The Betrayal

((Please tell me what you think, this isn't complete, and I have it on Fictionpress as well so don't say it isn't mine))


Prologue

Night of Blood and Shadows
Part 1


Faeric calmly and methodically washed the blood of his hands and arms, both Devra and Ilfrit were carefully placed on the ground next to him. Devra was created from BloodMetal; metal created by a wizard pouring his soul and life blood into molten steel. The means of creating it had died with the last of the wizards, perhaps just over five hundred years ago. Bright, blood red lines interlaced through the cold, hard looking steel, creating starkly contrasting lines. The weapon itself was a marvel, taking a master smith two years to create. The hilt was simple enough; thick enough to grasp in your palm and tighten your grip on, it had no pattern and was simplistic, yet was moulded with grooves and gaps to help with the grip. Sprouting out of the hilt were four curved, wicked looking blades, chiselled with dedication upon each blade were runes of power. One was at the end, more of a sharpened spike than a blade. The other three stuck out of the side, each around eight inches long. When it was help and wielded properly; with the three blades sticking through the gaps between the fingers and the spike from between the thumb and index finger, it was nearly unstoppable.

The other, Ilfrit, was just as deadly. Made from Runeite, it was worth kingdoms. The light blue metal was as rare as sights of the creator, attempts to destroy it only made the strange metal stronger. It was extremely difficult to mould, only dragon fire had the ability to melt it, but only in its mined state, with other impurities in. Once the impurities had been melted and it was cooled, then nothing, short of the power of the creator could reshape it. The hilt was similar to Devra’s’, grooves moulded in to help with the grip, even with that both hilts had gossamer string wound around them; it helped to prevent the blade slipping from his fingers. With Devra, it was not needed, but Ilfrit was an entirely different weapon. At each end was a curved, razor sharp blade, one curving one way, the other curving the other way. With the hilt this created a sinuous S shape.

The faint echoing crack of twigs breaking underfoot sounded behind him, the sound was slight, but carried through the wood. Pivoting deftly he grabbed Ilfrit by the sides of the blade, he turned his entire body with his arm to add power to the throw, then just stopped himself at seeing who it was.
“Baleal, you should have said something.”

Standing in the shade of an impressively old oak stood a Blood Hound. Fully grown its height just topped six foot, muscled rippled through the thick, muscular legs and torso of the beast. Covering its entire body was thick, matted layer of dark red hair, giving it its namesake. Dark yellow eyes constantly watched him, seeing if there was any chance of threat. Digging into the ground were four three inch claws to each paw, its mouth slowly opened in a menacing growl, its lips pulled back over the massive fangs. The sound of distant thunder seemed to come from its throat, and then was cut off as Baleal stepped out from behind it and placed a reassuring hand on its flank.

Baleal was slightly taller than his bonded Blood Hound. A thick tangled mess of jet black hair fell just past his ears and neck. Light blue eyes stared at Faeric no less fiercely than that of his bonded. A dark brown cloak covered his body, but Faeric knew that underneath all he wore was a loincloth, other than that his body was covered in tattoos to signify his status in his tribe. All members of the Kilishi tribe went into battle in nothing but their loincloths, as the lead warrior of the Kilishi tribe; he considered it his duty to be here. Coiled up in his unoccupied hand were his weapons Seta and Chaasi.

The whips seemed like any other, but were entirely different. The leather had been covered in absolutely miniscule shards of steel, each razor sharp. The whips had then been dunked in the venom of Gars; it was so potent that it killed almost instantly. Magic had been laid over them, the shards of steel never fell off or got lodged in a victim, and also the poison would never fade. The whips only needed to graze the skin of a victim and they were dead, there was only one known antidote, and it needed to have been taken before the Gar poison hit the skin. To drink the blood of a Selephie; sacred animals that live deep in the wild of the tribe lands, would protect you from it. They were extremely hard to find and even harder to kill, Baleal had done that at twenty three, and then he was proclaimed as the tribes warrior leader.

He raised a hand in formal greeting, “well met Faeric Leathol, I see it has not taken you long to wet your weapons.”
Faeric stepped over the dead soldier, “he thought he could take me alone, I proved him wrong. Have you seen Thearch and Realund yet?”
Baleal nodded, “they have already set up camp, and they sent me to find you. It was simple for Jaral to latch onto your scent.” His bonded Blood Hound growled in assent.

Baleal face turned graver, “we have had to avoid patrols moving through the woods, and it seems that they have already reached the Wizards keep, our job will be a lot harder.”
“As long as it keeps the shadow from rising from his god forsaken prison then I will gladly give my life.”
Baleal nodded, “so shall I, for now we must get going, we should reach our camp before nightfall. We should hurry though; just before I left it was all Realund could to keep Thearch from attempting to storm the keep by himself.”

Faeric picked up Devra and followed Baleal, watching the trees and bushes for any signs of ambush. The trees he studied as he went passed slowly turned into a maelstrom of meaningless wood and leaves, this was a forest, not a wood. The fall had come early that year, loam and fallen twigs crunched heavily underfoot as they strode through the forest. Baleal had pointed out that the Jaral would sense enemy soldiers a long time before they got anywhere near, so noise was not a liability.

Baleal stiffened and held up a hand for Faeric to stop. Faeric tightened his grip on his weapons and waited, Baleal turned toward him. “There are men coming, a patrol of roughly thirty, all heavily armed.” Faeric nodded, Jaral could relate messages to Baleal, images mostly. Blood Hounds were renowned hunters.
“What are we doing then, are we avoiding or attacking?”

Baleal shook his head, “we will avoid them for now, we need to get back to the others uninjured, the world depends on us tonight, and we shall not mess that up by going out of the way to fight a patrol.”
Faeric nodded at the logic, “ok then, which way now?”
Baleal beckoned with his hand for him to follow, and set off into the woods, much more carefully this time.

Faeric followed, the skin on his knuckles white from the tight grip he held on Ilfrit and Devra. Several minutes after going off the track they had been on previously Baleal turned to him again, “they’ve gone past us.”
Faeric smiled, “ok, let’s just get back to the others.”
They proceeded much faster now, near a jogging pace, the sun was rapidly sinking into the hill on the horizon, and the clear bright day had now been replaced by an obscure twilight.

Just when Faeric was about to ask if it was near Baleal stopped him, “we are here.” Faeric frowned slightly, as if just realizing something, “why have you not asked me about what Gareath said?”
“I might as well wait; we will all hear it together then. Realund and Thearch are just down here.” Faeric followed Baleal down to the edge of a small river, the sound of water splashing down rocks and running down the waterbed frowned out any noise they made. About a hundred yards downstream the river plunged into a narrow valley, leaving little space either side to walk. They both had to walk sideways at this point; Jaral simply vanished back into the forest, waiting for his bonded to return.

After about twenty yard of this Baleal simply vanished, Faeric blinked in surprise and stopped. The path in front and behind of him was empty, he was alone. He took a tentative step forward, and saw suddenly what had happened. Set behind a jutting out segment of rock was a narrow cave; at the end Faeric could see the unmistakeable flickering glow of a fire. Faeric walked confidently toward it, smiling at the two already seated around it.

Thearch looked up at him then back at the fire. Close cropped blonde hair and dark blue eyes gave him features that most women found attractive, Faeric couldn’t particularly see why. Wide-set thick shoulders with thick, muscular arms and torso cut him out to be quite an imposing figure. He stood taller than Baleal, perhaps by three or four inches. His twin weapons sat beside him, both aptly named the fists of God.

The gauntlets were extremely deadly; they were made of interlinking plates of Runeite, not unlike scales. Each movement caused different plates to rise or fall; the edges of each were razor sharp. This gave the gauntlets a grating type of weapon, Faeric had seen him taking out giant lumps of skin trapped between the interlocking plates. Over the knuckles were small spikes, tipped with Gar poison, underneath the gauntlets he wore spell woven gloves. If not then God’s hand was a double edged weapon, the plates moving up and down would rip apart his hands. The gloves also added strength to his arms, he didn’t know how, no one did, and the secrets had died with the wizards.

On the opposite side of the fire sat Realund. The sides of his head were shaved; the top and back were left to grow. Black hair grew down to his waist, his green eyes spotted Faeric and he smiled. He was the opposite of Thearch, who relied on Brute strength and power. Realund relied on speed and skill, his weapon, Allydindril, was a testament to that.

The blade was indeed a strange one; it was five foot in length, in the centre was the central shaft, just over two foot. At each end of the shaft were a one and a half foot long blade, each straight as a sword yet one was always horizontal and the other landscape. What it was made of was unknown; scholars had searched for a metal like it for years, if it was even a metal. It appeared to be any normal metal, steel or iron, but when it spilt blood it seemed to draw it into itself, causing the blade to glow with a rosy red hue. The name was lost, Realund named it himself as Allydindril, the name of the sacred sword that the creator himself used to smite the Dark One and send him into his hellish prison.

Baleal sat down in front of the fire and spoke, “the patrols are getting more numerous, which probably means the Soulless is approaching. We must strike tonight, we must take the Glorea’n Star, and we cannot let the soulless take it for the Dark One.” Thearch spoke, “We know all that, Gareath told us what would happen should it fall in the hands of the Soulless. I want to know what he told Faeric.” Realund spoke in agreement and they all turned to him.

He sighed and spoke, “Gareath deciphered the prophecy concerning the Glorea’n Star. It didn’t sound that great.” Realund laughed, “We don’t care if it rhymes, just tell us, it could help.”
“No it’s not that, just listen.
He will come a stealing
Like a thief in the night
To take from the land
What is good and what is right

Three came to blight the shadow
Once came to bring light to a low
Three came to save the land from darkness
One came to withdraw from the land goodness

Four will meet before the storm
Three of pure heart yet one soulsworn
There is only one chance of victory for light
The rest is abandoned to the darkness of might

Three came to blight the shadow
One came to bring light to a low
Three came to save the land from Darkness
One came to withdraw from the land goodness

Four will meet before the star of light
If the killed is right
Darkness shall suffer a blow
And fall back waiting for the right shoots to grow

Three came to blight the shadow
One came to bring light to a low
Three came to save the land from Darkness
One came to withdraw from the land goodness

Four will meet before the star of light
If the killed is not right
Darkness will rise up tall
Until four come to make the tower fall”

The final words rang in a silent cavern, the other three were simply staring at him, and the only sound was the crackling fire. He stared into the eyes of men he had fought alongside, men he would have died for, “there is no such thing as a false prophecy, which means one of us follows the shadow.”



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Garrett dropped his pack, his heartbeat slowed to a rhythmic thud. He calmly withdrew the twin axes from his back and stepped into the shallow pool, ignoring the small waves rippling outwards. Gareath faced him in the centre of the pool of E’vin, the supposed pool of life. “I trust you have already spun your lies with Faeric?” Gareath laughed, Garrett had once thought he had an amazing laugh, now he despised it. “He left days ago; most likely one of them is already dead.” Garrett couldn’t believe that a man who had helped them so much was soulsworn.

“Garrett, my old friend, how did you find out?” Garrett nearly spat, then remembered were he was standing. His grip tightened on his twin axes. He rolled his shoulders back and forth, readying himself. “I decided to meditate by the pool, since I have not been able to help the others because of the wound of the Balrearog. I’ve been here for the last ten minutes, I saw you raying to your master.”

Gareath nodded at this, “I suppose all good thing must come to an end. Now, here is the beautiful part. You were there when I told Faeric I had deciphered the prophecy, you heard what I said. It was quite smart of me to make it up don’t you think?”
“What?”
“There are no such things as false prophecy’s Garrett, you know that. This was not a prophecy, simply a made up poem.”
“How could you?”
“Oh, there was nothing to it. Although I didn’t like the second two lines of the chorus, withdraw the land from goodness doesn’t sound right, don’t you think.”
“We were you’re friend Gareath, how could you betray us.”

Garrett could have sworn a look of sorrow flashed across his once best friend’s features, then it was gone. Replacing it was a cruel, cold grin. “One word Garrett, power.” Garrett shook his head, “you are a fool to believe the dark ones lies, whatever he promised you you will not get.” Gareath laughed again, without humour this time, “Garrett, I have been repaid a thousand times over.”

“You have betrayed us, and maybe everything good on this planet, I cannot let you live.”
“Then kill me Garrett, Kill me, if you can.”

Garrett focused his mind, removing everything from it, feeling, desires and the biggest thing running through him now, anger. He was calm, he tensed his legs, readying his body to leap at Gareath, who laughed and held up a hand. “Hold your horses Garrett, do you remember where we are?”
“Enough of your tricks and lies you bastard, today you will die, or I will in the attempt.”
“You forget Garrett, we are standing in E’vin, should death occur in its hallowed waters, its beauty will be lost forever to darkness.”
“ENOUGH OF YOUR LIES!” Garrett screamed at him.

“Oh, this is no lie, perhaps I should tell you a little story before we battle. Countless aeons ago, the gods created existence. From nothing sprang everything, stars from were there was emptiness, the sun and moon were there was only darkness, and finally, the most important place of all, the earth to fill the void. The three most powerful gods fought over the planet. His most revered lord Sharinpaix, lord of darkness, then Paladin, god of light and Nuitari, the neutral. The great lord of darkness created ogres, dragons, minataurs and other creatures of darkness to do his bidding on this new planet. Paladin, seeing this brought his own beings to fight them and return the earth to his supposed purity. He created Faeries, elves, dwarves, his own dragons and other meaningless little creatures. Nuitari, seeing all this created her own beings, the humans. Now these were strange creatures indeed thought Paladin and the great lord of darkness. Their bodies were weak, the other creatures of the earth easily destroyed them in combat.

“This was all part of Nuitaris plan, soon the other creatures ignored the weak beings, seeing them as no threat. This was the great lord of darkness’s only mistake, he underestimated us. Paladin, being stupid as he is could not see what Nuitari was up to. The humans were much smarter than the other animals of the earth at the time. With Nuitaris guidance, they began creating weapons and armour, she would guide them in smithing. Then, she created her greatest weapon, the magicians. After several decades, she felt they were ready. Although the other creatures were stronger and faster, they stood no chance against the magical might of the magicians and the new metal weapons and armour. Realising they were both losing to these humans, both Paladin and the Great lord confronted Nuitari. She agreed to stop the humans from destroying the other creatures on one condition, from then on the gods were not to interfere in mortal lives, and could only watch. Both Paladin and the Great Lord agreed, but before they left they both gave their creature’s knowledge and magic like the humans. To prevent the gods from entering the confines of mortal life, Nuitari created E’vin. The pool of life. If a human was murdered by another in the pool of life, it would be transformed. The safeguards were mainly for our glorious lord, he wanted to return to earth.”

“Then why has no soulsworn killed another in the pool, this would allow Sharinpaix to enter the world again.”

“Let me finish. Nuitari had thought of this, and came up with several safeguards. First was the Evan Star. A jewel of immense power given to the most powerful of the mages for safekeeping. It prevented the gods from entering the world. The essence of life from each god was poured into the jewel, they mixed, creating an impenetrable barrier for the gods. However the Evan Star could be destroyed, so there were other things done. She created E’vin, the pool of life in which we now stand. To protect it she had the humans build a colossal fortress around it. Now that was supposedly a spectacular site. All that surrounds us now is my manor and the ruins of the once mighty castle. Isn’t it ironic, the supreme council ruled that I should watch over E’vin, when I am the one who will destroy it. Anyway, once she created E’vin, she again put the essences of both Sharinpaix and Paladin inside, creating another barrier. She placed spell on this pool though, one of pure heart following paladin must kill a soulsworn, and then a soulsworn must kill the champion of Paladin, not just a follower but his hero, he will be marked so, in that order. When that is done E’voan will be created. The pool of radiance. The Evan Star must be brought and placed inside the pool, both followers of darkness and light must word the spell correctly for it to work. Perhaps you’re thinking why she allowed a way for the gods to return. She knew that there was no absolute way to keep the gods out, so she made this so the others would not concentrate on finding others ways to get through. Also, foolishly she believed that none of the ways for the gods to return would open themselves.”

“So now, you serpent you are telling me that your garden pond was created by the so called gods?”
“Do not blaspheme against beings greater than you could even comprehend Garrett.”
“So you are saying that if I kill you, then the gods would be closer to returning.”
“Yes.”
“How many times will you lie, you serpent tongued bastard.”
“Aren’t you nice.”
“Fuck off, you have tainted the air long enough, it is time to die.”

“Very well then, but remember when I said I was repaid a thousand times over, I did not lie.” Garrett frowned in consternation. The air around them slowly started to thicken, growing into a viscous almost tangible gas. It was becoming harder to breathe. Garrett clutched at his throat and dropped to his knees, ignoring the water seeping into his boots. His breathing rapidly increased, trying to get as much oxygen as possible. He looked up in hate at Gareath, than all thoughts of concentrating on his breathing deserted him.

A black, smoky, thick miasma of shadow was wrapped around Gareath, slowly corkscrewing up his body. As it worked its way up him, the air began to thin and clear. His normal breathing returned to him, but he didn’t care, he was transfixed by Gareath in horror and trepidation. The darkness was near his face now, still slowly, yet surely moving upwards. Gareaths eyes met his, a final smile crossed his lips then was obscured by the foul darkness.

His head dropped back and he screamed, his back curled back in pain. The darkness seeped into his mouth, the body of it curled around him slowly shortened. Garrett stood up, wary now. Soon, the entire miasma had been swallowed by Gareath. He had fallen back into the pool. Garrett slowly approached, the distinct sound of water sloshing was the only sound that could be heard. Gareath coughed, his body shuddering seemingly uncontrollably.

Garrett readied his axes, it would be best to finish Gareath off now. He moved forward again, lifting the axes above his head. Gareath eyes snapped open, once light blue eyes were now as dark as empty as the void, “it won’t be that easy.” Garrett stepped back again. “Whatever evil this is, you will die. Yet you seem to contradict yourself, no magician has existed for over five hundred years, if that is not magic, then it would have been done by a god. You said they cannot interfere with mortals.”
“I said they cannot interfere directly, this was done to me indirectly, yet you will never know how.”

Gareath held his hands out in front of him, palms open and facing outwards. Through the empty palms smoke began to appear, threads that swirled and moved outwards to meet each other. Garrett watched in fascination, in Gareaths hand lay a weapon not unlike Allydindril. He shook himself out of his reverie, “I have waited long enough for this, Gareath, now you die.”
“Are you sure you are completely healed from the Balrearog? If you are not, I shall enjoy tearing your flesh from you piece by piece.”

Without a sound Garrett spun out both axes bringing them inwards viciously, one high one low. They were mere inches away from Gareaths neck and navel before his black weapon spun around, knocking away both axes. Garrett was shocked at the strength he possessed, the smoke must have done more than just give him a weapon. He stepped forward and struck at Gareaths face again, waiting for his blade to block it. As it did so he swung his second axe, again at Gareaths face. Once again, it was blocked.

Gareath laughed at him, “is that all you have?” Now it was Gareaths turn to attack, and he did so with vehemence. It was all Garrett could do to keep the blade from cutting him deeply enough to do damage. In about ten seconds the blade had cut him three times across the arms, once across the legs and once just below his right eye. His breathing was becoming ragged and pained. His axes were blurs, fending the unholy weapon off. Gareath didn’t even look tired, a thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead but that was it.

Another flash of darkness and he was cut across the chest, blood showed through his white shirt. He could barely even see the blade, he was being cut to pieces. He jerked his head back to avoid his knock being cut. He swung out his right axe in a vicious riposte, Gareath wasn’t expecting it, but still brought his weapon up in time to avoid the axe cutting through his skin. His strange weapon was once again on the attack, whipping down at his legs, then at his face after a successful block.

The axes were becoming heavy in his arms. Garrett was in no way weak, but what he was fighting wasn’t human. Another flash and his right arm dropped to his side lifeless, his axe hit the floor with a splash. He had only his left now. He held it out from him warily, the hilt pointing diagonally to the floor and the blade pointing up into the sky.

“That really was absolutely pathetic Garrett, now wonder you let yourself get mauled by a Balrearog. I will give you this one chance to live, join me, all you have to do is swear fealty to the dark lord, then ultimate power will be yours.”
Garrett shook his head warily, “I will never join you, and you will have to kill me first.” Gareath nodded with a small smile, “so be it.”

He slammed the blade into Garrett’s chest, pushing it right in, not stopping until his hands met with Garrett’s chest. A gasp left Garrett’s throat. Gareath smiled again and tugged on the blade. A frown crossed his face as he tugged on it again, this time he jerked it hard. The blade was stuck in his ribs. Using all the strength that remained in him, he swung his axe round into Gareaths stomach. Gareath stared down in shock and dropped to his knees. A weak laugh left his throat. Garrett dropped heavily next to him, both with each others weapons lodged in their bodies. Blood slowly pooled around them, mixing with the water.

Garret spoke softly, “I said I would kill you, or die trying, looks like I’ve done both.”
Gareath laughed weakly, blood ran down his lips. “You truly are a fool Garrett, you did not believe my story did you, yet it was no made up tale, that was the truth. You have put the first phase into action, we must no wait for Paladins champion to kill one of us. The Evan Star is ours, if one of the four dies, then they will fail. I didn’t lie when I said I deciphered the prophecy, let me tell you it.” Garrett was looking at him in horror, he had to be lying.

Four leave to conquer the shadow
One must stay for darkness to grow
Light must be taken from him
For the balance of power to teeter on the brim

He will fight darkness in life
And lose to face a world of strife
Shadow will cover the one pool
And five shall be taken for a fool

Darkness for life
Light for strife
Five to two
Two too few

Of the four about to enter the hive
All must stay alive
If one will die
Tears of blood will many cry

Five to two
Two too few
That will only take place
If the ones skin is lace

Darkness for life
Light for strife
Five to two
Two too few

If darkness prevails
And the light fails
The earth will be run in an iron hand
By the one who only meant good for the land

Blood will run in river down sloped and streets
Across the seas will run fleets
The darkest of dragons will awaken
The foundations of out lives will be shaken

Darkness for life
Light for strife
Five to two
Two too few

If darkness prevails
And light fails
After the lights fall
Five will again return to try to save all

If none of the four die
And the fifth cannot fly
Then the darkness will fall
Until it rises to devour all

Darkness for life
Light for strife
Five to two
Two too few

Gareath laughed again weakly and fell onto his back, “you have already made your part come to pass.”
“None of that made sense, what does it mean by skin being lace?” Gareath whispered something unintelligible. Garrett needed to know what he said, he dropped weakly onto his hands and slowly moved forward. The blade sticking out of his back. Blood ran down the hilt, dripping into the pool. He crouched over Gareath, “what?”

With a sudden burst of shocking strength Gareath grabbed him around the neck, pulling him closer. His mouth opened, inside lay darkness. Garrett tried to pull back, but knew it was no use, he had no strength. He shut his eyes as the black miasma poured out of Gareaths mouth and into his face.



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Faeric crouched under the cover of the trees, not a hundred paces from the walls of the wizard keep. Thearch squatted next to him, warily watching the patrolling guards. That was what they had agreed upon on leaving the shelter; they would scrap the original plan of going on their own. They were now in pairs, Faeric and Thearch, Realund and Baleal. Realund took the front entrance; Faeric and Thearch were going in the side.
“Remember, just because you told us of the prophecy, it does not exclude you from being a suspect.”
“I know.”

A thick drop of rain hit Faerics cheek and ran down to the corner of his lips.
“We should move soon Thearch, before there is no visibility left.”
“Soon Faeric, remember, the less sight we have, the less sight they have.”
Faeric sighed, when Thearch got an idea in his head, he would stick by it.
“Fine, on your head be it.”

At that point, the sky opened in a veritable maelstrom of torrential rain, sheets and forks of lightning raced and flashed across the night sky, shortly followed by booming, ominous thunder. Faeric and Thearch’s attention had both been caught by the sight of the keep in the storm. Sporadic flashed of lightning illuminated the keep, showing them both an awe inspiring and never before seen sight. The complicated stonework was amazing, different types and sizes of stone lay woven between each other, some blocks as large as houses. Hundreds of feet above them lay the battlements and ramparts, Faeric could imagine that in the time of wizards, defenders standing upon those very walls, staring down at armies vastly outnumbering their own. Creating black shapes against the backdrop of light were the towers and turrets. Some stretching almost twice as high as the walls, periodically, yet purposefully set inside them were balconies and niches, windows and arrow slits.

He let out his breath in awe,
“I’ve heard stories of the Wizard’s Keep, but never imagined it to be this big.”
“I know, but we need to move. The rain will obscure our movements; they won’t see us until we are upon them.”
“Fine, now.”

They both sped out from under the cover of the forest, dropping their heads against the sudden onslaught of wind and rain; they both looked for their agreed marks. Faeric sped to the right, five soldiers stood by the wall, seeking solitude from the storm. By the time they spotted him, it was already too late.

His right fist slammed into the first guard’s chest, Devra easily pierced the iron chain mail, and tiny links flew outwards, mingling with his blood. Faeric pulled it out and slashed Ilfrit through the next mans throat. Blood exploded from his ruined neck in a burst of bright red spray, Faeric felt the warmness of it hit him in the face, mingling with the hard, cold rain. The next three had gotten over the shock of him appearing from out of nowhere in the storm. The first jabbed at his face, the second swung his blade in an arc at Faerics legs and the third held his blade in a blocking position, unsure of what to do. He dropped to his knees, bringing the claws of Devra up to catch the blade now going toward his chest. The first strike sailed harmlessly over his head, the second stopped against the three blades of Devra. Ilfrit was thrust out again, this time into the inner thigh of the first soldier. Blood ran down his thigh from the severed artery, he collapsed in heap. In the same movement Devra moved away from the now motionless sword to slice across the soldier’s chest. Once again the tiny, interlinking circlets of iron were nothing compared to Devra. They sliced through the iron chain mail, then the soft skin and hard muscle of the soldier’s chest. He let out a faint gurgle as his intestines fell out onto the ground. Faeric ignored him then, turning his attention to the final soldier. He dropped his sword in shock, Faeric looked at him in sorrow, from the features on his face, and he looked no more than eighteen. He held his hands up in resignation. Ilfrit buried itself in his chest, right above the heart. His startled, shocked eyes met Faerics, and then were obstructed as his body fell back into the saturated, muddy and bloody ground.
“I’m sorry; you signed up for the wrong side. I couldn’t let you free to tell the others.”

He moved further inwards to the centre of the east wall of the keep, waiting for Thearch, then stopped. He knew that he was not the traitor, but was not sure about Thearch, in fact, he wasn’t sure about any of them. After several second of thought, he moved away from the centre of the wall towards the most northern side door. He would stop anyone from taking the Glorea’n star, even if it cost him his life.

-----

Thearch ducked to avoid the swords swinging and thrusting for his head and body, cursing his luck. He had finally got close enough for them to spot him, then had tripped and slid several paces across the ground, allowing for the shocked guards to ready themselves. The five swords crossed above him, he punched the closest man in the thigh, feeling a sense of satisfaction as he fell almost instantaneously to the ground. They spread out now, wary of his gauntlets. The four of them had him surrounded. One stepped too near; he punched him square in the face, and then turned his attention back to the other three, not looking at the smashed and ruined bloody face. With a yell one jabbed at his face with his sword. Almost disdainfully he swayed to the side, punching the soldiers arm as it came close. There were now only two. Deciding enough was enough, he dropped to his knees swiftly, punching out both fists from his body.

He stood and started toward the centre of the east wall and then stopped, thinking. The other two had dismissed the idea of Faeric being the traitor, but he was not so sure. Perhaps he had only said the prophecy to gain the others trust. Instead of moving toward the centre of the east wall, he moved away, to the southern most doors. It saddened him that he couldn’t bring himself to trust Faeric; they had been through so much. Hell, all of them had been through so much together, and all that counted for nothing after several words. He sighed and opened the small door, stepping inside, wary for more soldiers. He would reach the Glorea’n Star and stop anyone from getting near it; he would die protecting it if he had to.

-----

Realund and Baleal watched the large cluster of guards standing at the main entrance to the keep; their job was made easier by the moonlight shining down on the entrance.
“Trust us to get the more difficult job,” muttered Realund.
“You know why we must take the front and not the other side Realund. Faeric and Thearch are the two to protect the Glorea’n Star, if one of them is the traitor then the other can fight him. It is out job to draw the guard to the entrance, making their job easier. You know what will happen if a servant of the Dark Lord gets an artefact as powerful as the Glorea’n Star, I doubt it is what keeps the gods away as some claim. But we know it contains strong magic, we must prevent darkness from claiming it.”
“I know Baleal, there was no need for the lecture, when do we do this.”

Just as his sentence finished the sky opened with a roar, sending down a screaming, relentless amount of rain, thunder roared across the land, lightning lit up the scene before them. The size and majestic quality of the keep astounded them, but they didn’t let it affect them. “We cannot see them, so that means they cannot see us, we go now.”

They both ran out into the full fury of the storm, Jaral loped easily alongside Baleal. The entrance to the keep and the soldiers guarding it materialized from out of the darkness, they called out in surprise, and then readied themselves.

Baleal flicked his wrists, sending Seta and Chaasi to slide sinuously through the rain and wrap around the legs of two of the guards. He yanked both whips backwards powerfully; the soldiers were dead before they hit the ground. The whips slid back behind him. Jaral had already torn the throats out of two of the guards and was viciously mauling a third. From the edge of the bridge, a deep, tolling bell could be heard. “They are coming Realund, get ready.”

Realund had taken out three guards. Three more surrounded him; he had heard the bells and knew what that meant. He attacked the soldiers with more vigour. Allydindril was a blur, first flashing down to cut away the legs of a man just below the kneecaps, then coming up in the same smooth, fast motion. It ripped through the second mans stomach easily, tearing a huge slice through his stomach, starting just above the thigh and ending just below his ribcage. Allydindril still swept on, this time to pass through the neck of the third soldier. Blood was everywhere, mingling with rain. Screams filled the air from two of his downed guards and three that had been mauled by Jaral.

Baleal was a whirlwind of death, Seta and Chaasi were like quicksilver, flowing smoothly through the ranks of the soldiers, finding unprotected areas and ripping through them. Chaasi left his right hand with a deft flick, wrapping itself around one soldier’s throat. Baleal pulled on the whip, forcing the dead body to fall forward, into the path of another soldier’s blade. Seta whirled up from beside him, and then he pulled back on the whip just before it reached the guards face. The hump on the whip travelled the whole way up and lashed forward, just scratching the soldier’s cheek. A soft thump sounded from behind him, he whirled around to see Jaral leaping on a Soldier that had crept up behind him.

Bodies surrounded the three of them, the screams and yells of pain were sometimes covered by the thunder, but Realund and Baleal did their best to ignore them. The grounds was slick with a mixture of rain and blood, they made their way carefully across the drawbridge. Realund pushed hard on the large, mahogany doors. They stepped in and he shut them behind him. The sound of the storm was abruptly cut off; silence filled the cavernous hallway they stood in.

A gleaming sea of black and white square marble tiles swept away from them, burning torches set in the walls and columns lit up the area. Giant stone columns; so large that they would take at least ten men holding hands to stretch around them, were set all around the hall. Inlaid in the columns were gilded patterns and pictures, the flickering light from the torches and lanterns made them sparkle and flicker.

“They did ring an E’leal bell didn’t they?”
“Realund, you know they did.”
“Then what the hell do we do now?”
“We wait for them. Are you sure you are ready?”
“I’ve been ready for this since I was born. There is one thing I have always wanted to do.”
“What’s that?”
“To see what happens after death.”

“You will get your wish, feeble human.”
They both span to face the cold, hard voice. Stepping out from one of the giant stone pillars stood a Dhakar. It stood at just over seven foot; its cold, charcoal eyes surveyed them gleefully. Pitch black scales covered its body from head to toe; they didn’t fail to cover the rippling, bulging muscles in its arms, legs, chest and body. At the end of the fingers on each hand were razor sharp, inch long nails.

It stepped backwards, into a murkier part of the cavernous hallway. The scales on its body slowly turned translucent when they came into contact with the shadow, it gave one last, gleeful hiss then vanished. At the farthest point of the hall, a torch on the wall went out abruptly. A second later, the next furthest one went out with another hiss. Jaral gave a roar of anger and started forward, then stopped and whined a Baleal, who gazed at him sternly.

Another two troches went out and Baleal and Realund realized at the same time what the Dhakar was doing. “Grab a torch.” They both yelled in unison. Realund sprinted right toward the closest, set in a bracket on one of the giant columns. He knew he needed to get their before the Dhakar, if he plunged the entire hallway into darkness then he and Baleal may as well slit their throats then and there. He turned and saw Baleal had reached a similar bracket, and had taken the torch from it. The hiss of torched being put out approached, behind lay darkness, a seemingly endless abyss of shadows nothingness.

The final torch apart from Baleal and Realunds was distinguished. They both stood on their own patches of light; darkness surrounded them and seemed to creep in. Shadows and movements seemed to happen where there were none. Baleal had left Seta on the floor under the bracket; he could hold the torch and effectively wield the whip at the same time.

Jaral growled into the shadows and he placed a hand on his flank, reassuring the giant Blood Hound.
“Realund, I don’t want you to come to me. We must stay apart.”
“That sound like a pretty shit strategy to me.”
“My tribe has fought one of these before, we need to stay apart. It is our only chance, don’t ask me why, but they cannot concentrate on more than one separate opponent if there is only of them.”

“Is that what you think human?”
The sibilant, mesmerising hiss echoed around Baleal. He could barely keep Jaral from leaping into the darkness. He concentrated on the darkness, trying to find the source.
“How wrong you are.”

He couldn’t keep a hold of Jaral this time, he leapt into the darkness, claws opened out and a fearsome roar echoed from the chest of him. The darkness seemed to devour the Blood Hound; Baleal could feel everything being done to his bonded. Claws ripped across Jarals chest, legs, back, face and neck. Fangs closed around his neck. Baleal slumped to the ground, unable to hold his weapons or the torch.

Realund heard the hiss as Baleal’s torch; he had heard the final roar of the Blood Hound and knew Baleal was dead. He pushed the feelings aside and let his face go emotionless.
“Well done, our master is sure to reward.”
“And what does that mean, human.”
The voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere.
“Exactly what I said, it would have been hard for me to kill him and his beast.”

The Dhakar stepped into the light emitted by his torch, allowing itself to be revealed. “Then you work for Lord Gareath as well?”
With all his strength and speed, Realund swung Allydindril at the beast’s neck. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The smug grin on the face of the Dhakar was replaced by a look of surprise, then anger. He reached out a claw slowly, ever so slowly, to counter the blade of Allydindril. The neck muscles in Realunds tightened, his arms were tightened, his body was twisting, putting as much speed and power into the blow as possible. The torch, still in the bracket illuminated it all. The edge of Allydindril met the open palm of the Dhakar, and didn’t stop. Its hand exploded in a dark black, viscous, foul smelling substance. Drops and globules of it flew into the air, following the still moving blade of Allydindril. A screech of pain came from the throat of the Dhakar, and it started to move its head back, but it was too late. The blade smashed into the side of its head, slicing through hard scales and bone and into the brain. A mass of black scales, white bone and grey brain flew upwards, creating an arc of the contents of the Dhakars head.

Realund stopped the blade, breathing heavily. Then spat on the dead body of the Dhakar. He withdrew the torch from the bracket and started for the end of the hall, pointedly avoiding walking toward where he had seen Baleal and Jaral fall. A slow clapping sounded through the cavernous room, echoing eerily. Realund stopped warily.

“Well done Realund, I haven’t seen a human kill a Dhakar in at least five thousand years. Congratulations.”
The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.
“Who’s there?”
As he spoke, the torch in his hand gave a last, feeble flicker, and then died in his hands, leaving him in total darkness. A slow, dark, menacing laugh sounded through the hall.

-----

Faeric stepped into the room containing the Glorea’n Star and gasped in amazement. Standing on top of a gilded pedestal was the Glorea’n Star. It was as large as his head and was a perfect circle, no sides were visible at all, it was totally smooth. A tranquil, soft, serene green glow was emitted from it. The light seemed pure, as if it were holy. He took several steps forward till he was standing almost directly above it. He knew now, without a shadow of a doubt that his life was easily worth giving to keep this pure.

“Give me the Glorea’n Star, Faeric.” Thearch stepped into the room after Faeric, he had seen him walk up and stand over the Star. He was positively sure now that Faeric was the traitor. Faeric turned toward him; his usual look was replaced by a savage, snarl.
“You will have to kill me before you take it, traitor.”
“You would call me a traitor, very well, if you believe that. Now it is your turn to die you bastard, I will not let darkness take the Glorea’n Star.”
“Then we are agreed on something.”

Thearch watched Faeric stepping down from the raised pedestal, his fists clenched. He saw Faerics do the same. The first attack was from Faeric, Ilfrit rushed out to the right, curling inwards to slash at Thearchs stomach. Devra came round and down at Thearchs face. He brought up both fists, one met Ilfrit, the other Devra. The gauntlets prevented Faerics weapons from passing through them into him. He kept a grip on Faerics hands, he brought them closer and head butted Faeric on the nose with his forehead. He released his grip of Faerics weapons and watched as he fell back, blood dripping down his face. Now it was his turn to attack.

Faeric desperately defended the powerful punches from Thearch, he knew if the gauntlets were to even brush his skin he would die. He couldn’t let that happen though, he wouldn’t let the darkness win. With that, he knew what he must do. The prophecy said nothing about two dying; this was the only way he could see to protect the Glorea’n Star.

Thearch was punching hard, his blows were if anything speeding up. He wouldn’t let Faerics evil heart win. Suddenly he saw an opening. Faeric had left his guard down on his right side. With triumph Thearch slammed his left fist deep into Faerics side, then pulled it back out again. Faeric fell to the ground, dead as he hit the floor. Blood flowed out of the gaping wound in his side.

Thearch decided that to keep the Glorea’n Star truly safe he would need to take it somewhere where the minions of the Dark Lord wouldn’t know. Perhaps Gareaths house would do. As he went to take a step forward, he found that all the strength had deserted his limbs. He fell to the floor with a crash, still unsure of what was wrong. His chest became warmer, a slight throbbing pain coursed up him. He looked down and saw with shock that Ilfrit was buried deep into his chest.

-----

Garrett stepped over the two dead bodies, ignoring them both. He stepped forward to ward the Glorea’n Star; he was finally standing over it. He placed two hands carefully on either side, and then lifted it gleefully to his face. How his master would be pleased.



((That was the prologue, it wouldnt let me add the 1st chapter so I'll add that seperately if anyone wants it))