnac Penumbra was a warrior without equal. He was the Blademaster of Avaris and had yet to meet anyone who could stand toe to toe with him and live. He had fought demons, wizards, monsters, pirates, dwarves, jotens and highlanders but no one had wounded him as deeply as just the simple thought of Galvorn being punished by Lalith.

He would rather kill the boy outright than let the Dark Lady use her magic on him. It was a problem he wrestled with daily; how to best protect this child from his parents. 

Shaking his head to clear it from such melancholy thoughts, Darnac gently whacked the boy on the back of the head.

“That’s for not thinking. If you want to become a true master of the blade, then you must learn to use the six inches between your ears.”

Galvorn perked up. The whack meant that all was all right. Yes, he had messed up but he was forgiven. “Did I overhear that you are leaving soon?”

Darnac nodded. “Yes, the invasion starts in three days.”

“But you’ll miss my birthday.”

“Oh? Should I complain to your mother? Have her hold up the invasion just because it interferes with your birthday? Do you think that Clotho will understand?”

“Good point. I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Again, not thinking, I fear that will be your undoing.”

Turning his back on his pupil, he moved over to a small cabinet and pulled out a bundle of black fur. Moving over to the fireplace, he sat down and placed the bundle on the ground next to him. Galvorn moved over and sat across from him. Darnac paused and studied the face of the boy in front of him.

It was a kind face. He had the fine elvish features of the black skin, high cheek bones and pointed ears but the strong square jaw line and coal black hair of his highlander father. He seemed to have an insatiable curiosity, probably from his mother’s side but a knack for acting without thinking, which was so typically Blackfang.

The Blademaster watched as the boy glanced to the bundle and back to him, to the bundle and back to him. The suspense was killing him. Darnac thought about waiting longer, maybe as long as tomorrow but decided against it. He wanted to enjoy the last few days with his pupil. Taking a deep breath he said, “I was saving this for your birthday but since I won’t be around I thought I would give it to you now.”

“What is it?”

“Open it and find out.”

With a shriek of delight, the young boy tore off the fur wrappings to reveal a faintly curved black mahogany stick. It was heavier than it looked as Galvorn gently picked it up. The wood was highly polished but not slick to the touch. On both ends was the emblem of the crossed sabers in front of a flame, the Blademaster’s personal symbol.

“What is it?”

Darnac reached out and grabbed the middle of the stick. “Grip both ends.”

His pupil did as he was told.

“Now pull.”

When he did so, Galvorn found himself holding two beautifully polished blades of silver that were each about three feet long. For a boy of twelve, they would be slightly unwieldy but he would grow into them.

“I don’t know what to say Kënnári.”

Darnac smiled at his usage of the dark elf term for beloved mentor, although the literal translation would be ‘person born before another.’ “Thank you would be nice.”

“Thank you.”

Darnac tossed his pupil a black leather bandolier. “This will hold the Falinnsverõ, the proper name for that particular weapon, in the proper place across your back allowing you to draw one over your shoulder and the other from underneath.”

Galvorn cocked his head sideways as he considered the implications for a moment. Replacing his new blades in the plain black scabbard, he fitted it to the bandolier and slipped it over his shoulder. Being primarily left-handed, the black scabbard poked over his left shoulder.

Standing, Darnac moved away from the fire, reached over his shoulders and pulled free his twin sabers of silver. “Come, let’s dance a bit.”

With a grin, Galvorn drew his new blades and attacked his Kënnári.