Where Darkness Treads: Book Two—Of Tears & Darkness

Chapter Twenty: Desperation In The Dark

Prince Donovan upon hearing the faint cry echo in the night air, immediately attempted to assess the situation. His mug of tea and mulled wine clattered to the ground, as he rose to his feet and drew his sword. The entire encampment was now a bedlam of confusion. In the moonlight and the red glare from the fire, black garbed figures battled his friends and allies. In front of him, a Dreena ran to assist a guard, who was being overwhelmed by a black shadow. Quickly, the changeling slashed the Meer's lower back, with his gleaming white blade, ending the threat.

Without hesitating, Donovan rushed to aid Sir Alfred, who was being assailed by two opponents. From seemingly out of nowhere, a foot, swept Donovan's feet out from under him, sending him tumbling to the ground. Reflexes, and training, sent him rolling back onto his feet. Donovan quickly deflected a glimmering blade, which darted at his throat. For a moment, he glimpsed the face of his opponent, a Meer, in the moonlight. It mattered not, for he was determined to end his attacker's life.

Donovan lowered his stance and changed direction abruptly, directly at his assailant. Their blades clashed momentarily, as his enemy attempted to recover from the unexpected maneuver. There just was not enough room for him to do it. The Meer attempted to go into a shoulder roll, to escape. With a powerful lunge, Prince Donovan closed the distance between them and cut deeply along his enemy's inner thigh. Razor-sharp steel sliced the artery he knew lay there, and his attacker collapsed onto the ground, moments before the same keen edge met his opponent's neck, ending the fight.

For a moment, Donovan mentally thanked Girard for his relentless training. Without it, he knew he would have never been able to accomplish what he had just done. With that thought in mind, Prince Donovan looked to find Morgan busy with Emec, battling another Meer. From the looks of it, the Meer was not doing well at all. "Where were Changa, Girard, and Prince Everin," Donovan wondered?

As if in answer, a figure leaped high into the air, evading a blade which sought to cut his legs out from under him. Nimbly, the fighter landed on his feet and blocked another sword blow. In a blur, a kick connected with the side of the Meer's head, sending him rolling. Donovan's jaw dropped, when he recognized the form of Girard, poised to attack, with both his swords in hand.

From the shadows, a figure pounced, hurling Donovan backward with a crash onto the ground. He had allowed his attention to be distracted. Dazed, he struggled to regain his footing, when a loud bellow sounded from his right. Prince Donovan turned, to spot a large form loom above him, with blade upraised. The blade descended in a silvery gleaming blur, downing his attacker. In the darkness, a face loomed above him, as a large hand grabbed his and pulled him back to his feet.

"Prince Donovan, there is a time for watching and a time for fighting. Keep your wits about you, your highness, we cannot afford to lose you." Sir Alfred slapped him on the back and then proceeded to wade into another battle, nearby.

Donovan quickly glanced in the direction, where Girard had been battling the Meer, but the fight was over. Without pausing, he charged toward a Meer, who had just slain an archer. Before the assassin could turn, Prince Donovan thrust cold hard steel into its side. With a scream, his opponent fell to the ground, thrashed about and lay still.

The loud, cracking thump of released power sounded nearby. A body, hurtled through the air, much like a flaming torch. With a pitiful scream, the Meer was hurled backward, to crash against a large boulder. Brenna and Aberith were giving a good account of themselves. Two black clad shadows charged at the Neeri with swords raised. She raised her staff and a brilliant burst of energy erupted and passed through them. Both Meer, became fine ash, which a breeze carried away.

Everywhere, Donovan looked, the Dreena were close by, fighting valiantly. Their swordsmanship was beyond a doubt, irreplaceable. The last of the Meer, which had been attacking the archers, had been driven off, or were killed. As a result, the bowmen were now beginning to make an impact, all their own.

Donovan waded into a pitched battle between a group of Meer, and Maneau, Changa, and Sir Alfred. One Meer fell to the ground, skewered by a sword thrust, from Maneau. An arrow struck another Meer, low in its throat. The archer's aim had been deadly. With a gasp, the enemy fighter clutched at the wooden shaft, just as Donovan's blade pierced his black clad chest.

Changa turned towards Donovan and shouted above the din. "These Meer are putting up a determined attack and none of them are pushovers. What concerns me is, if the enemy is determined to put an end to this quest business, why are they holding their forces back? Why would they do that?" Changa was staring at him, with real concern written on his face.

Prince Donovan blocked a s***h from a Meer's blade and responded, by slicing deeply into his opponent's forearm. The Meer attempted to spin out of reach, but Changa's blade, caught him just under the chin and the assassin folded. "Perhaps, they are being overly cautious, or maybe, we are giving them more of a fight then they bargained for!"

"What do you say, about ridding ourselves of this filth?" Sir Alfred asked the three of them.

"Yes, I believe we have wasted enough time with this lot," Donovan replied with a grim smile.

"THAN, WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR," Sir Alfred bellowed and began charging forward, along with Donovan, Maneau, and Changa. Their rush succeeded in forcing their opponents to back-pedal. There was no room for the Meer to escape, without provoking an attack from someone else. Abruptly, all available light, suddenly dimmed.

In the background, the sound of many horses charging, swept towards them. The ground itself, began to tremble beneath Donovan's feet. "What is that?" He asked, with a growing feeling of dread. He stared into the darkness yet could see nothing at all.

"This is going to be bad," Changa whirled around to face whatever was approaching them.

Brenna's slim form, suddenly appeared before the men, gathered there. She was holding her staff, defensively before her. "This is something which is not supposed to exist. Do not tarry long when fighting them, for they'll leech life from you without landing a blow. Cover your eyes," Brenna shouted.

Immediately, the Neeri raised her staff high and instantly was surrounded by a brilliant nimbus of silvery-blue light. The air began to tremble, for the power which was being unleashed now served to change the night to day. Into the light, charged a multitude of riders upon horseback, which instantly revolted Prince Donovan. Even in the brilliant light, the riders' forms were veiled in shadows. Moments later, Donovan realized with horror they were not truly alive.

Abruptly about them, a powerful gust churned through their encampment, sending up a cloud of dust, as Prince Donovan's force stood unsteadily and began to rally against the onslaught. Donovan struggled to make a valiant stand, even as still forms lying on the ground began to rise, with eyes filled with pale-green light. Somewhere close by, the dragon or some Adumorda Priests were raising the dead, in a bid to kill all of them with one overwhelming attack.

With his courage beginning to wane, Prince Donovan fought against the living dead, like a madman. The dark priest's attack was filling him with dread, which was crippling his resolve, filling Donovan with a sense of dread. Suddenly, the aura around Brenna flared brilliantly, becoming incandescent in intensity. Immediately, in response, the dark heavy weight crippling his mind and body lifted.

With a vastly renewed sense of hope, Donovan bellowed a primeval roar, as he fought as one who was berserk, downing one living dead attacker, after another. Immediately, in response, Sir Alfred shouted, adding his voice to the prince's defiant cry. Other voices chimed in, and at a feverish pace his men's courage surged, as they fought on with renewed strength. Powerfully, Prince Donovan swung his hand and a half broadsword, cleaving the head off from the dead body of one of Prince Everin's fallen men. Instantly, the eyes lost their green gleam when his blade severed its neck. It would be another dark memory to plague him for the rest of his life.

Gradually, the advancing enemy around Prince Donovan disappeared, having been cut-down by cold steel blades. Fatigue now began to fill his body, as he stood with the rest of their force, awaiting the darkriders, who had not yet chosen to close with them. With power and light, Brenna and Aberith held them at bay, giving the camp's defenders a brief respite. Four high-pitched wails filled the air, which gave Donovan hope, it could only be from Dark Binders or from the enemy's Adumorda Priests.

Numbly, Donovan and the rest of their men regrouped, as they prepared to fight their final battle. As one, their voices filled the air with defiant roars, as all raised their weapons towards the sky. Beside him, Morgan stood, with both of her swords drawn. Swiftly, she stepped forward and gave a Prince Donovan a kiss, as her eyes glittered with simmering rage.

"I never wanted you to have to face this evil!" Prince Donovan raged. Inside, red hot fire filled him to the point of bursting, as he hugged her tightly. Determination and rage, exploded within, girding him for battle against the gathering enemy.

"Donovan, some time ago, I decided to walk the same path as you are. If tonight is to be my last night, it will be fighting beside the man I love and believe in. This, is a good night to die!"

Prince Donovan looked in her eyes and nodded in agreement. "And I love you. I agree, if this is to be our end, let it be standing together. Let us hope it doesn't come to that!" A loud cry filled the air, announcing to all, it was time.