The fields of flowers were awash with blood. Crimson mixed with the violet and green fields in a grotesque picture that might be the imaginings of an artist’s brush. Bodies were dragged into piles. There were neat mounds of limbs, torsos, and whole bodies piled one atop the other. The sigil of Stormweather Keep was emblazoned on much of the armor but the enemy dead outnumbered the Stormweathers. Feran shuddered at the volume of bodies he had killed. Men who were suffering but still alive found the sharp point of a sword driven through their hearts to spare their suffering. Feran vomited into the bushes. When his stomach finished heaving he looked at what he had done. Dead eyes stared up at him, accusation written upon them. The faces of men who had served their Lord, as Feran had. Men who had wives, daughters, sons, sisters, mothers. So many of them snuffed out. All with one act of murder. The magic he held in his own hands. The raw power, greater than he ever imagined. Feran’s hands would forever be stained with the blood of these men. This was a sin that could not be forgiven, no matter what his father said. And his own father was counted among the number. Feran hated himself for what he had done.
He removed his gloves and tossed them into the dirt. He wanted to wash the blood away from his hands, away from the flowers, away from the memories that were bound to haunt him. He doubted there was enough water in the world for that. A hand came to rest upon his shoulder and he was startled out of his thoughts.
“You have done your father proud.” The man was large with dark black hair surrounding his face, matted with sweat. Thomas Crestwood. The man was a vicious soldier and all around brute. The kind of man you wanted on your side and one of Lord Stomweather’s most stalwart allies. He had always been a trusted advisor to Lord Stormweather and a loyal soldier. Hearing his words did not help Feran to feel less guilty. Now this man only had Feran to lead him.
“My father lays dead in a field of flowers. And for what?” Feran spat the words.
“He knew what his sacrifice meant. You are a good lad to follow his orders. The Daggers will be safer for it.” Thomas nodded and walked to the next body. His sword came down through the coughing man’s throat with a sickening sound like a walnut being crushed. There was too much death on this day. Feran had had enough of it for a lifetime.
As Feran turned, ready to vomit once more, he heard a sound coming from the crest of the hill. Hooves were galloping towards the field. A black horse three times the size of Feran’s own crested the hill. Upon the horse rode a figure in a white cloak holding a red sword. All of the men of The Daggers stopped what they were doing to look. This man commanded the area with his presence. It was Thomas who first realized the meaning of the rider. He loomed like something inevitable. Like something that could not be denied.
“It’s him! Leonis rides! Mount for your lives!” Thomas’s voice boomed over the field. Thomas was always the last man to call for a retreat or an end to the fighting so his order came as a surprise to the men. After a moment of awe and confusion, most of the men began to run. Feran was glad to see many of them were quick enough to mount and rode hard away. They rode in several directions and Feran hoped that would increase their odds of escaping capture.
Feran reached for the darkness. He let the shadows grow inside him. He was ready to reach for the power of the darkness but he was thwarted. It would not come to him. There was light between Feran and the shadows and he could not get past it. It blazed and burned him as he tried. It was like the fire of the sun. The heat of Ardor itself in the middle of summer burned him. The only explanation he could think of was that it must be Leonis. He was somehow blocking out the shade with the bright light of his magic. He opened his eyes to see men all around him running to their horses. Some were panicked but most of them were determined and fled. Feran was satisfied they were so fast. He hoped they would return to the Keep to defend their home. Even if they didn’t, as long as they could avoid death, that would be enough.
One of the archers, one who stood not more than ten feet from Feran earlier this morning was not fast enough. He began to mount a horse but as he was climbing, the man in the white cloak grabbed him by the neck. Leonis wore silver gauntlets and a plated helm. Through the helmet a blaze of white light flashed. With one hand the figure hoisted the man. A crack that almost sounded gentle rang out over the field as the archer’s neck broke. This wasn’t the crunch of a walnut but the quiet snapping of a twig. It was a display of raw strength beyond anything Feran had ever witnessed.
Feran ran. He intended to make his way back home, back to The Daggers, back to Stormweather Keep. Running was easy. Feran had yet to lose a foot race in all his years. To outrun someone on horseback was folly but maybe Leonis would not notice him if he was fast enough. The men would still look to him for leadership. He had lost track of his horse in any case and Feran was never known as a good rider. As he ran, Feran heard a voice shout. In his confusion, he thought this was the voice of Thomas Crestwood once again but it took a moment for Feran to realize the voice was only echoing in his head. The voice was everywhere and nowhere all at once. It had to be Leonis. The reverberation of the sound shot pain through Feran’s head. He grasped at his ears to try and dull the sound. There was no way to quiet it. Feran stopped and turned back to see the battlefield.
“Men of The Daggers, hear me, for this day the shadows fall. Your lords are no more. We have bested them. Your army will soon be broken. Run to your homes and cower there. No longer shall the light be denied. You may now consider me to be the ultimate law in this realm. Do not take up your wicked ways again. For now, you are spared,” the eyes under the helm grew brighter.
Feran thought once again of Wilton Castle and knew he had to get home. Leonis had been hunting the Shadow Lords for decades, hoping to overthrow what he saw as their evil. Feran only saw a man thirsty for blood. Murder done in the name of justice was still murder. This man was as guilty as Feran was. He saw now why his father stood against the man. If only his father was still here.
Feran watched as Thomas loosed an arrow at the figure. Thomas had not hesitated and his aim was as true as it could have been. It was a perfect shot, the arrow should have pierced into the man and stopped his tongue then and there. Instead, the arrow hovered for a moment as if held by an invisible hand. The wood splintered and fell away. Leonis held his hand out and caught the arrowhead in his palm.
“I understand this day has been difficult for you. I know you are not all to blame. The Shadow Lords have deceived many of you but if you attack the light, you must be shown the error of your ways,” the voice boomed once again. It was simultaneously inside of Feran’s mind yet somehow all around him. He wished it would stop. If it continued it might drive him mad.
Leonis held the arrowhead in his fingers for a moment, turning it over and looking at it, almost as a child would his wooden soldiers. His hand flicked ever so slightly and the arrowhead flew free. It raced back toward Thomas Crestwood. Crestwood held his hand in front of his face as he saw the projectile coming for him.
It did no good. The point of the arrow burrowed through his hand and into his eye socket. Thomas’s head snapped back and he looked to the sky. For a moment he made a gurgling sound and foam and blood dripped from his mouth. Thomas fell onto his back on top of the bodies already piled in the fields of flowers. Feran stifled a cry and saw the other soldiers had scattered to the winds. Thomas was just one more body upon a pile Feran had created. A pile he would forever be buried under.
Feran ran. His legs pumped faster than they had ever pumped before. He tried not to think about what he had just seen. His breath quickened and beads of sweat stung his eyes as they rolled down his face. He tried to remove from his mind the images of blood and power he had just witnessed. He had to get back to defend the Keep before this abomination could attack. One foot in front of the other. One step at a time. He would make it home if he could. He reached out to the darkness once more. It was not there.
***
At the drawbridge, there were more creatures than Ellyn cared to count. They had taken axes to the gate and were moments away from breaking through and into the Keep itself. She kept Norrel at her side, not quite trusting him to run off or attack someone in the heat of the battle. The man looked as scared as Ellyn felt but he didn’t try anything foolish.
“Just like we practiced,” she said to Sonia who stood at her side.
Sonia drew back her arrow and let it fly. It missed badly and Sonia cursed under her breath. Ellyn took her own shot and the projectile pierced through the snout of one of the creatures. It howled in pain but continued to advance towards them.
“Just take a moment to take a deep breath before your next shot. You can do this,” Ellyn said.
Sonia drew back once more. This time before she fired she breathed in slowly and Ellyn could feel her focus on her target. An arrow went through the eye of the one Ellyn had hit. Its body fell to the ground dead. One of its companions stepped over it and pounced upon a soldier who held a longsword aloft. The creature swiped once with its huge claws and as the soldier backed away the creature jumped forward and tore into the man’s neck at the weak point of his armor. A fountain of blood rushed out of the man and he fell to the ground. This started a frenzy among the jackal creatures and a multitude descended upon the fallen soldier.
Ellyn took the opportunity to sink several arrows into the crowd of creatures. Four of them were dead moments later yet another wave of them came through the gate. In the heat of the battle, these creatures didn’t seem to care if they injured their enemies or their allies. For every Stormweather soldier that went down, three creatures or more fought over the carcass. They were in a feeding frenzy, unlike anything Ellyn had ever seen.
The noise of the battle was deafening. Ellyn and Sonia stood their ground for as long as they could. With each arrow delivered, the army of creatures advanced a little further. It was not long before the women had run out of ammunition. The soldiers in the keep fought valiantly and slowed the tide. It was not enough. There was a pile of dead bodies, dead creatures, severed limbs and the detritus of battle all over the courtyard.
“Come, we have to find shelter. Maybe higher ground. We can’t do any more here.” Ellyn grabbed Sonia by the wrist and the pair headed back toward the kitchens. Norrel followed behind.
When they got there Chef Dewey let them in and barricaded the doors. He pushed chairs, tables, and every bit of loose furniture he could find against the door. All they could do is pray to the third moon the door would hold.
“Mind telling me who your friend is?” Dewey asked.
“He’s a medic. He’s promised to help,” Ellyn said.
“He can speak for himself,” Norrel held his hand out to the big man in the chef’s hat.
“I’ve seen too many people killed by someone wearing your uniform to shake your hand. But if Ellyn says you’re good folk, I am willing to give you a chance. For now.”
Norrel put his hand down.
“I just want to help any injured. Provided we all survive. Can we set up a place to tend to the wounded?” Norrel was already looking around at the big pots filled with water.
“We can use the store rooms and the main hall, if they can be defended,” Dewey said.
“Leave that to us,” Ellyn’s voice brooked no argument.
***
Feran ran deep into the forest. The trees surrounded him, their cool shade refreshing him. The damp and comfortable smell washed over him. As a boy he had often cut through the forest to get home. Today he was not sure he could find his way. The confusion of the battle and the grief over the loss of his father still rattled him and he was having difficulty getting his bearings. The forest was vast and no one had ever explored all of it. If he could get to the center of the forest, where there was a giant oak tree with a knot right in the center of the trunk, he could find his way back. He prayed to the darkness he might find his way home. If he had the luck of the first moon he might even arrive before Leonis did.
Feran heard the sound of hooves behind him thundering like the crash of a mighty storm. Massive hooves. He climbed the nearest tree. Below him, Leonis and several of his men passed. The man was an imposing figure. He towered over the men trailing him. Feran could see his forearms bulging as he guided the horse. Leonis would be in command anywhere he went. There was a danger to his presence unlike anything Feran had felt before. The light shone off the man’s armor and Feran squinted. He felt the coolness of the forest shadows dissipate. It was as if the man could burn the dark away just with his presence. Feran winced against the agony of the heat of the light. He had to place his hand over his mouth to keep from crying out in pain.
Feran held his breath as the man passed. For one moment the figure stopped and glanced upwards. After what seemed an eternity, the man moved again. Feran breathed once more. He had not been spotted. All he had to do now was find his way out of this damnable forest. It might have been easy if he hadn’t been forced to run in here and scramble to hide. Feran checked for signs of where he was but he could not see anything familiar. It was certain Leonis would head for Stormweather Keep. There was nowhere else that made any sense.
As the sun set, Feran heard his stomach growl. The sound was so loud he thought a forest creature had made it. Then he realized the last time he had eaten was the night before. In his father’s tent. Dillan, the man he had looked up to for his entire life, was dead. Dead by Feran’s own hand. Feran cursed the magic inside of him. How could there be anything so evil in this world? He wished he could take a knife to his hand and remove it. It would be no less than he deserved. Instead, he climbed down from his perch.
Feran stumbled and leaned against a tree to catch his breath. It was a cloudless night. The stars would have to be his ally this evening. Perhaps with their guidance, he could get back home. If his father had still been here, he might have been able to come up with a plan. That guidance was over. Feran was on his own from now on. The people of Stormweather Keep needed him. He feared what might happen if he was not able to return in time.
Night drew in and Feran hunted for tubers and nuts to feed on. He found a few mushrooms along the base of one of the trees. They were poisonous though, something his father had taught him to spot, and his stomach growled even more. He still had his bow but was sure letting even a single arrow loose would draw attention to his position. There was no telling where Leonis and his soldiers might be. It had been hours since Feran last saw the company of soldiers and their leader. Fire was out of the question. The only benefit was the clear sky and when Feran climbed to the top of a birch tree he could see the stars and the three moons to guide him. He had to travel west.
He moved through the dark of the forest, letting the darkness comfort him in its safety. Light always broke the night but the night never died either. It was a balance. Leonis felt like something that could take balance and tear it to shredded parchment. Feran wondered if he could do the same. At the moment after he had slaughtered so many men, he felt his power grow. It was like a storm had welled up inside of him and he could unleash it upon the world if he wanted to. For a few moments he felt like he could tear through the world on his own power. He feared what would have happened if he had given in to the feeling. He suspected he would become something like what Leonis was only, something worse, something darker.
The three moons shone through the canopy of the forest and he could see there was a trail of fresh blood behind him. He had not recalled getting injured. It wasn’t until he bent to massage his sore feet that he realized the soles of his shoes had worn out and the trail of blood was a trail of bloody footprints.
Feran gathered moss and dirt. He mixed some water from his waterskin into it and spread it on his feet. He winced in pain as he did it but it was no less than he deserved. He accepted the pain and hoped it would be enough to cover his tracks for now. He must stop for the night or his trail would be clear as daylight. He could not help the keep if he were dead. He just hoped Leonis would spend his time searching for him rather than attacking the innocent people of Stormweather Keep. He climbed a tree until he found branches that could support his weight and were high enough off the ground a man would have to look up to see him. He fastened a rope around his middle and tied it to the trunk of the tree. He leaned back and closed his eyes. Sleep found him quickly.
When day broke, Feran was startled out of his perch by a noise in the distance. He fell from the support branch and caught the rope. His back smacked against the trunk and he saw stars for a moment. The rope caught his fall but he dangled in the air. Feran drew his dagger and cut himself down. He landed with a plop onto the dirt.
It was only then Feran realized what he heard in the distance. Voices. Running water. The sound of people chatting as they walked down to the river. Thank the shadows, he was home. He had to be. He forgot his pain and ran in the direction of Stormweather Keep. He had to warn them about Leonis. Who knew where he was? Feran made his way past birch trees, oak trees, scurrying forest creatures, and towards the sound of voices. The people were not safe. Feran couldn’t bring back his father but maybe he could protect those people. If he was fast enough.
If nothing else, he had to try. He was not sure what his father would do in this situation but he knew Lord Stormweather would have put the needs of the people first. Feran might have killed his own father but he was still a Stormweather and that meant something to those people. He ran harder and ignored the pain in his feet. He prayed to the shadows he could get home before anything happened to the keep. The only thing left to do was defend it. There was only a small garrison left but it would have to do. As long as the Army of Radiance hadn’t arrived, they should all be ready to defend their home. Perhaps between them and Feran’s ability to reach the shadows they could still survive this. Hundreds of lives depended on him and he was now Lord Stormweather. He was the only leader they had and he was not sure he was up to the task. Only time would tell.