DARKSLAYER

The Lightwielder Chronicles:  Book One

by Paul Shope

PROLOGUE

            Mist wrapped the tundra in a shroud of frozen air.  Only a faint breeze stirred in this frigid landscape, making the subzero temperature slightly colder.  Above, massive snowy peaks towered to the north and west--the only sign that this wasteland ever ended.  Northern Lights danced across the sky, a splash of color against the black of night.

            Yet there was a chill beauty to the land, a peace borne of pure air and pure silence.  The glassy, ice-covered snow rolled gently outward in every direction, and the calm was complete enough to make the tundra almost hospitable.

            The silence was nearly perfect when a faint thrum sent vibrations through the mist.  Although no one was present to feel it, an expectant air arose from the serenity of the ice.  Again, a low rumble disturbed the peace, and again, growing faintly louder each time.

            The mountains watched from above and the Lights danced on as the thrumming grew louder, a slow, steady heartbeat approaching through the haze.  The darkness seemed to grow darker... 

            Then it broke through the fog, a black line a mile wide, marching to the rolling thunder of a huge drum buried somewhere in the gloom.  Their heavy boots crunched in the crust of ice, but they made no other sound.  Humans they were, men and women covered in furs, staring determinedly ahead.  They were barbarians of the tundra, and until recently, they had scavenged a meager existence from the icy land, nomads in the Arctic regions outside the mountains.  But now it was the mountains they approached, led--indeed, driven--by another force.  It was this force that cut through the ranks as they approached the wall of snow and ice known as the Northern Crown.

            A massive groth parted the front ranks, a horselike creature with a shaggy coat of black and gray hair and hooves the size of anvils.  Its protruding snout breathed smoke into the air as it eyed the barbarians it no longer served.  Plates ran down its face, lined by small horns, and ending in a mouthful of small, razor sharp teeth.  Two large horns on the sides of its head and one on the end of its snout completed the vicious mask.  Yet, for all its size and gnarled visage, the mount was not so intimidating as the rider.

            This man, too, was once a barbarian, one of the greatest and most powerful of their clan leaders.  His name had been Rorik.  He was a large man with a hard face and a full beard, as all barbarian men wore.  Black armor made him even more massive than he was; metal plates formed a point at his breast, and a short black cape was fastened to his shoulders with clasps of a deep reddish metal in the shape of talons.  None of the other barbarians wore armor; it was against tradition.  But he had told them that he was the breaker of traditions and that they were destined to usher in a new age.  They accepted this with enthusiasm, but each one still wore no more than the thick hides of large northland creatures. 

            The man’s auburn hair was streaked with white, and the rising wind tousled it into an unruly mess as his eyes looked beyond the horizon.  His eyes... It was his eyes that made even the groth skittish under their gaze.  They held no color; the irises were deep, pure black, rather than the green-gray of Rorik’s eyes. Yet it was not Rorik that the barbarians followed.  Rorik was gone, dead, banished to a realm of eternal darkness and unrest.  Though they did not realize it, they followed the force that now inhabited Rorik; they followed Daal Krae, Lord of Shadows, Night Stalker, Darkwielder.

            Krae had come before to this frozen wasteland, but then it was as a prisoner.  His lip curled at the memory, and at the years he had been held captive.  But now he was free, and he had gathered another army.  The barbarians were crude but useful, and their numbers should be sufficient to begin his conquest anew.  Soon, his following would grow, as would his power.  He spoke to his obedient warriors.

            "My children."  He did not turn to face them as the army continued to march.  He raised his deep voice, though there was no need; they could hear his thoughts if he wished it.  "Soon you will be free.  Soon you will have all that you deserve.  Those who have lived in comfort while you suffered in the wild... soon you will crush them, and they will join our numbers.  They will join us or die.  We will then be mighty enough to venture south, and you shall have power and wealth beyond your imaginings."

            The army was now nearing the foot of the great mountains.  The Northern Crown was so named for the mountain chain that ran around the pole in a complete circle, forming a jagged ring on top of the world.  It was also so called because within this ring of mountains there lived another group of people, an ages-old kingdom with ancient wealth and power. 

            In truth, the barbarian people had never before thought ill of the people who dwelt in the mountain kingdom.  They merely did not interact.  But now Krae, in the body of Rorik, had shown them that they had indeed been victims, kept from what was rightfully theirs.  Several of the barbarians snarled at the thought of the injustice they had endured, their thoughts turning dark, their intentions violent.  Daal Krae smiled at their thoughts.  He could feel their anger and aggression, feel it feeding his power.

            Onward they marched, through the Northern Crown by way of the mountain pass that neither Rorik nor his people had ever traveled.  For several hours they wandered through the maze of ice formations; only Krae knew the way.  Eventually the mountains parted to reveal a sight no barbarian had seen in a hundred generations:  the Kingdom of Whitefall.

            A vast city sprawled across the valley, and the mountain peaks formed a protective circle, as if shielding their children.  A high wall surrounded the city, blocking most of the structures from view, but dozens of towers were visible above the wall.  Impossibly tall and impossibly thin, they seemed to challenge the rule of the mountains as the tallest forms in the arctic landscape.  The narrow spires looked like enormous inverted icicles, but they were decorated with intricate patterns that refracted any light (even now in the dead of night) into a myriad rainbows.  They only hinted at what might be below, hidden by the walls.

            Snow covered the land and drifted high against the walls surrounding the city, but here and there, reaching toward the sky, a tree could be seen distinctly against the ubiquitous whiteness.  Plants were rare enough in the northern regions, and most of the barbarians had never seen one bigger than a hardy, thorny berry bush.

            The army at the gateway to this foreign realm was not so awe struck that it forgot its purpose.  Their leader was moved not at all, except to be more determined to destroy everything in this valley.  He never intended for the denizens of Whitefall to join him.  These people would suffer--especially her.  She more than all the others was responsible for his suffering.  He had waited so long for this moment.  The words he spoke were barely above a whisper, but the men and women heard them as a battle cry in their minds, "My children, our vengeance is at hand.  Attack!"

            A deafening roar filled the air as thousands of northern barbarians surged the last few hundred yards to their object of conquest.  Their cold eyes and hearts held no mercy, nor would they show any once they reached those walls.  Daal Krae, his groth galloping at the front, threw back his head and arms, reveling in the power he drew from their aggression.  He could feel it building, growing inside him.  He had counted on them, on the strength of their hatred.

            He snapped back to attention in his saddle, his gaze intent.  Something was amiss.  He felt a sickening in the pit of his gut.  It had been so long since he had felt the touch of magic that it took him a moment to realize what the feeling was.  Someone in the city was summoning a great deal of magic; it was magic of the Light that twisted his insides.  He raised his arms and called upon the magic of the Dark to shield his army against the attack.

            But in his moment of hesitation, the damage was done.  A piercing brightness shone from one of the towers, refracting into a thousand rays, scattering through the ranks, and each barbarian it touched turned to a statue of ice.  Each detail perfectly etched, the person inside preserved to be released at a later time, the soldiers were frozen on the battlefield, before any blood was shed.  A hundred, two hundred, a thousand immobilized in that instant before Krae could act.  He cursed himself for not being aware, and even as he maintained his protective shield, he glanced behind to see a third of his force already eliminated.  The rest were still moving forward, but less sure of themselves than before.  He cursed himself again.  Their loss of faith would be a much greater cost than the loss of their swords.

            "Listen to me, my children!"  He shouted this time, magnifying his voice further in their minds to override their doubts and mounting fears.  "You see?  Their magic is gone.  They have used it up in one vain attempt to stop us.  We must not hesitate, or they will have time to prepare more defenses.  Onward, my children.  Show no mercy!"

            Even as he denied the power of the Light, Krae battled to keep it at bay, until finally they reached the great wall.  The barbarians had regained their warrior spirit.  Rorik had spoken the truth; they had reached the wall, and nothing could stop them now.

            Krae refocused his power, and a column of fire and brimstone left his outstretched hands to blast a hole in the wall.  Half of the wall section shattered, sending pieces of ice flying in every direction, while the other half melted from the heat.  A hundred men abreast now entered the city intent on murder and destruction.

            Yet the invaders were in for another surprise.  The Army of Whitefall stood facing them, outnumbering the barbarians two to one.  But it was too late to turn back now, and the barbarians were not a people to run from unfavorable odds.  They barely hesitated before charging once more.

            One of the barbarian leaders raised her mace to meet the long sword of a Whitefall soldier.  Roaring out a battle cry, she swung with all her might.  At the moment she expected the weapon to crush her enemy’s skull, the soldier evaporated.  Her mace passed through where the soldier had been, and she stumbled headlong, her weapon embedding itself in a column of ice instead of bone.  Another soldier was already charging her when she raised her voice to speak what many had already discovered.

            "It is a trick!  Another deception through their foul mag..."  Before she could finish, the second soldier’s sword pierced her through, and she fell with a shocked expression on her dying face.  Everywhere in the entry courtyard, barbarians were caught by surprise, and another several hundred were lost before they regained their senses.  Now the barbarians were forced to fight illusions as often as flesh and blood, but they had no choice.  The battle raged on with the barbarians down by half, and the Army of the Northern Crown at an indeterminable number, fighting alongside their phantom allies.

            Krae barely noticed as he followed the source of Light magic like a hound on the scent of rancid prey.  He was determined to face her before she could do any more damage.  He had already let too many be lost; finding her was the only answer.  He rode his mighty groth down the wide thoroughfares, dispatching any that came within sight.  With a flick of his hand, they went up in flames or flew across the avenue.  He paid no attention to the parks scattered throughout the city, islands of green surrounded by the structures of ice-stone.  He could see now the city’s center, a ring of the tallest towers, a dozen of them encircling a great garden.  A web of bridges laced between the trees, leaving the ground covered with lush and colorful foliage.  Krae gave it not a glance.

            One spire was taller, more radiant than all the rest.  That must be the one; she is there.  But as he approached, Krae stopped, his head tilted to one side.  No, not in the largest, but there across the way, in one of the smaller towers.  Turning to cross another bridge, he galloped to the steps and leaped from the groth’s back, bounding up the wide stairs.  Up he climbed, through the winding stairways, down curving hallways, using his power to give him greater strength and speed.

            At long last, he came to a great door carved from ice.  The feeling was strong now, nauseating him with its taint of Light.  Without hesitating, he blasted the door to shards and strode into the chamber beyond, a vast open space, far larger than seemed possible from the outside.  The ceiling was a dome high above, carved with the same intricate patterns as the outside of the towers.  The room was sparsely furnished with only a large table made of ancient wood and an oversized chair to match.  Tapestries hung at intervals around the circular chamber, depicting scenes of the city’s construction and of the creation of the gardens.  A tall window overlooked the battle taking place in the night, while an ethereal glow lit the room from no source that could be seen.

            A woman stood at the far side of the chamber, beside the window.  Tall and slender, she wore a gown that seemed to be made of ice crystals; yet it conformed to her curving shape and moved with the same grace as she.  Her hair, a shimmering white that sparkled and danced in counterpoint to the light in her pale blue eyes, was up in an ornate crown of ice.  She turned from the window to regard Krae with those cool eyes.  Krae slowed and stopped upon seeing her, feeling the power behind that gaze; he had forgotten how beautiful she was.  But all this passed in a moment.  She was his enemy, and she would be broken.

            "Princess Coranda.  How good to see you again after all this time."  His deep barbarian voice rumbled in the silence of the chamber as the sounds of battle drifted up from far below.

            "In any form, I would recognize your foul taint, Krae."  Princess Coranda’s voice was as soft as snow falling from the clouds, as musical as crystals falling on a frozen pond, yet as hard as a dagger of ice, matching the cold hardness in her eyes.  "I’ve been expecting you.  You haven’t gained so much power yet."

            "Not enough to satisfy me, surely.  But I’m quite confident it will be enough to break you!"  And with that he lashed out with the fury of a thousand dark demons.

            In one smooth, quick motion, Krae brought his palms together in front of him.  He swung his arms around to his sides in a wide arc, and from his hands erupted a shockwave of burning red energy that streaked toward Coranda, setting the entire room on fire.  Coranda was prepared, and still she barely managed to throw her hand high above her head where a brilliant white light shone in her palm, encasing her in a protective shield.  The blast knocked the breath from her, and she felt her power weaken.  But while the room burned from the intensity of the demon fire, she remained unharmed. 

            Pressing his advantage, Krae lashed back and upward with his hand.  From his fist, a stream of blackness emerged, condensing into a poisonous whip with which he struck at Coranda.  She dodged with a preternatural speed but also with a grace that made Krae wonder if he had merely missed his mark.  He struck at her again, but this time she did not flinch.  Instead, her left hand, bathed in a gauntlet of light, caught the sable whip, deadlocking the two forces, Light and Dark.  Coranda and Krae struggled furiously as they matched powers, each draining the other.  Tapestries and table burned to ashes about them.

            "I’m a bit disappointed, your highness," Krae taunted, with only a hint of the strain they were both enduring.  "You have had many years to build your power, while I have just recently regained my own, and yet I overpower you."

            Coranda’s voice was deathly quiet.  "Your evil runs deep, Krae, no matter how long you may have lain dormant.  But you have not overpowered me yet."

            From her right hand, crystal splinters launched toward the startled Lord of Shadows.  In his moment of hesitation, she refocused her power through the gauntlet, sending a surge of Light magic through the whip.  Krae buckled in surprise and pain.  The foul whip dissipated, leaving him defenseless against the ice daggers that penetrated his armor and seared his unprotected face.  Krae howled more from the surge of Light than from the shards, an inhuman noise that shook the ice-stone of the building.

            Coranda stumbled backward, releasing her hold on the magic.  She was weak from channeling so much for so long, and it took her a moment to notice the other consequence of their contest.  With a muffled cry, she held up the charred and blackened remains of her left hand, which responded only slightly when she moved it.  Her face, too, had aged, as though the touch of evil had decayed her flesh. She nearly crumpled to the floor at that moment, but she knew that at any cost she must not let Krae triumph.  From outside, the sounds of the struggle below vaguely penetrated her stunned exhaustion.  It seemed an eternity ago that this battle had begun, but the fighting was still in full force.

            The respite lasted but a few precious moments.  Daal Krae, Night Stalker, Darkwielder, an endless fire of hatred and evil burning in his eyes, gathered his remaining power.  The tower began to tremble.  From the floor of the chamber rose ribbons of ghostly black, formless wraiths that soared around in space, waiting for the order to strike.  Krae straightened as his evil took shape, the cuts on his face a burning reminder of his hatred for the Ice Princess Coranda, Ruler of the Kingdom of the Northern Crown, Light Sorceress... and daughter of his captor.

            He clenched his fists, and the wraiths settled to the floor, coalescing into five creatures of the night.  Each formed a slightly different monster, one more repulsive than the next.  Each was as black as pitch, with foot-long claws, and fangs that dripped poison.  They continued to grow limbs and tentacles, until their hideous shapes formed a barrier between their master and their victim.  Their eyes were tiny fires burning in their sockets, and they turned their hungry stares to Coranda.

            Krae addressed her for the last time.  "And so we see that the power of the Dark is indeed the greater force.  You fought admirably, but in the end, revenge is mine."

            "You cannot win Krae.  You are evil, and evil turns in on itself and destroys itself.  You know as well as I that you are nothing without your followers out there, feeding you with their hatred and aggression."  A slight tremble in her voice belied her firm words.

            Krae’s smile did not touch his eyes.  "Yes, their hatred and aggression do indeed add to my power.  But that isn’t all.  Fear also contributes to the Darkness, and in that way, you have aided in your own death."  His eyes flared with anticipation as he gave the order, "Kill her."

            At the very moment the creatures lunged for Coranda, she gathered her strength and focused her magic beneath the demons.  A mist of purest cold issued from the floor, and before they could cover half the distance, the Hell hounds were each encased in a shell of ice.  Krae roared with anger.  He searched for another source of Dark energy to tap and found it in his followers, who were absorbed in the heat of their own conflict.  But Coranda had anticipated this, and before he could draw on their malevolent energy, she released another volley of light beams that froze his remaining forces and many of her own in the process.

            Krae’s thunderous, inhuman howl came from beyond his physical self.  His voice came from the same place, a demon’s voice that resounded throughout the tower, shaking it to its foundation.  The frozen creatures shuddered, though from his voice or from their inner struggle, she did not know.  "You will suffer a thousand deaths for this insult.  I will not only destroy your body, I will consume your soul!"

            Coranda paused as briefly as she dared.  In that instant, she summoned her remaining strength and prayed to the almighty Creator that it would be enough.  Her arms outstretched, her head held high, Coranda reached out with tendrils of Light and wrapped them around Daal Krae.

            "What is this?  Still you think you can defeat me?"

            Krae searched desperately for some reserve of his Dark magic, but Coranda wove her Light tighter around him, penetrating and dissolving the bonds of Krae’s spirit, which inhabited the body of this northland barbarian.  What little power Krae could gather, he knew would not break her hold on him now.  Instead, he focused his energy on his minions, trapped in their cold prison.  He fanned the fires that burned within them and gave them life.  The five demons began to tremble.

            Coranda doubled her efforts, nearly collapsing with the effort.  Krae’s eyes widened as he lost all contact with his Dark powers.  "No."  His voice was not even a whisper.  The tendrils of Light had found their way.  Coranda had stripped his bonds with Rorik’s body and cut Krae off from his power.  Rorik’s lifeless form slumped to the floor.  Coranda’s eyes were clenched in concentration and sweat stood out on her face, still beautiful though she strained with the effort.  She held the spirit of Daal Krae in her tenuous grip of Light, cautiously maneuvering it into the room beneath, where his prison, the mystical Arca, awaited. 

            The Arca was a large crystal chest, swirling with a milky white haze that turned black as she tainted it with Krae’s helpless spirit.  She had placed the Arca here, in anticipation of this confrontation.  The casket had been his prison for the past ten years, and she prayed it would be again, for all eternity.  Krae’s disembodied voice pounded inside her head as she placed him into the Arca and began sealing it with bonds of protection as strong as she could muster.

            Yet while she worked the delicate weavings of Light on his prison, a fire still burned inside each of Krae’s demons.  They struggled to free themselves, to answer their master’s desperate call.  Coranda’s ice shells began to weaken.  The creatures’ struggles became more furious, until at last one, then another and another broke free.  They shook themselves, disoriented and weakened without their master, but still aware of their purpose:  destroy the Ice Princess.

            Then the monsters were upon her, tearing with their claws and poisoning with their evil.  In their fury and confusion, they attacked each other as often as their prey.  Coranda lost her hold on Krae, and this frightened her more than a thousand of these darkspawn.  As they continued to batter her, Coranda reached out to the prison below.  The bonds had held.  Krae was not free, but the ties would not last long.  She detached herself from her body, left it to the onslaught, and wove the final bonds on Daal Krae’s prison--slowly, weakly, until at last it was done.

            Coranda sought out her body.  Tentatively, fearing that nothing was left, she touched her flesh... and realized that when she completed the seals on Krae’s prison, his demons had dissipated, returning to their nether-world.

            She tried to reenter her body delicately but was shocked back into her physical being by the pain and decay caused by the creatures.  Coranda staggered to her feet, but her legs would not support her.  She slumped to the floor, immobilized by pain and exhaustion.  She reached out to touch the magic of the Light, but it was distant, unattainable.

            A crew of men burst into the chamber at that moment and were brought up short by the sight of destruction they encountered.  Then one of them saw Coranda, lying on the floor at the far side of the chamber. 

            "There!"  He pointed, and they rushed to her side, only to stop abruptly as they glimpsed her ravaged appearance.

            "Princess Coranda?"  The young man hesitated, afraid of some treachery, but she only nodded her head weakly.

            "Yes, Joran.  I am your Princess," she rasped.  He moved to support her as she slid further to the floor.

            "Your Highness, what happened here?  What... happened to you?  Where...?"  Joran’s questions were left unfinished as he once again surveyed the battle-scarred tower.  He noted the lifeless form of a barbarian laying across the room.

            "It is done.  The Darkwielder is imprisoned once again."  A small triumphant fire flashed in her eyes.  "Take me to my chamber."

            He nodded and picked up her frail body.  The astonished complement of guards followed Joran down several flights of stairs to Coranda’s private chambers.  The guards paused in the doorway as Joran carried Coranda into the room.  He moved to lay her on the bed, but she waved a withered hand.

            "Take me to my looking glass, Joran.  I want to see myself."

            Joran and the other men looked at each other uncertainly, but she was still their sovereign.  "As you wish, Your Highness."

            He carried her to the mirror and supported her as she stood on unsteady feet.  Her eyes saddened at what she saw there:  a ghost of her former self, withered and aged beyond mortal years.  Her bent form was thinned to the bones, her skin hanging in wrinkled folds.  Her crown lost in the fight, her hair now fell, loose and dull, about her shoulders.  Only her eyes remained untouched, their pale blue still piercing, revealing the strength inside.  But her body was broken, and she did not know how much of her power she could regain.  She cradled her blackened left hand in her bony right.

            "Princess Coranda...  I am sorry."

            She stared at her reflection a moment longer.  Her eyes regained some of their determination, and she turned to look at her companion.  "I am not so sorry."  He seemed taken aback by her firmness. "I used my last ounce of strength to do it, but I have returned Daal Krae to his prison.  And despite the consequences," she gestured at her broken body, "I would do it again if necessary.  As my mother did before me, I would gladly give my life if it meant preventing the Darkwielder from conquering the world."

            She motioned for Joran's help and leaned on him as she shuffled to the bed.  He lifted her onto the soft cushions, from which she regarded him once more with eyes now heavy with weariness.  "My friend, I must rest now.  If you would still follow your Princess, then gather the remaining guards, and prepare them for a long journey."

            Joran bowed his head.  "We are all that remain, Your Highness."

            Coranda looked to the door where a dozen men now stood with a half dozen women, two of them carrying children.  Disbelief was plain in her voice.

            "Of our entire kingdom, these are all that remain?  How?"

            "At the end, every citizen joined the battle.  It is the only way we held them off for so long.  Others were caught in your spell, but we all would have perished before long, if you hadn’t acted when you did."

            "I have not the power to restore those frozen by my own hand."  Coranda closed her eyes against bitter memories.  "Oh Mother... Despite all our efforts, the Lightwielders are extinct." 

            She blinked away the past to gaze sadly at the group by the door.  "And the kingdom of Whitefall will follow."

            "Yes, Princess."  He followed her gaze to the door, then looked back to her, his face firm.  "And we all still follow you... Even if it means facing Daal Krae again."

            The two women hugged their babes tighter at the mention of that name.

            "I do not think that will be necessary.  But we must leave our home and travel south.  My bonds on Krae will not last forever.  My powers were nearly gone by the time I placed the last seals, and they may weaken in time." 

            Her eyes traveled from face to face, looking into the eyes of each, the last of her people, before turning back to Joran. 

            "We must find the one who can defeat Krae once and for all.  I believe such a one exists, or will, and perhaps the Light remains with me enough that I can find that one.  But we must travel to the kingdoms of the south.  The journey will be long and difficult, and the search even more so.  I cannot do it alone."

            Joran looked to the remaining people of the Northern Crown.  He studied their faces and saw the same determination that he felt in himself.  "We will serve you until the Darkwielder drags us away."

            "Thank you," she whispered, "Thank you all."  She leaned back wearily, feeling the pains from the battle.  "I must rest now, as should you.  We will then begin the necessary preparations.  We will leave seven days hence for the southern lands, to seek out the one who has the power to banish Daal Krae to the darkness forever.  We must find the last Lightwielder."