Light of Elliana: Book One—Of Tears & Darkness

Chapter Seven: Evil Stirrings

Unrelenting rain and thunderstorms hampered the first week of their return journey back to Kandalare. Erecting their tents had grown to be a shared misery in the wind-driven rain. They sheltered overnight, outside farmstead barns and logger’s homes.

Everywhere they stayed, they received a hearty welcome, good company, and wine, or mead. During the evenings, Donovan and the others joined the locals huddled around bonfires, cooking pits, and slabs. The locals listened in shock and anger to what Prince Donovan had to tell them and gave comments of their own. It was in a large logging camp where he grasped something else was occurring, besides Drennard’s fall.

“Ask Maneau and Emec to stand guard. The rest of us will rotate through the night,” Donovan said quietly to Changa. Morgan, somethings going on, and I need to figure out what.”

“I agree. Prince Donovan, this is your call. I’ll sit back with mouth closed, and my eyes and ears open,” Morgan said with a lowered voice.

“I’ll get right on it.” Changa nodded and vanished into the darkness.

Donovan and Morgan sat upon a dry wood slab under an old worn tarp, which was shedding most of the rain away. Once more, he returned to watching the fire while drinking sparingly from the mead in his wooden mug. It was a short while later, as the drink was running its course when the talk became more interesting. Prince Donovan listened to reports of strange riders in the night, of mysterious disappearances and large wings flapping in the darkness. At first, he checked it off to the after-effects of too much mead or wine. However, many only drank tea or water, who swore what he was hearing was true.

To Donovan’s right, a broad-shouldered fur-trapper seated himself upon a log bench, dressed in a brown buckskin tunic, brown leggings, and black leather boots. Leaning against the log, the large man was sitting on, was a crossbow.

“Prince Donovan, my name is Findel. Two days ago, I chanced upon a heavy oak wagon loaded with lumber. It was sitting in the middle of the road with no one in sight.” The large man stared at Donovan as one haunted by what he’d seen, for fear filled his eyes.

Donovan waited for the man to continue, but the trapper sat there silently. After a minute or so, the large man must have decided to tell the rest of his story. Findel took a drink from a mug he was holding, wiped his face with a shaking hand, and once more turned to face Prince Donovan. “I rode up to the wagon, not knowing what I would find. The team of horses was missing, and blood was everywhere. Something had shattered the draught pole and tore the leather harnesses in two. Both wagoners were gone. Where they sat was covered in dried blood.”

“Findel, what do you believe attacked the wagoners and their horses?” Donovan asked quietly. Right now, they needed more information, and he found himself mentally coaxing the man to talk. The first creature which came to mind was a raken, yet those great predators never had in five hundred years lived in the Northern Region.

“What bothers me the most is I searched to find out what had killed them and couldn’t find any tracks. First, the Kellys disappeared, John Crammer was found half-eaten, and now this.” The big man took another swallow from his mug and shook his head “Prince Donovan, something evil is lurking around these parts and feeding at will. It mostly strikes at night, and no one is safe. I’ve decided to go south, and I will ride-out in the morning with you if you agree.” The big trapper sat there, silently waiting for Donovan’s response.

“Findle, I would be glad for you to accompany us. The more, the merrier,” Donovan replied. “The trappers’ words were not of a drunk or a coward. Instead, it spoke of someone knowing something was wrong and choosing to leave while he was still able to. Findle wouldn’t be the last to do so, and there would be a time when he and others would return to fight for king and country,” Prince Donovan thought.

From the first night of their return journey back to Kandalare, various riders rode out to spread the word. Men of all ages started to swell their numbers. Some rode upon horses, which at one time had pulled a cart or a plow. Others marched on foot to Kandalare, wearing old pieces of armor and bearing time-worn weapons of bygone battles. Most walked with cloth sacks on their backs.

South of the town of Mern, two weeks into the return journey, Changa, Morgan, and Donovan took a breather with the rest of the mounted men upon a ridge. Prince Donovan was observing a long line of men who were marching South towards the Carrington Flats. Some were belting out an old tune called My Wench, My Queen.

Changa listened for a few minutes and laughed. “Despite being tone-deaf, you have to admire their spirit.”

“If wars depended on singing ability, we would most certainly be doomed.” Donovan nodded in agreement.

“It heartens me brother, for so many have stepped forward to fight for Etmindor.”  Changa was searching in a leather bag. Moments later, he retrieved a small grain loaf of bread and took a bite.

“These people fight not only for Etmindor; they fight for their homes and families.”

The weather continued to improve, bringing with it balmy days and nights. It had been a long day when Prince Donovan led their growing group of tired mounted countrymen to an expansive wooded hill and dismounted. “We’ll camp here for tonight. We can all use something to eat and need

to rest. My mouth feels as if I’ve eaten a pound of dust, and I need to take my boots off.”

Later in the evening, Donovan sat near the campfire, watching red glowing coals and weaving red and orange flames. He relaxed and ate his fill of a hearty stew, which Mathew prepared.

“The stars are out tonight,” Morgan said quietly.

“My people say the bits of light at night were placed there to tell us the darkness will be fleeting. Their brightness will fade when daylight chases the night away.” Changa stretched before reaching for his water skin and taking a drink.

“That’s beautiful,” Morgan said with a smile and relaxed upon her bed-roll.

With a palpable sigh, Changa lay upon his blanket’s length and took another drink from his waterskin. Despite the pleasant night, the three of them turned in shortly afterward. All were tired, and tomorrow was bound to be another long day.

The pleasant weather continued until the end of the third week of their journey to Kandalare. They were now between the small city of Gernhard and the river town of Salsby. Behind them rode approximately twelve hundred men, seated upon every form of horse known in Etmindor.

It was a week later, with a great sense of relief, when Donovan finally led their tired group through the massive Watch Tower Gates of Kandalare. The men stationed there wore polished steel barbute helms and breast- plates and layered leather armor. They snapped to attention, and Donovan saluted them and rode into the Tower Square.

“What a beautiful tower; It’s so tall,” Morgan exclaimed excitedly. Donovan smiled and could tell she was genuinely impressed. The one-hundred-foot-tall white ashlar limestone tower was imposing. It had been built to endure.

“It’s the Watchtower of Edenas, where Edenas Mendan stood during the last attack by the dark forces at the end of the Fire War. Dark Binder’s thought they had killed all the watchmen, but he survived and shot and slew the enemy leader. Afterward, he blew his horn, alerting everyone. As a result, King Kelner led our forces to victory.”

Donovan and Morgan turned right upon the light gray cobbled stones of King Edder’s Road, with the mounted men in tow. “To your left, stands a great many warehouses, those are the two-story light-gray brick buildings with brick-red roof tiles. From the looks of things, trade is brisk today. The Merchant’s District is Kandalare’s true heart,” Prince Donovan said with pride. He smiled and presented Morgan with a sweeping view, where several horse-pulled carts and wagons were being filled or unloaded.

“It certainly looks as if business today is booming,” Morgan commented with a grin, as she studied everything with undiminished enthusiasm.

“Yes, it does. We are on King Edder’s Avenue, on the other side of

Kandalare is King Teddy’s Avenue, and the avenue through the center is King Kelner’s Avenue.”

After traveling for a short distance, the road gently curved left and progressed up a slight incline. “To the right, stands our Military Annex and Armory. Those are the light-gray limestone buildings with kiln-dried brick-red roof tiles.” Prince Donovan told Morgan with a smile.

“Over there are the training buttes for archers. From what I see, we have many recruits.” Donovan said. “We’ll need everyone we can get,” Prince Donovan thought.

The prince turned and pointed with a finger. “Beyond the target range, stands the training grounds, corrals, and buildings for our Dawn Breaker Mounted Brigade.”

Morgan appeared to be taking it all in, for, in past trips to Kandalare, she had traveled in a shuttered whirlicote carriage. To their left stood the great Outdoor Market under shade trees. The smells from little eateries inside the market made Donovan’s stomach growl.

At the Armory, guards and officers saluted. Afterward, Lieutenant Latimore approached Donovan. Ever the professional soldier, his brown hair and clean-shaven face were flawless, and his brown eyes studied the mounted men following behind the prince. “Prince Donovan, you’ve brought many tag-alongs. There have been rumors. Might I inquire as to why they are here?”

“These stalwart volunteers have come to pledge their service to king and country. As to those rumors, my father will address the city in the Court of the Kings later today. I will take my leave now Lieutenant Latimore, and leave these men in your capable hands,”

“Yes, Sir, Prince Donovan.” Lieutenant Latimore saluted Donovan and proceeded with several officers to guide the mounted men to Kandalare’s Military Annex. There they would be processed according to their skills and abilities. Their departure left Donovan and Morgan to continue their journey to Kelner’s Castle alone, where they could take their time.

“I can hardly believe all I’m seeing; it’s so different from riding in a shuttered-carriage where I couldn’t see anything. Despite being tired, I want to tour your magnificent city,” Morgan said with undiminished enthusiasm.

“We will certainly have a tour, I promise. Though, we need a bath, a good meal, and some rest first,” Donovan looked at her with a grin.

“Kind Sir, I shall hold you to that promise. A bath, good meal, and rest sound heavenly. I will heartily welcome them.”

Tall leafy maples arched over King Edder’s road, providing cool refreshing shade. “Over there, are our barrack buildings for the Dawnbreaker Mounted Brigade. We built them with white limestone, so they’ll be cooler. Earlier this year, we replaced its wooden roof shingles with brick- red roof tiles.”

Donovan was now assisting in the search for the assassin and directing others in the hunt. The Meer had fled along the rooftops and had left three dead in his wake. A guard discovered the rope the Meer had used to descend the outer curtain wall of Kelner’s Bastion. It meant the killer had already fled into the city. As to the identity of the assassin himself, Donovan had obtained their first substantial bit of evidence from a guard who was dying. The prince had entered the courtyard with all the intentions of helping to stop the hired killer. Ahead, he had noted a form laying upon the limestone flagstones. It was a guard who went by the name of Charles. The man was well known for his loyalty and mild manner. Charles moved his head to the sound of Donovan’s bare-feet approaching. When the prince knelt to help him, the guard reached out with a shaking hand and grabbed his. “Prince Donovan, it was a Meer. I saw him, his face in the moonlight, it was a Meer.”

Charles’ hand relaxed and released his grip. Donovan checked his throat for signs of a pulse, and there was none. The prince softly closed the guard’s eyes and stood. There was only one thing which mattered now, make sure the assassin paid for what he had done. Prince Donovan ran toward the Royal Stables as fast as he could to get his horse.

As the prince entered the stalls, he recalled what he had heard and read about the Meer. They were as tall as a man, they walked upright, yet thin hair covered their bodies. Their heads revealed slight hints of their feline ancestry, yet they had no tail. They’re larger than average green eyes gave them exceptionally keen sight in the darkness. They were quick, robust, and lethal creatures, who were highly prized by individuals who employed them as assassins, spies, or saboteurs.

“Who had sent this cutthroat to kill me? General Anktar?” Donovan wondered. For the moment, all was a mystery, and he had no answers. The prince shivered in the night air for a moment as he recalled how lucky he had been. If not for his inability to fall into a deep sleep tonight, the assassin would have fulfilled his mission. Many noblemen, noblewomen, and court-appointed officials had met their demise at the hands of these hired killers.

Shortly afterward, the entire city of Kandalare was awake searching for the assassin. No building went unchecked, and most after having been checked now had guards stationed outside. So far, no sign of his attacker had been found much to Donovan’s unease.

While the search progressed, Prince Donovan thought about the bravery Morgan had displayed in attacking the assassin alone. She’d managed to wound the Meer; the blood upon the flagstones of the courtyard indicated he was injured. Regrettably, the blood trail had ended, yet the drops of blood had shown Donovan which direction the assassin had taken. Three times now, slain guards had been found. The first sentry died of a poisoned dart. A second sentinel had been struck by a sharpened iron bar, which had penetrated his right eye and drove into his brain. The third watch- man died of a knife wound to the back. The killer appeared to be heading toward the docks.

Four guards and a boy approached Donovan while he was assisting on horseback with the search. At the forefront of the group, was Captain Danner Tandean of the Guard. He was a muscular, broad-shouldered man, with a polished barbute helm and leather armor. His dark brown hair and mustache were always well-trimmed, and his brown eyes fairly danced as he approached. The captain was well-known for being a dependable, no-nonsense soldier.

“Prince Donovan, this boy witnessed a stranger in black hand a small package to someone in the warehouse at the end of this alley.”

Donovan dismounted and crouched beside a trembling boy with short brown hair, who was perhaps all of nine years old. He wore a simple patched coat and leggings of brown homespun, with a worn pair of old black leather shoes. His brown eyes were wide with fright; he was no doubt fearing he was in trouble.

“You are a brave young man to be out on a night like this. Please, tell me what you saw. We are trying to catch a dangerous man and need to find and stop him before he can hurt anyone else,” Prince Donovan quietly explained to the child.

The boy looked at Donovan and pointed toward a dark wooden ram- shackle warehouse at the end of the alley. The methodical search for the assassin had not yet progressed to the buildings in this area. All looked dark, still, and quiet. It was where one could hide unobserved.

“I was calling my dog, but he wouldn’t come. A dark man walked over to the door, over there, and knocked. He gave something small to someone inside and went toward the docks.”

Donovan reached into his coin purse and withdrew two gold coins, which he placed into the boy’s hand. He softly closed the boy’s little fingers around the coins and smiled at him. “You are a brave young man who has done his country a great service this night. Take these coins for your time and understand King Tarran will not forget what you’ve done. Now go home, for we must end this now.”

The boy looked in awe at the gold pieces in his hand. He gave his best impression of a salute before running into the night. With a smile, Donovan drew his sword as they ran towards the worn wooden building, which sat dark and brooding. Nothing moved in the shadows as they closed in on the warehouse.

Silently, Donovan motioned for two of the guards to cover the back entrance, while Captain Danner, he, and one other waited for them to get into position. At a given signal from Donovan, the Captain banged on the door, demanding entrance. No answer came from within the warehouse. The building remained silent.

Captain Danner pounded once more upon the crude door. Again, there was no answer, yet for a moment, the sound of slight shuffling sounded from inside. The Captain slammed his shoulder into the door, ripping it from its hinges. Without hesitation, Donovan followed behind the burly officer. In the next moment, Captain Danner tottered backward as a cross- bow bolt had slammed into his right shoulder. Slowly, the brawny guard slumped to the floor.

Donovan approached a bald, barrel-chested scarred man, who dropped a crossbow as he stepped out from behind a wooden barrel. The blue-tat- too upon the large man’s right cheek drew back as he snarled. Instantly, Donovan recognized the assailant. His name was Blaine, and he had disappeared from his watch three months ago. No one knew why he’d deserted his post; he had vanished in the middle of the night.

“What is the price traitor for betraying your king and country?” Donovan asked angrily. He stepped around a barrel that had served as a simple table.

“With times being what they are Prince Donovan, I could not refuse their proposition. They offered me a king’s ransom in gold coins and rubies. I’m not going to let you take me in and have my neck stretched as a traitor,” Blaine replied with a grim face.

“Blaine, I guess we’re going to have to settle it now.” Donovan waited for the turncoat to make the first move and stood ready to reply in kind.

The traitor grabbed a steel falchion sword lying on the wooden barrel in front of him and stepped around it toward Donovan. In a lunge, Blaine closed the distance between them while thrusting his sword towards Donovan’s chest. Its polished surface glimmered in the light from a battered brass oil-lamp, as the blade darted towards him.

“Never thought it would end this way, Donovan. Was counting on being far away, by the time they started searching around here. What gave me away?” Blaine asked. His voice was calm and pleasant, but his eyes were steely cold.

“A boy searching for a dog.”

Donovan side-stepped the attack, and his sword struck the flat of Blaine’s blade, deflecting the weapon. Prince Donovan counter-attacked by swinging his long sword in a blow to his enemy’s neck. A dim gleam of polished steel parried his blade.

“A boy?” Blaine commented. “Of all the lousy luck!”

Suddenly, Blaine’s left arm swept out, and the traitor hurled an old wicker basket, containing bits of the rope towards Donovan. Instantly, a cloud of dust filled the air, along with shredded fiber, and Blaine’s cold steel blade, darting at his throat. Prince Donovan batted the wicker basket aside, with his left hand, and managed to deflect the shining arc of Blaine’s sword. The move had taken the prince by surprise, yet he had managed to recover fast enough to respond.

Without hesitating, Donovan swung his gleaming blade, feigning a strike towards Blaine’s legs. When his foe moved to block his blow, the prince redirected his sword and thrust cold hard steel deep into his chest. With a loud cry, the deserter crumpled to the floor.

The dying man raised his shaking head to stare at him. “Always wondered who would win if we fought each other in a sword-fight.” Blaine gave a half-smile and laid his head on the wooden floor of the warehouse. His head turned to the side as he took a shallow breath. The traitor opened his mouth, and red bubbly froth foamed out of his lips, as he went still.

Whirling about, Donovan slid to a stop at the sight of a second man standing on his knees, holding his hands high in the air. The frail-looking older man trembled with terror. His filthy dark-blue homespun tunic and breeches were so worn; they looked like little more than rags. What hair he had, hung in fine wisps of snow-white which matched his ragged beard.

“Please, have mercy upon me, Prince Donovan. I had no idea what they planned, I swear! I am, but a poor fisherman and they offered me bright red rubies,” the terrified man gasped.

“You fool, what have you done?” Donovan demanded hotly.

The fisherman told them everything he knew. Prince Donovan realized they were dealing with an enemy who was shrewd, calculating and measuring their every move. Quickly, he led a guard toward the docks. The others were left behind to tend to the captive and the wounded Captain Danner. The gates to the docks stood ajar. Donovan’s worst fears were con- firmed when they found drag marks, which led to the edge of the broad wooden pier.

In the golden light from an oil-lantern hanging on a post, a body bobbed gently in the soft current against a sizeable wooden piling. Donovan and the guard pulled the dead guard’s body onto the dock.

The prince gazed into the darkness, searching for any sign of the assassin and found none. Here, the quiet night was broken only by the gentle lapping of the river’s waters upon the massive wooden pilings and distant bells ringing. As Donovan stared into the darkness, a strange sense of unease filled him. Prince Donovan felt like a thousand eyes were watching him. For the first time, the feeling of security he had always felt within the walls of Kandalare was no longer there.