Darkness Falls (Tales of the Wolf) Page 3

  “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.

  Chapter 4

  Rjurik had been right. When Graytael finally woke up with a knot on his head, he picked up the axe and began splitting the logs. This was one of the chores that he both loved and hated. Swinging the axe with practiced ease, the well-honed blade bit and split the log easily. However, the axe head also bit into the cutting block below, seizing and holding fast the axe. This really was not a problem. A simple jerk on the handle would free the weapon but his uncle had challenged him to split the logs with one blow but not bite into the cutting block below.

  At first, Graytael thought that this would be easy…until he tried it.

  Finding the correct amount of force took practice and intuition. No two pieces of wood had the same resistance. It became a judgment call. He found that many times he would hit too hard or too soft. He was getting better and actually averaged about one in twenty-five clean strikes. This was what Graytael was concentrating on when the twins came out of the kitchen door. Hearing the door opening, he glanced over his shoulder and spied the twins before making his swing.

  Graytael really liked Abban.

  Although the twins were two years his senior, Abban was much smaller than the half-elf. Gray had found that he was inquisitive by nature, fun loving and totally devoted to his sister, which was the problem. Annabelle was beautiful and knew it, which was her problem. She had long silky black hair, alabaster skin and sapphire blue eyes and just a hint of the womanly figure she was destined to have. Unfortunately, she had already learned the art of manipulation. Partially for survival when the twins were on their own but she had also discovered that she enjoyed having others do things for her. Of course, Abban usually took the brunt of her manipulations but Graytael had fallen prey to it a few times. He wished he had not in the past or would not in the future but he had and would. He knew it. She was just too damn pretty to say ‘no’ to for long.

  Annabelle paused at the top of the stairs when she saw the sweat covered physique of Graytael. Gazing on his shirtless chest, she could almost see every muscle working collectively as he swung the heavy woodsman axe. Even though he was younger than she was, he was more muscular than any of the other children of the village. Well, technically that was not true. The blacksmith’s son Garoth was bigger and bulkier, of course since he knew that about himself and was conceited about it, which Annabelle considered it a turn off.

  But not Graytael, he was lean and fit as a wolf. He was also a head taller that any of the village children and had the most strikingly storm grey eyes. His calm demeanor, even temper and shyness intrigued her. As much as she hated to admit it, he also seemed able to resist her charms many times which both irritated and attracted her to him. She would not let it show but it also excited her.

  Abban ran down the steps. “Gray!”

  The young half-elf completed his swing. Making a perfect cut, the two pieces of split lumber fell onto the already large pile of wood. Burying the axe blade into the nearby block, which was set aside for just that purpose, he turned to face his friends and flashed them both a crooked grin that unknowingly set Annabelle’s heart aflutter.

  With a nod to each Gray said, “Abban…Annabelle.” Graytael could tell from Abban’s expression that something was wrong. “What happened?”

  As Abban launched into his tale, Graytael turned back to his chore and began stacking the split lumber. He was pleasantly surprised and pleased when Annabelle pitched in. Occasionally, she would ‘accidentally’ touch his hand, as if they were both reaching for the same piece of wood. He felt such a rush of excitement at her touch that he did not notice that she only stacked one piece to his ten and her only reason for helping was to make him uncomfortable. It was working.

  So much in fact, that when Abban stopped talking Graytael thought that he had missed a question or something and turned his head to look back at his friend. But no, it was worse than that. Abban had stopped talking because he was in a headlock and could not speak.

  Fully turning around to face his rival, Graytael stood up to his full height. He knew that he was only slightly taller than the blacksmith’s son but the bully outweighed him by at least thirty stones.

  Garoth did not like Graytael on principle. As the blacksmith’s son, he felt it was his duty to pick on the adopted son of his father’s business rival. Never mind that Rjurik had helped set up his father on the south side of town when they arrived four years ago completely destitute. The dwarf had given Garoth’s father an old anvil, tools, metal stock and even sent him business. It also did not help that during last summer’s festival Graytael and Annabelle had been randomly paired up as partners in the three-legged race. Garoth had lost to them but it was more than that, that is when Annabelle had really noticed the half-elf and began to ignore his own advances at the young beauty.

  Of course, Garoth had his three cronies with him. Bevyn, Davyn and Angor were the sons of the village baker and they were, to put it politely, overly large. Rjurik had confessed to Graytael one night that he had never seen, in all his years, anyone so fat at such a young age.

  Graytael glanced down at Abban and noted how red his face was. Taking a slight step forward, he subconsciously clenched his fists. “Let him go.”

  “Who?” Garoth looked around seemingly not to notice the young boy he was choking.

  Graytael lowered his voice until it was just slightly more than a whisper. “You have two choices, release him or I will make you let him go.”

  Garoth hesitated. He was not used to anyone standing up to him. At fifteen, he was the largest and strongest kid in the village. He was even bigger than some of the men folk. All the kids and many of the villagers backed down to him after nothing more than a stern glance. He had never actually come to blows with anyone he had bullied. Usually another villager stepped in or the weak gave in to his demands. The few times he had a confrontation with Graytael, the half-breed had always walked away. He had never responded to any of his taunting…until now.

  Garoth had expected yelling, pleading or even cursing but this quiet matter-of-fact response from the half-breed actually scared him. Additionally, those cold grey eyes seemed to pierce right through him and chill his soul. Garoth shook his head and bounced Abban up and down a bit. “I’m thinking…no.”

  The baker boys laughed at the poor joke.

  Graytael took a slight step forward and gently guided Annabelle behind him. “Last chance. You have until I count to three.”

  Garoth laughed but did not feel the bravado he projected.

  Graytael shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and bent his knees slightly. “One…”

  Garoth felt a bead of sweat forming on his brow and realized that he had backed himself into a difficult situation. He could not back down without losing face with his followers and it was at this precise moment that he realized that he really did not want to fight the half-breed.

  “Two…” Graytael unclenched his fists and leaned forward slightly in preparation to his impending charge.

  Garoth felt his bre
ath quicken and cast a glance at Annabelle. Her face was unreadable. He could not tell if she wanted to see them fight or if she was worried. Either way his joke had gone completely wrong, yet he was committed to his current path. Besides, if he backed down to the half-breed and his father ever found out, he would get such a whooping.

  “Thr…”

  The kitchen door banged open and the maimed but cantankerous dwarf poked his head out. “What’s going on out here?”

  Garoth immediately seized the opportunity presented to him and released his captive. “Nothing, master dwarf.”

  Abban fell to the ground coughing uncontrollably and Annabelle rushed past Graytael, who still had not moved a muscle nor taken his eyes off the bully.

  Rjurik took one look at the situation, noted his adopted son’s body language and knew exactly what was happening. “Garoth, you and your friends need to run along before I come down there and beat you senseless.” Seeing the blacksmith’s son about to object he added, “And if your father has a problem with that, let him know that I will be happy to discuss that and the conditions of his markers anytime he wants.”

  Garoth snapped his mouth shut and turned to go, the baker boys falling in behind him but not before casting his rival a mean look.

  “Another time, half-breed,” said Angor, the oldest of the baker boys.

  “Whenever and wherever,” responded Graytael in the same nonchalant tone he had used earlier.

  Garoth grunted once before disappearing into the quickly darkening skies with his gang in tow.

  Rjurik watched the bullies depart then turned his attention back to his charges. “We’ll be having a full house tonight with that bard lady in the taproom. You three need to finish your chores quickly and get washed up for dinner.” Seeing their nods, he went back inside.

  Graytael moved to the side of his friend and knelt down. Abban had finally stopped coughing and seemed to be breathing easier. He was resting and had his head cradled in his sister’s lap. “You okay?”

  Abban nodded but when he spoke, his voice was weak and scratchy. “I will be. Thanks.”

  Annabelle reached out and placed one hand gently on Graytael’s arm. “Would you really have fought him?”

  Graytael nodded. “Yes. Luckily, RJ’s timely arrival prevented it.”

  “But Garoth is huge!”

  Graytael cocked his head to the side. “And?”

  Annabelle threw her arms up. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

  “Possibly.” Graytael shrugged. “RJ says that in combat anything is possible. Why? Were you concerned?”

  Annabelle’s first instinct was to deny the question but the bitter taste from her earlier fib was still in her mouth and cautioned her to use restraint.

  She also realized at that precise moment that she had been worried about him getting hurt and if she said anything to contradict his question then she would be subject to the conditions of Anasazi’s spell. Therefore, she did what women had been doing since the beginning of time and avoided the question all together by shifting the subject to something else.

  Nodding her head toward her brother she said, “He doesn’t look too good.”

  Graytael realized that she had side-stepped his question but his confidence was fading now that imminent danger was past and he was mere inches from the girl he desired. It was at this moment that he noticed that he was still shirtless and Annabelle was wearing nothing more than a flimsy white cotton dress that hinted at her small but firm breasts. Clearing his throat, he nodded. “You’re right. Take him upstairs.”

  “But our chores.”

  “I’ll do them. What were they tonight?”

  “Ten buckets each from the river but we were forbidden to ask for help.”

  Graytael shook his head. “You’re not asking, I’m offering. Anasazi will understand. Take Abban upstairs and have Kariah look him over.”

  Annabelle gave his hand a gentle squeeze and half carried her brother inside.

  Graytael was as confused as ever when it came to Annabelle. He really did not know why he had challenged Garoth but he had and he was ready to follow through on his threat. Then, there were the conflicting emotions when dealing with Annabelle. One moment she seemed to want him around, teasing and hanging on his every word. But at the drop of a copper, she would be stand-offish and cold. It was so confusing.

  With a glance at the setting sun, Graytael shrugged. Without another thought on the subject, he turned back to complete his chores and those of the twins.

  Chapter 5

  Through the misty veils of magic, two ancient warriors had watched their charge with eagerness and immeasurable pride. Both warriors were pleased that the young boy had chosen to stand up to the bully. It showed a strength of character that cannot be taught.

  In the past when placed in similar situations, Graytael had always walked away. This time he had acted completely different. Both spirits knew the difference, even if the Chosen One had not. This confrontation was not about pride or harsh words against the young warrior or his past. It was about another. Someone weaker than himself was in danger and the half-elf half-highlander had stood up to the bully.

  It was a sign that the two spirit warriors had been waiting for. They knew that their assigned role in shaping the destiny of the Chosen One was swiftly approaching.

  * * * * *

  In a rare lull in the near constant battle with the Arachne, the powerful spider-like demons which constantly threatened to invade Terreth, the eight gods of the Dhyana gathered around a mystical pool to witness the same omen that Lalith had. Even though they were still trapped in an alternate realm, they had combined their magic several millennia ago to create this special scrying pool so that they could watch over their followers and follow the events of Terreth.

  The normal bright and shiny surface of the pool was dark.

  Two scenes of great importance floated on its surface. The first was nothing more than a young half-elf standing up to a bully but it heralded events yet to come. The second was of a grander scale but one they had expected for centuries. It was the sky over Terreth and the image of the solar eclipse playing over and over.

  Luna the Moon Goddess pointed at the omen then looked back at her siblings. Softly she spoke the beginning phrase of an ancient prophecy they all knew and feared. “When darkness falls…”

  Each of the gods nodded. They suspected what was coming. They did not like it but then, they were helpless to change it or even influence the events yet to come. And quite honestly, they were tired. It was not the lethargy of the body a mortal experiences but the weariness of the soul which was unique to a god.

  The truth of the power behind the Dhyana was extremely simple; it flowed from their followers. The more worshipers that believed and worshiped them, the more powerful that god became. The Dhyana had been bound in this extra-dimensional bubble for nearly five millennia and their true followers were dwindling.

  With the near constant attempts by the Arachne to breakout, the Dhyana were constantly expending energy and power to keep them contained. It was only a matter of time before they slipped up and missed one…again. They all knew it and dreaded the day. But to add insult to injury, their fate and the fate of Terreth lay in the hands of a mere mortal…a mortal child at that.

  Chapter 6

  Lalith scanned the area and grinned at the sight before her.

  The dark elf sorceress was sitting on an onyx throne which was carved in the shape of the spider-goddess which she served. In front of her on bended knees were the leaders of the Dark Alliance. Each of them was a powerful warrior and leader in their own right but at this moment in time, they were waiting on her orders. The dominance she felt at this very moment was intoxicating.

  Instead of speaking, she took a moment to study each of the warriors, sensing their weaknesses and measuring their strengths. First she rested her gaze on Blackfang, the scarred werewolf.

  He was the leader of the Highlanders and her former lover. Technically
, he was also the father of their child but she hardly considered or thought about her bastard son except in moments like this. Together, she and Blackfang, had killed Hawkeye and Tatianna. In doing so, they had vanquished the prophecy of the Chosen One. It was a glorious day in the service to her goddess. It was also when she had discovered that she was pregnant. Clotho had hinted that it was an omen of things to come, so she had given birth to the bastard child. But somehow the curse which Tatianna had cast on Blackfang nine years ago kept him from shape shifting back into his human or full wolf form, so she was left to raise the child on her own. Since she had never wanted the child and would’ve aborted the pregnancy if Clotho hadn’t ordered her to carry the child to full term, she had shunted that responsibility to Darnac.

  Shaking her head to clear it of the thoughts of the past, she shifted her gaze to Tarax the Outcast.

  He was a cyclopean warrior who had been cast out of Jotenhiem after an argument with Grunk the Joten Jarl and traitor to the Dark Alliance. Vowing vengeance, Tarax had set out to gather other outcasts of the Joten society and formed them into a small army. They were only two-hundred and twelve of them but their strength, size and ferocity would count for many more in the upcoming war. He served the Dark Alliance for the simple chance at enacting his revenge on Grunk.

  When Lalith’s gaze swept over Kralm the Half-Orc, she smiled.

  She found him to be an enigma. On one-hand he was mean, vicious, blood-thirsty and cruel but she found those to be his good points. The half-orc was a slaver with a seemingly natural aptitude for tactics. His price had been the easiest to meet, one third of the younglings captured during the initial attacks and subsequent raids. Kralm had plans to take these children, boys and girls, and train them into warriors and assassins for future use of the Dark Alliance. Lalith had liked the idea and given it her approval and funding.

  As the sorceress’ eyes passed over Darnac the Blademaster, she noted that he too was sizing up his fellow commanders but not for the same reasons. His was purely motivated through self-preservation. If any of the Dark Alliance commanders considered an assassination attempt on her, it was the Blademaster’s responsibility to prevent it. For on her death, the silver choker which was fastened around his neck would explode, killing the deadly dark elf. She still had fourteen years left on his geas and she intended to use his skills to their fullest ability in that time.