Dark Illumination

Chapter Two

Minions of The Void were disjointed, frightening creatures. Incorporeal one second then becoming ten foot ogres with razor sharp teeth and claws the next. Their ability to change shape made them extra dangerous and difficult to kill. A herd of them gathered at the borders of Lumeria, trying to gain entry into the wastelands—a band of desiccated forest that stretched for miles on each side.

“Knights, draw your swords,” Dillan commanded, summoning his Lightseeker from the opalescent gem on his vambrace. The blade started as a beam of light in his hand then solidified into a magnificent weapon that could cut through anything. Flesh. Stone. And its favorite meal of all, minions. Blue sparks traced the curling symbols of protection that lined the steel.

Slapping his breastplate with the symbol of a five-pointed star at the center, he let out a battle cry that was echoed by the ten others in his hunting party, all of them weapons drawn. They charged the minions as a single unit.

The Knights of Lumeria were trained to fight with as little armor on as possible. What was supposed to serve as protection often hindered movement on the battlefield. Dillan preferred to fight without armor, but his contemporaries chided him for being reckless. He was the Prince of Light. His first priority being staying alive. The reckless streak he inherited from his father begged to differ, much to the dismay of his bodyguards. Instead of planning this hunt from the relative safety of the command tent, he preferred to lead the charge himself.

As Lightseeker bit into the collarbone of a particularly nasty ogre with acid breath and midnight hair, Dillan envied Garret Hearth, who fought two ogres at once beside him. The Knight of Fractured Light wore no protective gear at all. The big brute of a man said to wield the massive ten span sword he called Bloodlust, he needed no obstructions. Armor had the tendency to limit mobility.

“Tired, old man?” Dillan asked through clenched teeth as he severed the head off the shoulders of another ogre.

“Ha!” Garret barked, cleaving his third minion in half with a single downward swing. “You are a hundred years too young to be asking me that question, boy.”

The berserker Knight had been the only one who refused to refer to Dillan by his title, gaining his respect even more. He hated being called Your Highness. Oh why he had to be chosen to be the Prince of Light when he could have spent his days slaying minions was baffling. The Light must have it out for him for something. Everyone knew it would serve their world better if he was out on the field instead of carrying the fate of all their people on his shoulders. He would rather work with his hands than join in union with a princess he barely knew for the sake of maintaining balance.

“Keep your head in the game, boy!” Garret shouted, lopping off the arm of an ogre that was reaching for Dillan.

Cursing for allowing himself to become distracted, he stabbed Lightseeker into the gut of the now one armed minion. Contact with the flames on his sword caused any creature of The Void to disintegrate into fine crystalline powder, effectively purifying their essence and preventing them to return to the force from whence they came.

Killing minions wasn’t enough because they merely reunited with The Void and returned after regaining their strength. Unfortunately for all of them, being the Prince of Light, Dillan was the only one who wielded the weapon powerful enough to actually slay the creatures. Another reason why he should be securing the borders instead of leaving his mean and traveling to Teare to get hitched—as Garret called it.

Breathing hard, both hands clutching the handle of Lightseeker, Dillan glanced from side to side. “Is that all of them?”

Garret balanced Bloodlust over his shoulders and barked, “Sound off!”

Each Knight responded with a “Ho!”

All ten. Dillan allowed himself a sigh of relief. A luxury considering the dangerous times they lived in. The minions of The Void were growing bolder every day. This was the closest they have gotten to breaching Lumeria’s boarders in decades.

“Tend to the injured,” he ordered, returning Lightseeker to its dormant state in his vambrace. “I’ll have Kyle bring in the sorcerers to strengthen the wards along this stretch of the wasteland.”

Garret pounded the center of his wide chest with a fist and executed his instructions. Dillan whistled. A gigantic, steel gray Barbaro Colt he called Ambrose lumbered toward him from the stand of bleached trees he had left him behind. The ground shook at his hoof beats.

Bred specifically for war, only the truly worthy could tame them. One other person rode a Barbaro Colt, and currently he was headed toward the Onyx Palace in his stead. His political advisers warned against the move for fear of insulting the Princess of Dark, but he couldn’t just drop everything and ride when he had borders to secure. He still had time. So long as the union happened before the second full moon since the death of the High King and Queen, The Void would remain powerless.

Slipping his foot into the stirrup while the colt pawed at the ground, Dillan swung himself over the beast and settled into the saddle. Taking the reins, he used his thighs to signal what he wanted from his partner. The monster of a horse snorted.

“Don’t give me attitude, Ambrose,” Dillan said. “It was just a small band of minions. A skirmish, nothing more.”

The Barbaro Colt snickered, seemingly unconvinced and dissatisfied at having been left out of the battle.

Sighing, he patted the animal’s sturdy neck. “It’s a same really. If we don’t return to camp then the candy apples in my tent will go to waste.”

At the mention of his favorite snack, Ambrose wheeled around and galloped in the direction of their camp. Dillan laughed, the adrenaline from slaying minions still hadn’t worn off. Riding a Barbaro Colt was akin to flying for the steeds could really move. The wind whipping through his sable hair was exhilarating. Nothing like a fight in the morning to wake up the blood. Better than the blackest coffee his Knights consumed by the fire.

Tilting his face toward the warm sun, he let go of the reins, confident in Ambrose’s steady gait as he ran through the dead forest. Trained to ride and fight at the same time, he maintained his balance and control over Ambrose with the use of his thighs. He could even sleep sitting on the saddle if he had to. Considering the journey ahead of them toward Teare, he might actually have to do just that.

Arriving at the camp, Dillan was met by a smiling blonde night with stormy gray eyes. Kyle Hilliard, the Knight of Morningstar, was one of his most trusted confidants. Actually, he trusted everyone in this camp to bleed for him, but those in his inner circle stood above all else. They wouldn’t hesitate to obey any order from their prince. Not that he would ever abuse the trust they gave him. He considered their loyalty a privilege. But it was still something to hold in his back pocket should he be forced to make difficult decisions.

“How was the slaughter?” Kyle asked, feeding Ambrose a sugar cube, which the steed munched on greedily.

“If you keep giving him treats like that he’ll get fat,” Dillan said, more of an admonishment to his chunky steed than a warning to his Knight. He slid off the saddle and handed the reins to a waiting attendance. Ambrose looked back at him. “I’ll bring the candy apples in five minutes.”

He snorted before allowing the attendant to lead him away.

“And you say I’m the one spoiling him,” Kyle teased. “That big guy is getting fatter than a holler boar.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that or you’ll end up with a hoof print on your forehead.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” The blond Knight crossed his slender arms.

Kyle may look slim, but he sure packed a punch. Dillan learned this the hard way when he challenged his cousin to a wrestling match. He barely won by the skin of his teeth, sporting a couple of bruised ribs and a black eye afterward.

“Don’t tell me you’re upset with me too for not bringing you along.” He adjusted his breastplate. The straps needed oiling again, pinching his side like tweezers.

“Who wouldn’t be upset?” His snort sounded eerily similar to that of Ambrose’s. “There you go again fighting a battle when you should be—”

Dillan waved off the familiar words and leveled a scowl that cut Kyle off better than any admonishment. “Send the sorcerers to the sight. The wards need strengthening.”

Recognizing the order in his tone, Kyle tapped a fist over his chest. Then he moved to do as he had been told. But after a couple of steps he said over his shoulder, “Riona is waiting for you in your tent.”

Dillan’s blood ran cold at the mention of his chief counsel. Riona Hearth was a b***h of a woman whom he loved dearly. She was responsible for keeping him in check, reminding him of his responsibilities. He already knew what she would ask of him even before he stepped into the command tent.

“If you don’t leave now you will never make it in time,” she said the instant Dillan entered.

Despite her willowy figure and cascade of strawberry blond hair, Riona stood proud like any warrior. Being the wife of Garret did that. No other woman would be able to keep up with his craziest, more battle scarred Knight. She was the only woman he knew that could make leather from head to toe look feminine. Hands on her hips meant she wasn’t messing around.

“I know,” he sighed, moving toward a basin and slashing water on his face. The grit and grim of the fight immediately stained the clear liquid.

“Sebastian must already have arrived at their gates,” she continued in a clipped tone. “If you don’t leave today his presence there will do no good. You cannot escape this union, Your Highness. You must—”

“Maintain the balance,” he interrupted, tired of the mandate. “I know.” He stared at the gem on his vambrace where Lightseeker slept. “I still don’t understand why I was chosen. It’s not like I’m the purest of them all. Kyle would have been the better Prince of Light if we’re really measuring accomplishments here.”

His cousin was not only a fierce swordsman he was also an accomplished politician. That was why Dillan gave the responsibility of leading the sorcerers from Teare to him. What did he know about smoothing ruffled feathers? Killing minions was what he was good at, none of this bureaucratic bullshit.

A gentle hand settled on his shoulder plate that was made to look like a roaring lion head. “The Light works in mysterious ways. There is no clear rhyme or reason for the selection of the princes. Your predecessor is the perfect example.”

He scoffed. “What kind of a fool falls off his horse and breaks his neck? The man should have been an accomplished rider.” All Lumerians were. They knew how to ride as soon as they could walk.

“I know you see his death as a great inconvenience…”

“Inconvenience is not the word I would use.” He picked up the top most towel from the folded stack by the basin and scrubbed the rest of the day’s sweat off his face and damp hair. “There is so much I have to do here.”

Riona’s bow lips pulled down into a sad frown. “But killing minions is no longer your responsibility, Your Highness. That is what your assembled Knights are for.”

“Your Highness.” He couldn’t sensor the snort even if he had wanted to. “Soon it will be Your Majesty. It can’t be that today will be the last that I use Lightseeker.”

“Just because you’re entering the union doesn’t mean the fight is over. There are many High Kings that remain in active service long after the balance is regained.”

His eyebrows arched. “Do you really believe that once I unite with the Princess of Dark that I will be allowed to return to the borders and fight minions?”

“You will be the High King.” Her frown turned into a tight-lipped smile. “There is not skirting around that. What you choose to do once you are crowned is your decision alone to make.”

Taking a deep breath, he scanned the maps laid out on several tables pinpointing clusters of minion attacks in recent months. There were more red dots than there used to be in a handful of years. The sight was worrying.

Making his decision, Dillan said, “I’m giving command of this camp to Garret and you.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he pinned her with a severe stare that broached no argument. “You two are the ones I trust to get the job done. Keep our boarders secure. I’m taking Kyle with me.” Mention of his cousin soothed Riona’s silent protest. “Tell my guard to pack up. We leave for Teare at noon.”