Darkness Falls (Tales of the Wolf) Read online

  Finally, she shifted her gaze over to her latest addition to the Dark Circle, Xiphos the Pirate. He wasn’t actually present but was represented by a smoky projection through a pair of magic items she had created over the last few years. The pirate was wearing one of her silver rings set with a shard of onyx. The stone’s sister shard was also set in silver and floated in a bucket of blood. As long as the blood was fresh, Xiphos could project his image from anywhere on Terreth. Of course, the reverse was true also. Lalith could use the ring to spy on her newest recruit. She was certain that he hadn’t realized that yet but it was a function that would serve her well in the future…of that, she was sure.

  When she felt the tension had built enough, Lalith snapped her fingers and the torches throughout the throne room went out, plunging the gathering into darkness. Pulling out her wand, she waved it a few times and spoke in a language no one in the room understood except her gargoyle familiar, Jinx. In the air before them an image of the landscape of the lands below the Wall took shape. It wasn’t in great detail. The warriors imagined it was like looking down on the lands from a great height, like from the back of a dragon.

  Moving up to the floating image, she pointed to the green landscape. “This is our target, the Southlands. On the day of the eclipse, each of our armies shall burst forth from the Highlands and race across the land, destroying as we go.” When next she waved her wand, red lines formed on top of the image. “At a bare minimum, our armies must reach the walls of Asylum by the rising of the tenth sun.”

  Tarax spoke up. “But that is nearly one-hundred leagues.”

  Lalith turned her attention fully to the cyclops before answering, “And your point?”

  The one-eyed warrior swallowed heavily before continuing. “At that speed, we will barely be able to pillage the villages.”

  Lalith shook her head. “We will not slow down to pillage, we will only destroy.”

  Blackfang took his cue and stood up. Growling slightly, he leaned forward and glared at the other warriors. “You only have four objectives. One, divide the forces of the Southlands. Two, capture as many younglings as possible. Three, destroy anything useless to our armies. And four, destroy anything useful to our enemies.”

  The large werewolf glared at his subordinates until they each nodded. Only Darnac failed to acknowledge the werewolf’s leadership but then Blackfang was used to the rebellious nature of the Blademaster.

  Lalith turned to the smoky image of her bandit ally. “Xiphos, you and your men will raid up the Draken River. Destroy and capture as you go but remember, no pillaging. This is a lightning strike. We must divide our enemies’ forces. Their unity is their true strength.”

  Lalith shifted her attention to her joten ally. “Tarax, you will take four hundred goblins with your army and destroy everything east of the river. Burn every hovel and harry the armies of Krantos with your every footfall.”

  Tarax grinned. “As you command mistress.”

  She graced the father of her child with a gentle touch. “Blackfang my dear, Clotho has decreed that you shall invade the borders of Elfholm. It is your responsibility to keep the Elven army from coming to the rescue of the Southlands.”

  Blackfang grinned as his long canine tongue licked his sharp incisors. “At last, elf flesh. This will be fun.”

  Lalith pointed at the map and a black line appeared. It spread down from the Highlands and headed due south, right through the heart of the Southlands and only stopped at the walls of Asylum. “I shall lead the remainder of our forces and destroy everything west of the river.”

  Turning to the half-orc, Lalith pointed to the map. “Kralm, I want you to divide up your forces as best you can to take control of all prisoners. One out of every three slaves captured within our agreed age group shall be yours to train and if your methods prove promising, there will be many more to follow.”

  Kralm bowed low and rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  Lalith snapped her fingers once again and the image faded from sight as the torches re-lit themselves.

  “Just remember that by Clotho’s decree, we cannot step foot inside the Southland until the morning of the Spring Equinox and no attacks shall commence until the eclipse begins.”

  All those gathered nodded. None wanted to face the wrath of the Spider Goddess, not if it could be helped.

  * * * * *

  Now that her minions were off to prepare the invasion, Lalith returned to her spell chamber. She had one more meeting to take care of but this was one she preferred to handle in private.

  Her spirit lover was waiting for her even as she entered. He was naught but a smoky projection but she still felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of the dark haired elf.

  Lalith unfastened the top button of her blouse as she moved slowly around her scrying pool. “Hello my love. What a pleasant surprise.”

  The handsome elf’s dark eyes followed her graceful movements. “I know it is risky contacting you this way but I just needed to see you.”

  “Soon. Soon we can be together…in the flesh.”

  “Then it’s true? The time foretold is upon us?”

  “Yes my love but you cannot forget your part in all this. You must strike at the precise moment that Clotho has decreed. It is her will that we are doing.”

  The dark haired elf rubbed his chin as he considered her words. It was such a simple gesture but one that Lalith found exciting.

  “It will happen. I have spent over a decade preparing for this day. Everything is in place. I’ve even added a little flourish of my own that will help in the invasion.”

  Lalith cocked her head to the side and leaned ever so slightly forward. “Oh? Do tell?”

  “Nope. It is my secret but rest assured that it will be glorious, both for the will of the Spinner and for the simple joy of seeing your smile. Not to mention the promise of your body.”

  Lalith ran her hands up and down her body and finally pulled open her blouse to reveal her perfectly formed ebony breasts. “Complete your task and return here. Share my throne…and my bed.”

  “As you command, my love.” And the smoky projection faded from view.

  Chapter 7

  Anasazi paused at the door to room three before knocking.

  In less than an hour, Rhea Nightingale was supposed to perform in the taproom below but two of his staff had possibly offended the bard and that would not be good for business. He straightened out the folds of his robe and smoothed out his long white beard. He knew that first impressions were the ones that lasted and he wanted to look his best for what might turn out to be a vigorous bout of haggling.

  A stray thought flowed through his head. ‘You could always use your magic to make her understand.’

  No. That would not be right and he knew it.

  ‘But you are more than what you appear to be. You could simply snap your fingers and no mortal could resist your wishes.’

  Anasazi took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. He must be more tired than he believed. Thoughts like this usually only plagued him late at night when all was quiet and he was thinking about the future and remembering the past. It was only in those times when he allowed thoughts of despair to tempt him.

  ‘Just think of all the good you could do if only you were brave enough to seize control of the mortals.’

  No, Anasazi thought. The world is in trouble enough because of my actions, I will not let despair drive me to do something else I will regret. Taking one last look at his appearance, the innkeeper reached up to knock on the door and watched as it swung open of its own accord.

  “Enter wayward one,” came a musical voice.

  Anasazi followed the voice’s directions and moved into the center of the room. Once clear of the door, it closed behind him with a solid thump. Seated on the bed was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. With waist long raven curly hair, pale skin and ocean blue eyes, Anasazi was captivated by the mesmerizing beauty of the bard. Seeing the effect her radiance was having o
n the innkeeper, Rhea passed her hand in front of his face and it seemed as if a filter fell in over his eyes. He could still see and recognize her beauty but it no longer enthralled him.

  “Greetings wanderer, it has been a long time since you stood before me.”

  “By all that is holy,” was all Anasazi could get out of his mouth before he fell to his knees.

  “You and I must talk.”

  The being that was Rhea Nightingale and so much more, placed a hand on Anasazi’s forehead and that was all he remembered.

  * * * * *

  Anasazi was not sure how long he had been inside room three, which was odd.

  He remembered knocking and entering. He also knew that he had had a wonderful chat with Rhea Nightingale but that was it. Now, he found himself standing outside her door completely at a loss concerning the conversation. However, he did feel the intense urge for three things that must happen.

  One, Graytael must attend tonight’s performance. He was not sure why but he knew it was important.

  Two, he must complete the two hereditary initiation ceremonies before Highsun on the Spring Equinox.

  And three, he and his charge must be back in Homestead before that same time.

  Anasazi did not know why or how he knew these things but he knew better than to question such insight. He had learned long ago what happened when he ignored such a gut feeling. Once was enough. Never again would he disregard such a powerful premonition.

  Chapter 8

  The sun had long since set and the gibbous moon was already high in the night sky when Graytael finally returned to the Inn of Quiet Repose. Anasazi had sent a message to return to the Inn as soon as possible hours earlier via Razbron, his halfling friend and son of Broun the Wanderer. Gray could have used that as an excuse to get out of the water bucket detail but then Annabelle and Abban would have suffered the punishment since it had originally been their chore. He could not; no, he would not shirk his responsibilities and finished the chores before returning home.

  Normally by this time, the kitchen would be nearly empty since Anasazi only served dinner at sundown. Instead, it was still a buzz of activity. When Kariah spied him coming in the back door, she barked out several commands.

  “Gray, it’s about time you showed up! Wash your face and hands, put on that apron and get this tray to table twelve.” Seeing him hesitate she added, “Now!”

  Not having any valid reason to disobey her, Graytael did as ordered and began running food and drinks to the tables. When he first entered the taproom, he was shocked at the crowd. Nearly every villager of Homestead and many of the outlying farmers must have been present. Dodging through bodies and tables to make his delivery, he spied Annabelle on the far side of the room and nearly dropped his tray at the sight.

  Gone was her simple dress. Instead, she was wearing a puffy white blouse under a blue corset dress that greatly accented her figure. Her hair was pulled back and braided into one long ebony tress. She was busy tending the bar, serving ale and mead to the villagers. She had not seen him yet but he did notice that she kept looking over to one corner of the room. Following her gaze, he spied Garoth.

  The son of the blacksmith was wearing his finest attire and looked completely different from his normal self. Graytael hated to admit it but when Garoth was not wearing his habitual scowl, he actually looked rather handsome and seemed to have a kind face. He was sitting at the end of the table seemingly enjoying the attention of the seamstress’ daughter, Aleena. The blonde beauty was dressed in a rather low cut corset that amply showed off her feminine wares. Gray was unsure if Annabelle was upset that she had to work while Aleena flirted with the other teenagers or if she was jealous of the attention Aleena was getting from Garoth.

  Gray had already learned one great secret of life, females were nearly impossible to understand. With that in mind, he turned his attention back to the other patrons of the Inn and noticed that everyone had broken out their festival garb. Every villager had at least one good outfit for special occasions, such as weddings, funerals and festivals. This meant that someone special must be playing tonight to garner this type of response. Hearing everyone gasp at a pause in the music, Graytael peeked toward the stage and got his first glimpse at tonight’s performer.

  Terreth is an extremely large and only sporadically settled land. As such, there was no direct form of communication between regions. Certainly there were wizards and the like who do so with their magic but they were so few and far between that it didn’t matter. Only rarely did kingdoms, such as Krantos or Asylum, have dedicated message carriers and those were reserved for the royalty and the military. Everyone else relied on traveling merchants and bards for news of the outside world. Bards were a specialized sub-class of your everyday average performer. Bards tended to be part-rogue, part-warrior and part-magician. They were usually charming, witty, out-going and fearless. They were the few individuals, which felt the call to travel the lands of Terreth, singing songs, reciting poetry and fueling the hearts of the common folk with daring tales of adventure and romance.

  Rhea Nightingale was one of the best-known bards in all of Terreth. Even at his age, Graytael had heard of her. Rumors abound about her past; some say she is an elven princess from a long lost tribe, others that she was blessed by the gods. Of course, she would neither deny nor confirm these rumors. Suffice to say, she was beautiful and talented. She was singing a sad song while strumming a mournful tune on her lute.

  Graytael had not really been listening to the lyrics until he caught a glimpse through the crowd at the images which danced across the hardwood floor of the inn.

  A miniature battle was playing out in front of their eyes in response to her song. The images weren’t tall, only about the size of a cat but considering the way they moved and fought across the floor, you could swear that they were alive. A wonderful thing about Rhea’s magical creations was the incredible details. The hero and heroine were expertly crafted by her magic from the way the princess’ fiery red hair danced in the wind to the shimmering silver wolf’s fur the barbarian warrior wore as a mantle. In contrast, she had muted the finer points on the adversaries. They were mostly faceless figures hidden inside black cowls. This somehow made them scarier, since each individual would subconsciously assign features to the shadowy opponents depending on what scared them the most. It was wonderful and amazing magic like nothing the villagers had ever seen before.

  As Graytael listened more closely to the words, he recognized it to be the well-known story of ‘The Princess and the Barbarian.’ It was a sad tale about love and loss. As the tale is normally told, the evil black warrior captures the princess. A wandering barbarian stumbles across them and rescues her. Not to be denied, the evil warrior pursues the two lovers across the wilderness. The lovers have many adventures along the way, which seemed to change with each telling but all have the common theme of the few standing up against the many. Eventually, the evil warrior calls on the powers of darkness and recruits many followers to join him in the chase. Outnumbered, the barbarian calls on his people to rise up and resist the dark army. A great battle ensues but in the end, the dark army proves to be too strong and the barbarians are defeated. The two lovers decide to sacrifice their own lives as opposed to being captured by their nemesis.

  Graytael felt his heart in his throat as he gazed on the miniature battle playing out on the hardwood floor.

  He knew that this tale was based on the story of his parents. Certain parts had been purposefully left out, especially the section concerning his birth but it was their story and he knew it. He wrenched his eyes from the images to gaze at the bard and found her staring at him. At least he thought she was until several villagers moved in front of him and he lost sight of her.

  Turning back to his task, Graytael moved over to table twelve, set down the platters of steaming food and cleared away the dirty plates and mugs. He did all this without thinking since his new position allowed unimpeded view of the magical display. Even though h
e had not been present for the bard’s whole performance, he knew the tale by heart and realized that it was approaching his parent’s last moments. As many times as he had heard this story, this was the first time he had seen it and Gray was enthralled, which proved to be his downfall.

  The crowd groaned as the evil sorceress blasted the barbarian hero to charred ash with a lightning bolt. They wept as the evil warrior skewered the heroine with his flaming claymore blade and everyone held their breath as Rhea’s song was reaching its apex. The end was near. The heroine was about to use her remaining strength to cast a mighty spell that would destroy the dark army and herself in her one last defiant act. This was the moment when…

  Crash!

  Gray and his tray of dirty dishes spilled across the taproom floor. He had been so engrossed in Rhea Nightingale’s story that he had not noticed when Garoth stuck his foot between his legs until he had turned to move. By then it was too late and he was falling.

  The loud and unexpected crash had caught everyone by surprise. Some screamed, most jumped, several dropped whatever was in their hands at the time, whether it was mugs of beer or plates of food.

  Nearly all of the dishes shattered on impact, sending shards of pottery, drinks and food into the crowd. The disruption had also been enough to break Rhea Nightingale’s concentration and she dropped her spell and broke a string on her lute.

  Needless to say, it was one huge mess.

  As Gray pushed himself to his feet, he knew that everyone was staring and blaming him for both the mess and the interruption. It was partially true but only because of what Garoth had done but then, no one had seen his act of mischief. Graytael kept his eyes low and mumbled, “Sorry.”