As they emerge from the other side of the spillway and step into the city itself, climbing up to a wide stone platform a couple feet above the water, which serves as a harbor of small boats, they find nothing but silence and stillness. The city itself, were it not for a pervading sense of restlessness and of fear that fills the air, would seem as empty and lifeless as a sepulcher. Rorlain prays that it is not as lifeless, but holds captives still living somewhere within its bowels, that they may be freed. He dare not hope that it is devoid of foes, however, but rather looks about desperately to catch sight of the enemy before the enemy catches sight of them. The troops gradually move forward along the harbor, remaining as quiet as they can, while others filter into the city behind them. The more men they can manage to bring into the city before they are spotted, the better, for thus they shall have a greater chance of successful combat.
But the silence is confusing and uncanny. Why have they not been seen? As his mind casts about for an answer, a realization comes to Rorlain. Never before have they seen the druadach lingering about as though living a life of their own, however base and mindless this life may be. Rather, they only appear when they are summoned by their lords. It may be likewise for the eötenga, though he also recalls the troll-like beast who had taken him hostage in the cavern in the Aldera Highlands. That one lived as much as any other beast of the earth, though drawing its power and life not from the creative and sustaining activity of the Maker of all, but from the twisted fashioning of the Draion, whose creation is but mockery, and whose sustenance is but the ceaseless pouring forth of evil and malintent in order to project and to sustain shadows born of the darkness.
Turning to Senfyr, Rorlain says, "The creatures may not even be manifest at this moment. It could be that only their lord remains within the city, and that they shall be called hence only when we are discovered."
"Is that good or ill?" Senfyr asks.
"I know not."
"But do you really believe so? After all, if such is the case, why would they wish to take the city as their own fortress if they do not need a fortress to defend them?"
"To that question...I do not know the answer." Rorlain turns and looks at Tilliana, her figure dimly visible in the darkness, and, beyond her, the great number of men who are now emerging from the spillway and filling the entire space of the platform. "But if that is the case, then I fear that our plan is ill-conceived. If the city is left mostly empty, then less men is better than more, and hope lies not in numbers but in secrecy."
"What then do you propose?"
Rorlain shakes his head, trying to dismiss the sinking feeling of futility and of fear that grips him, and to think clearly. Laying hold of some answer, however frail it may be, he says, "We should halt where we are now, for we know not what lies before us, nor even what is the case now. I would like us to be able to continue with our plan, but also to have a swift retreat, if that proves to be called for. Send word to the men behind of this change. Meanwhile I shall move forward with a few chosen men to scout ahead. Only with such information as that provides can we get a sense of what awaits us, and thus of what we should do."
"Very well," Senfyr replies. "But if we are attacked while you are absent, forget not that we need the light that you channel in order to slay these beasts with any degree of ease."
"Aye," says Rorlain, "I shall not forget. But let us pray it does not come to that."
"Nor for the troops on the other side of the city," sighs Tilliana.
"Aye to that as well. I wish now that we would not have separated."
Without further conversation Rorlain picks a dozen trained warriors and sets off down the platform into the unknown that is concealed by the darkness. A single glance shared between him and Tilliana communicates an agreement between them: though he wishes her near him so he may protect her, she is safer now remaining where she is.
As the small group presses forward under Rorlain's guidance, the harbor platform gradually begins to widen as the wall to their right recedes, and then they find a wide set of stairs leading up toward the ground level of the city above them. As they come to the cobbled streets of the city, with the figures of stone and half-timber houses looming over them, Rorlain calls to mind the last time he was in Minstead so as to gain a sense of their location. The darkness makes this very difficult. But as they continue down the streets and the minutes pass, he begins to recognize certain landmarks, and he knows that they are progressing toward the city center, where lies the "great courtyard." This is a wide pavilion paved with stones with a gurgling fountain in the center, where market days and fairs are often held, with traveling merchants from nearby settlements coming to barter their wares, and musicians, and performers. But how different now is the city in this slumber of death!
No citizens greet them but those whose bodies still lay in the streets without reverence or burial. Seeing this, Rorlain's heart yearns for the deliverance of the city still more deeply, if only to remedy the sacrilege that the creatures of darkness have committed, and to take from their grasp what should be a haven of light and peace but has been made a place of dark and death. It takes them a quarter of an hour to reach the great courtyard, and as it comes into view, they know they have found the end of their scouting expedition. Rorlain turns to one of his companions and says to him, "Hurry back to the rest of the troops, and warn them. Bring aid immediately, as fast as your feet can carry you."
The man, shaking with fear to be sent off alone, nods and turns to go, but then Rorlain realizes his mistake and says, "I am sorry. Here...you two accompany him on the way. But pause for nothing, and if you encounter the enemy, do not fight. Your task is to bring word to the rest of the men."
When the three messengers have gone, Rorlain and the remaining nine warriors make their way cautiously forward along the edges of the courtyard. Before them are many things to behold, though the eyes and heart would wish not to see them. In the center of the courtyard, where the fountain stands, burns a massive bonfire, and though they cannot make out the nature of its fuel at first, soon they realize that it is being fed by fallen bodies and other refuse of the city, which the creatures have apparently gathered together and set to flame, covering the fountain in its entirety and burying it under the mass. It seems that the Lord of Death is gloating in his victory and using his minions as tools to express his own version of sadistic delight. Rorlain and his men also see living warriors standing about the fire, their weapons drawn, though they do not engage in combat, but stand at the ready, though apparently defeated. For around them, in a wide circle without any breaks, stand numerous druadach, and among them a few larger eötenga, closing them in and trapping them, making fighting unfeasible and escape impossible.
"It is Wygrec!" the man at Rorlain's side exclaims softly. "He still lives, and many of his men."
"Indeed," responds Rorlain. "Let us hope our messengers return with the rest of our company soon. There is yet a chance that we may save them."
"But why do they not fight?"
"That I do not know. Let us risk drawing a little nearer, that we may see." With this Rorlain guides the men to a location further into the courtyard, where they crouch behind a large wooden cart that has been tipped onto its side and its contents spilled wildly across the ground. Peeking around it, Rorlain gains a better view of the mass of men and beast that fills the center of the courtyard. He sees Wygrec Stûnclad's face, fraught with terror and yet remaining defiant, looking directly into the face of a figure that at first he cannot recognize, for it is turned away from him. While he squints his eyes and cranes his neck to try and get a better view, the figure turns, as if pacing, and Rorlain immediately recognizes it. The figure is that of Maggot, who calls himself the Lord of Worms. He is speaking and addressing the encircled warriors, though Rorlain and his men cannot hear his voice.
Let us be grateful that he loves to boast and to parade his own victory, Rorlain thinks silently. It once served us in the liberation of Eldarien. May it now serve us also in the liberation of these men. This wish, even as he voices it to himself, becomes also a spontaneous prayer, a deep plea of the heart.
While they wait for the return of the messengers and the arrival of the rest of their company, however, they feel the pressing danger of every passing moment. There is no known reason for the creatures of darkness to allow these men to live, unless it be for their own wicked games, and it is only a matter of time before they are either slain where they stand or taken captive. Indeed, trying to gauge the number of men still under Wygrec's command, Rorlain sees that a good half of their number must already have been slain, and only half still stand at his side. But why this stalemate now?
As if in answer to his thoughts, there is a sudden rush of movement among the eötenga, and a roar of sound, and they leap forward to beset Wygrec and his men once again. Seeing this, Rorlain says to those at his side, "We cannot overcome them all, but perhaps we can distract them long enough that our company may arrive and these men may be saved. Forward, now!"
Rorlain leaps from behind the cart, knocking an arrow in his bow and letting it loose into the mass of eötenga. In the same moment he allows the light to stream forth, not only into the arrow that he has loosed, but into all the weapons wielded by the men at Wygrec's side. This sudden outburst of brilliant light in contrast to the deep and abiding darkness has an overwhelming effect on those caught in the fray, men and beasts alike, and for a moment they all pause, startled, and look around. Rorlain turns this to his advantage by rushing forward and calling out, "For Telmerion! Let the light be your bane, creatures of darkness!" He releases another arrow into the heart of a druadach at the edge of the group so that all may see how, on contact with the light, it dissolves into nothingness. A moment later his bow is again over his shoulder and his axe is drawn. He collides with the still confused creatures at full sprint, and the men who have accompanied him are but a few steps behind.
Seeing this, Wygrec's men take heart and begin to cut their way out from the prison of bodies in which they have been held captive. And only a minute or two later the rest of the forces that have sneaked into the city with Rorlain arrive, and they need little indication before they too join the fray, completely overwhelming by their sheer number the circle of eötenga who stand in the midst of the courtyard.
"Whom do I have to thank for this timely intervention?" Wygrec asks, turning to face Rorlain when the battle has subsided.
"We have marched from Onylandun after receiving the messenger sent to us to ask for aid," answers Rorlain.
"Well, I am Wygrec Stûnclad, leader of the rebel forces, and you have my gratitude. I know not if we would have been able to fight our way out of that situation alone."
"I am glad that we arrived in time. Turic told us that you had set off with the hopes of liberating those still held captive within the city, and we came as quickly as we could."
"It all worked out well in the end, then," remarks Wygrec.
"What do you mean?"
"They told me that attempting assault and rescue with this few men would be suicide, but it all ended splendidly, did it not?"
Rorlain opens his mouth to speak, but he is not sure what to say that would not be either offensive or dishonest, and so he shuts his mouth again and simply nods silently. Thankfully, it does not appear that Wygrec was looking for a response, and he almost immediately speaks again, "But that bizarre light that came to our aid, tell me of it. Is this the power that we have been hearing rumors about these last months?"
"Aye, that it is," says Rorlain.
"Then you must be the one about whom all the people speak?"
"Well, no, that is actually my dear friend."
"He is here as well, somewhere, I assume?"
"No, he has embarked on another task altogether, though his journey is for the sake of all of us who here fight. And he has entrusted the light to me that I may accompany the armies in his stead."
"Very well," sighs Wygrec. And then, beginning to turn away, he says, "I would hear more of that sometime. But I think we have other affairs to occupy us now. Can I count on your assistance in rescuing the people of Minstead who have been made captives of the enemy?"
"If I were not to accompany you I would counsel you to forsake the mission altogether," Rorlain says.
Wygrec glances back over his shoulder at Rorlain and cocks an eyebrow curiously, remarking, "You think your presence is that important, do you?"
At this moment the company led by Turic arrives, and their presence brings this uncomfortable conversation to an end.
"Ah, Turic, you have come as well!" exclaims Wygrec, extending his arms wide in welcome. "We are about to see what we can do about infiltrating the castle and freeing those held within."
"Where are the rest of your men, Wygrec?" Turic asks, casting his eyes over the courtyard and taking measure of those who stand there.
"What you see is all that remains," answers the leader of the rebellion. "We found ourselves caught in a trap that we were hard-pressed to escape. But that is behind us now, and heroic deeds await us. Our people lie within, and I would see them freed. Shall we go?"
"What plan have we crafted?" asks Turic. "Shall we rely upon force alone?"
"Look upon our newfound numbers," responds Wygrec. "This is more than I had expected to receive in response to our summons, even if still far less than the numbers of our enemy. I say we use it to advantage."
"I suggest that you first tell us what we may hope to find, and where these prisoners are being held," Rorlain interjects. "I would hate to see lives lost through negligence or deliberate ignorance. Better to enter with eyes clear and open than to run in blindly and to witness later its ill effects."
"As you wish," says Wygrec. "I know not if any of these dark creatures remain in Minstead at all, now that we have slain those in the courtyard. Of course, even when my men and I arrived they were not here. That is how we fell into a trap. They appeared all around us, stepping out from the darkness, and before we even realized it we were surrounded."
"Precisely. And I fear that shall happen again if we simply charge into the castle relying upon numbers alone," says Rorlain.
"I agree with sir Farâël," Turic comments. "As we did in entering the city, just now, let us split our troops into companies and seek entrance into the castle strategically, from different vantage points. And a large number, too, shall remain without, to prevent such traps as you have mentioned. From all that we know, and from what we witnessed when these creatures took over our dear city, they are vast in number, more than even we possess here, though great indeed we may seem. I suggest that we have three offensive companies, while the rest remain in the vicinity of the castle, keeping vigil in preparedness. The first company shall seek to enter the main gate, even to confront the leader of our enemy himself, our nemesis and the commander of the dark forces. After all, this may be our best or only real chance to take back our city and to free those imprisoned within. The two tasks, in my opinion, shall prove inseparable."
"Very well, I accept your proposal," says Wygrec. "I shall lead the main group, but what about the other two?"
"They shall enter through the side chambers and aim to come to the prisoners undetected or, at least, to meet the enemy from multiple angles at once and to thus wear down their strength."
"So be it."
"One last thing," offers Turic.
"Yes?"
"If you are leading the main company, it is still imperative that Rorlain accompanies you. For he alone shall be able to slay the enemy commander."
"You believe that?" Wygrec asks doubtfully.
"I have no reason to doubt it, and many reasons to believe it."
"Fine. He can come along."
† † †
The castle keep of Minstead lies across the river from the great courtyard, built on the crest of a sloping mound of earth dotted with houses and trees, porticoes and palaces. This mound, a hill either harnessed to this purpose or itself cultivated by man centuries ago, arises over the rest of the city, which is mostly flat, occupying the central part of the Mistrin Plain, which extends across a wide distance between the mountains that rise around it in all directions. Nestled as this plain is in the heart of the Finistra Range that extends from the heart of the Teldrens to the east and all the way to the ocean far in the northwest, where lies the city of Brug'hil, it offers a splendid location for a city to be built. Not only are the natural resources, given the universal harshness of the land of Telmerion, abundant, but so too the surrounding mountains offer a touching view, standing like sentinels clad in the light and sparkling most of the year with a white crown of snow. Among all the settlements upon the continent, Minstead is one of the foremost producers of metalworks, for the surrounding hills and mountains conceal a multitude of ore-veins, and even in the river itself can be prospected, washed from high in the peaks to the east, silver, and, in rare moments, even myellion. Such discoveries hint to the even greater riches to be found in the hidden heights of the Teldrens, where few now venture after its fall during the collapse of the kingdom of Sera Galaptes. Minstead is rivaled only by such cities as Brug'hil and the ancient capital of the Galapteä, the first still thriving, the very capital of Telmerion, though fallen into the clutches of the Imperial occupation and made the base of their operations in Telmerion, and the other long fallen into ruin, nothing but an empty and hollow artifact, ancient stones standing silently in the mountains at the very center of the continent, but a memory of what once was.
Of course, now such things are neither seen nor come to mind, for darkness presses in around the company and their minds are wholly occupied with the task at hand. A few persons alone raise their eyes longingly and gaze through the darkness, as if to see with the eyes of the heart the splendor and majesty of the mountains now concealed in the distance, and, even beyond them, the sun and the sky shining brilliantly above. The vast company moves as quietly through the silent streets of the city as they may, though by the fact of their sheer numbers they have little hope of avoiding detection, and are prepared at any moment to engage in conflict. And those who have had the most direct contact with the Draion—Rorlain, Tilliana, Bryma, and Senfyr—struggle to believe but that they have already been discovered, and they are troubled and confused that the city nonetheless remains so deathly silent and still. But what plan can one make to gain strategic advantage against an enemy who can appear and disappear in the very shadows themselves, and who neither thinks nor feels, fears nor desires, but is moved solely by the will to destroy every living human heart?
As the company climbs the slope of the hill and comes near to the castle, Rorlain turns and addresses them at length, and his words are shared widely, that all may hear. Wygrec, standing behind him, does not fail to indicate his displeasure at this arrogation of authority, but Rorlain ignores him. He says to his people, "I fear that we walk into an ambush. For well I know these wicked creatures, and what I know inclines me to believe that they remain hidden now only as a spider remains hidden until its prey is caught in the web, defenseless. I say this not to incite fear in your hearts, my brethren, but to warn you. We shall walk forward with valor and with honor, with hope and with longing, with compassion and with trust. We shall walk forward for our people and our nation, for our families and our friends. Come what may, we shall seek to save those held captive by the darkness, and shall seek to liberate the very city itself, that it may be again a city of humankind, flourishing upon the earth. As great as the darkness may be, fear not. Even if we are to die this day, let us stand strong in integrity and not allow the darkness to crush the light within us. For a king goes forth to the very heart of the darkness, to the very bastion of our enemy. He goes there on our behalf, with a sister-queen at his side, there to decapitate the force that would rise up against us. Never more beautiful and loving persons have I met, and I am humbled to call them my friends. And it is toward them, the Lightborn, descendants of the ancient king Sera Galaptes and of the people of the Velasi, blessed and beautiful, that we look. Yes, not to ourselves, but to the light do we turn our gaze, that we may have hope for our victory and our deliverance. Our part is but to stand against the darkness and to resist the despair that its immensity would instill within us. So, my people and my countrymen, my brethren and my friends, let us walk forward beyond fear and beyond doubt, and face what we may with confidence and with faith."
Shout they would in response to these words, stirring up their ardor before the terrors that close in all about them, but instead the members of the company, one and all, place their right hands upon their breasts, bowing their heads in an ancient gesture of reverence and of homage, of gratitude and of entrustment. And then they all turn toward the castle keep and begin to move forward without delay. Coming to the very feet of the walls, the company then splits into four parts, one seeking favorable position outside the castle where they can watch and defend, two splitting off to the sides and seeking the entrances that lead into the keep from opposite ends, and the last braving the main entrance, vaulting doors of iron and wood at the end of a tree-lined avenue now lying in disarray.
When the main company comes to the doors, they pass within easily, for the doors stand splintered and broken, torn partially from their hinges and hanging loosely, leaving a wide berth for entrance. And inside the castle's corridors an eerie silence reigns. Whatever little light had pierced through the enshrouding mist of darkness outside now also disappears, and they find themselves stepping into complete blackness. Prepared for this possibility, however, they light torches and hold them aloft to guide their way. Stepping forward, they find themselves first in a wide atrium with a floor of polished stone, though fallen bodies and other debris litter it and clutter its surface. Beyond this, to the right, left, and center, extend corridors with vaulted arches and domed roofs, though there is little doubt which direction to proceed. But even as the company moves across the floor and toward the passage at the far end of the room, their suspicion of ambush is confirmed, as the creatures of darkness begin to emerge from the deep shadows that still linger at the edges of the room, and in the hallways beyond. Their figures, horrific to behold, begin to close around the men, eyes hollow and lifeless and yet gazing with a gaze of death, and flesh corrupt and decayed as if corroded by a deadly poison and yet still moving. Many druadach there are, but also greater eötenga as well, whose forms tower over the men, instilling terror into their hearts.
"We fight our way through!" Wygrec calls out. "Stand firm and show these beasts the true nature of their foe!"
And so the flickering red hue of the torchlight is soon interspersed with bursts of brilliant and pure blue-white, as the light channeled through Rorlain's poverty and openness of heart flashes forth upon the weapons of all. Even Tilliana, in their midst, draws a short sword and lashes out against a druadach that approaches her location, cutting deep into the arms that reach out to her and dissolving the creature unto nothingness. She slays two more in like manner, but then she sheathes her blade and occupies herself directly with the reason that she has come: tending to the wounded by drawing them away from the periphery of the company, where the assault is fiercest, and seeking to save their lives by sparing them immediate danger and tending to what ailment they have received. Yet because of the sheer violence and destructive force of the eötenga, for most it is too late, and death is swift in coming.
But regardless of how long they fight, and how many of these creatures they slay, they continue assailing them with numbers as though endless. For when one eöten is struck down, another appears in its place. Evaluating this situation, Wygrec calls to Rorlain, "If what they say about this light is true, then let us go now and confront the enemy commander directly. That may be our only hope of stopping this assault."
"I know not the way," responds Rorlain over the fray.
"I shall show you. Follow me."