Tims made his way down the docks alone. He wasn’t eager to go back into the main city. He knew his destination was Lord Conner’s manor, but he needed a moment to think before moving on. Something in the back of his mind also nagged him to stay here, even if he couldn’t quite put a finger on why.
Leaving the harbor district was a chore. The city sloped ever so much the further out from the palace one went. The Rock River flowed somewhat through a portion of the city while an inlet carved its way through half the districts. This made a natural decline as the hillside sloped down to the river bank and inlet. The harbor was on the lower end of Sarsda as was the wastelane district. Going towards the main proper and the wealthier side of Sarsda was to steadily climb.
This was one of Tims’ least favorite exercises of the mornings. And now, he was going to do it again.
He began climbing a nearby wall where he then leaped, grabbed onto a rooftop and shimmied onto the tiles, walking its length before leaping to another. He kept this up for a good fifteen minutes until he reached a high point looking out over the Rock River.
He sat with his back to a chimney and watched the night drift by, the twin moons slowly rising toward their highest points in the sky.
His thoughts swung back and forth over what to do with the information Drake had given him.
He knew Kae Dias had ruthless appetites. Perhaps it was a simple matter of killing to satisfy their dark cravings, and what better way than to kill someone nobody would investigate too closely? He let that sink in for a moment, then shook his head. Too many things didn’t add up. Too many dealings, especially Lord Conner’s talk with that strange mercenary. He didn’t think this murder was a coincidence. It was too messy and they had left a mark. This was intentional.
Again, time was of the essence, and Tims was nowhere near finding crucial evidence.
Looking up into the heavens at the twin moons, Tims closed his eyes. A god had claimed to have chosen him for something. A paladin was a special type of knight, gifted by their deity with strange powers. The thought made him shiver. In a soft whisper, he said, “If this is true, guide me on this search I’m on. Show me you are for me, and not what the temple priests claim.”
At last, he rose and began making his way across the rooftops again. He needed to head to Lord Conner’s manor house and see if he could dig up something useful.
He balanced on the edge of the third consecutive building he had leaped across when a scream suddenly tore through the night.
Blinking, he froze and listened hard to the sounds of the city.
Silence again.
He frowned in concentration, trying to pinpoint exactly where the scream had come from. After a tense two minutes with only silence answering him, he sighed, bracing himself to run again.
Just as he was about to leap to the next rooftop, another scream tore through the night.
He spun sharply in its direction, eyes locking onto the Rock River Bridge that arched into the shadowed expanse of the Wastelane District.
With a fluid motion, he dropped to the ground and sprinted toward the source of the cry, a path now marked twice by the chilling sound. He needed it to break the silence again, to guide him through the darkness.
Minutes later, he found himself at the edge of a narrow alley, looking out over the riverbank. The acrid tang of last week’s fires still hung heavy in the air, a grim reminder of the close quarters of these aging buildings.
Hushing his breath, he allowed the night’s symphony to wash over him once more.
To his left, the whisper of running water flowed steadily from the river. Ahead, faint voices murmured on the distant bridge.
Tims waited, breath caught tight in his chest, but the scream did not return. Fear gnawed at him. Had he lost the trail? Turning sharply, he strained his ears just as a piercing feminine scream exploded beside him, loud and echoing, wrenching him back from the edge of despair.
Blinking away the shadow of dread closing in, he searched the bridge anew. The guards posted there stood unmoved, a frozen tableau as if the scream lived only inside his head.
No time to call for backup!
His mind raced, Drake’s words flashing through his memory, tracing the fragments uncovered about the prostitute’s fate.
Fingers clenched tight around the hilt of his sword, he charged once more into the scream’s direction.
The path led him through charred wreckage, a block of blackened ruins where an inn had stood. The doors were gone, the walls scorched and crumbling. The roof was mostly collapsed, leaving skeletal beams clawing at the night sky.
Don’t be the hero, idiot.
The warning echoed in his mind, but inertia held him fast. He had to act. No one else would.
Close to the entrance now, he crept forward, footsteps light and deliberate to avoid the brittle scrapwood scattered about.
Inside, moonlight spilled through a shattered ceiling, illuminating a barren shell. The staircase beside him was sliced through its center by fire, the upper half dangling precariously like a broken wing.
“This would be the perfect place to stage a murder,” he thought bleakly. No one would disturb it for days, perhaps longer, given the looming Harvest Festival.
He eased down the hallway, hugging the walls to mute the groan of fragile floorboards. Pausing where the narrow passage opened into a broad commons room, he peered around the corner and froze.
The dining tables lay reduced to ash in an all but empty room except for one feature.
In the center, a woman lay on the ground, her tunic torn brutally away, revealing raw flesh and exposed skin.
Towering over her stood a figure shrouded in a black hooded cowl. One hand gripped an iron rod where its tip, a brand shaped like the Kae Dias emblem Tims kept seeing, glowed orange, steam billowing off it’s heated core.
The hearth to one side of the room was cold. How then, was the iron kept ablaze?
Beside the woman rested a large bowl.
Candles flickered around the floor, casting an eerie, wavering light. Strange, archaic runes were etched deep into the piles of ash scattered across the ground. Whatever ritual was underway, one thing was clear, he was dangerously out of his depth.
The man’s head was turned toward the woman and hadn’t noticed Tims yet.
In a low, whispery voice that carried louder than it should, the man chanted. His words were indecipherable, a guttural tongue laced with the rasp of sand grinding in his throat. As he lifted the iron rod with one hand, he raised the other and spoke louder, his harsh commands echoing in the room.
The symbols surrounding the woman ignited in fire, glowing a sinister greenish hue. A chilling dread unlike anything Tims had ever known, crept over him. This was no ordinary darkness, but an evil with palpable claws, like feathery fingers dripping with poison.
Without hesitation, Tims gripped his sword and charged.
His first step splintered a wooden floorboard, and the figure spun with a feral scream.
Tims swung his blade in a tight arc, striking true.
The man sidestepped faster than Tims expected and swung the branding iron. Tims threw himself back just in time, feeling the blistering heat as the iron nearly grazed him.
Pausing, he sized up the fight. His sword was shorter than the searing iron lance. He had to close the distance.
Feigning an attack, Tims swung again.
The man pushed the iron lance forward but quickly realized the ruse.
Leaping in with a fierce side cut, Tims was met by a blur of molten iron spinning toward him.
He ducked and rolled just in time before the fiery edge swept past, followed by an upward swipe. The scent of singed hair filled the air and his heart pounded. He backed off several paces, eyes blazing.
A guttural, menacing snarl came from the man as he drew back the iron lance.
Tims caught sight of one sleeve riding up, revealing a tattoo on the wrist, a simple circle with three connected balls, stark in the moonlight. Then his eyes widened in frozen horror.
The man’s fingers were not human. Massive, razor-sharp claws curled around the iron shaft. Bright, glowing eyes glared from the shadowed depths beneath the hood. He leaned against the burning lance and clenched his empty hand, unleashing a brutal yell mixed with a vicious, unintelligible cry.
Tims’ skin prickled as the air shifted, an unseen force sweeping through him. Moments later, floorboards rattled violently before a sudden, invisible blow slammed into his chest, hurling him backward.
He crashed into the wall with such force the stone groaned, pain exploding through his body as he collapsed in a heap. Gasping for air that seemed scarce, fear clawed at his mind. He had never faced magic! This was the realm of priests and wizards.
Blood trickled from his lip where he had bitten down hard. Flames burned in his eyes as he struggled to his feet, snatching up his dropped sword.
Glancing to the bound woman on the floor, he couldn’t tell if she still lived. But the man before him was deadly and had already spilled blood. He had to stop him.
Whispering a desperate prayer, he murmured, “ Elyon, if you are who you claim to be, show me your power. Prove you are mightier than all other gods.”
The figure’s eyes narrowed sharply in the mingled candlelight and moonlight, transforming from a deep yellow into a blazing, unnatural red. His voice, no longer human, echoed with a deep, raspy resonance from another realm. “What did you say, human?” He advanced on Tims with deliberate menace, drawing the iron lance. “Your death will be slow and torturous!” His other hand rose again, chanting arcane words soaked in fury.
Tims screamed in desperate terror, “Elyon, save me!”
The iron lance flared red-hot, flooding the room with a sinister, deathly glow. The man lunged at him with inhuman speed.
Tims drew his sword, painfully aware of its feebleness, and tried to sidestep the assault.
A blasting wind screamed past, and the room erupted with light as brilliant as noon.
The man’s hood flew back, revealing a horrific, monstrous face, ashen gray, deformed and barely human. His skin seemed stretched too tight, his nose half-formed. Two jagged fangs jutted from his mouth as he howled gutturally, uncovering a maw of razor-sharp teeth. His expression twisted fear and rage into one unnatural mask. “No!” he bellowed, a primal roar.
Two radiant figures materialized beside Tims, bathed in brilliant white light. They donned golden armor that shimmered as if alive, faces glowing with an otherworldly luminescence. Tims knew instantly they weren’t of this world. Each brandished a glowing sword etched with vivid runes, illuminating the ruin of the burned-down inn.
The grotesque creature staggered, collapsing momentarily in stunned silence. Then, with a furious scream, he rose again, chanting words that seemed to dim the very air. His eyes blazed with blood tears as he glared at the luminous warriors. He dropped the iron lance with a thunderous shout.
As one, the shining figures raised their swords, a dazzling prism of colors bursting forth.
Tims shielded his eyes, the light so intense he feared blindness. The two advanced with resolute purpose as the earth trembled beneath them, a dark cloud swirling menacingly overhead.
In a voice commanding and cold, one of them spoke: “You are forbidden to act against the natural order, creature of Merlwood. Judgment is at hand.”
The creature faltered, surrendering his dark power as he dropped his hands. Streaked with bloody tears, he glared venomously at Tims. His voice was icy with wrath: “You’ll regret the day Elyon revealed Himself to you! Curse Him, for the gods will come for you and all you love. You will watch their deaths. This is our world! Not His portion, the lands of Earth! This is ours, and we will crush all who claim it! You are a failed paladin who needs aid beyond your reach!” He snarled fiercely. “You have shown yourself, human... and now the Dark Brotherhood has tasted your scent. Death stalks you and your precious princess.”
With a flick of his hand, a spiraling cloud enveloped him, and he vanished in an eerie swirl.
Tims sank to the floor, mind reeling with terror and disbelief. Yet, some part of him clung to coherence as he crawled to the woman a few feet away.
Her neck bore a gaping wound, blood pooling darkly beneath her.
He leaned back slowly, eyes closing as his body shook uncontrollably. It was too much.
From behind, a glowing hand rested gently on his shoulder. “Until Heaven and Earth meet again, evil will endure.”
Helpless, Tims whispered, “If Elyon cares, why didn’t He spare this woman? Why did He abandon us all?”
The second being stepped closer, voice calm and resonant: “Elyon did not abandon humanity. Man turned from Him, forgetting Him to follow their own paths. You have chased gods and their promises of power. If Elyon intervened to reclaim dominion, your freedom to love would vanish. Love requires choice as this is His gift. You must choose your path freely.”
Tims shook his head, eyes closed, overwhelmed by the storm of questions flooding his soul.
The first being spoke solemnly, “The offer is yours. Will you place your loyalty in Him or walk away? This choice stands for all.” He extended a hand toward the vanished figure’s last place. “A war has raged since time began. Your battles and ours have always overlapped. You have glimpsed and tasted what is beyond. You have been called, Tims Caulder, to be a Paladin, to embrace the legacy into which you were born, to defend, to uphold the sacred code of your brethren.”
Tims blinked, confusion overwhelming him. “What?”
The second figure’s lips curved in a faint, knowing smile. “The journals of Dragonblood were not given to you by chance. Your blood is what unlocks the seal. Now follow that legacy yourself. Become part of the ancient code, the right hand that serves prophecy.”
With those words, the glowing figures receded, fading until the room sank into shadow.
Moonlight crept back across the room, casting ghostly silhouettes and Tims looked once more at the lifeless woman.
His nerves were fraying, his mind tangled in fear and disbelief. The fabric of his world was unraveling in terrifying ways. What could those cryptic knights have meant? How could it be true? He was the product of prostitution, not a scion of some fabled ancient race. The very idea was ludicrous!
He bowed his head, swallowing a rising lump. There was a mission here. Evidence had to be found. Nothing could detour him.
Slowly, aching limbs protesting, he rose. Stumbling, he edged from the ruined inn into the chill of the streets, heading toward Rock River Bridge. His task tonight was far from over.
Above the city of Sarsda, atop the tallest guild tower, his tattered cloak whipped in the wind as steam poured up and over, silhouetted by the twin moons.
Ravage gripped the flagpole, his razor-sharp gaze fixed on the young man named Tims Caulder as he moved determinedly through the sloping streets and across rooftops. He had intended only to deliver the message and leave but things rarely went as planned. Why should this time be any different?
Sliding down the sloped roof with feline grace, he dropped to a bridge and crossed, all the while watching King Joshua’s spy. A flicker of curiosity had first stirred when he saw the man in the Halfblade Tavern but he had deemed it inconsequential then.
Beside him, Tessa took shape, silent for a moment as she observed the city below. Then she turned. “Do you feel it too?”
Ravage nodded quietly. “He doesn’t understand who he is.” Pausing, he added, “Honestly, I’m not sure I do either.”
“He is marked, though.”
Ravage’s brow furrowed deeper. “If only we knew more.”
From a nearby perch on the horse-head statue, Firrle’s dragon eyes observed the same man. After a brief moment, he swiveled his neck, his attention shifting to the city’s southern edge.
Following Firrle’s gaze, Ravage focused.
There, cloaked in shadow, a lanky figure lingered just beyond clear sight.
Frowning, Ravage turned to Tessa. “What do you make of it?” He knew she had spotted it already; she always sensed the unusual first, her magic-tinged senses tuned to detect the extraordinary at a glance.
Tessa glittered on his shoulder and buzzed as she took flight. “Give me a few minutes.” Then she shot through the air, darting into the city faster than seemed possible. She was barely affected by the strong wind currents swirling around her tiny form.
He stood on the bridge, lost in thought, replaying the events of the past few days.
When he saw the girl within Enali’s courtyard, he finally understood what the Phantom Council was orchestrating by sending him here. King Joshua’s interest wasn’t mere curiosity about his past; he had sent his own daughter to dig deeper. The question lingered however. How much did the king truly know?
Throughout the week, fleeting sensations had unsettled him: a creeping darkness winding its tentacles through the city like a living shadow. Magic and spells whispered on the wind. Something colossal was stirring, soon to erupt. He had to wait to give his message.
Part of his new identity among men was that of his self-imposed penance. He would be a guardian, a mantle to take up for the evil he’d once helped unleash against Dragonblood. His life now demanded a devotion to defending the world from the spreading darkness that radiated from the White Council and her gods. Yet now, even darker evils awoke as the threads of prophecy began to pull taut. The world was trembling; strange forces beginning to stir in response.
Tessa returned, flying straight as an arrow with urgency. She halted abruptly before his face, her expression grave. “Abomination! A Black Vesper is here!”
Ravage’s eyes narrowed, a pang of regret and pain flooding him. It was the familiar ache that crept in when confronted by the unmistakable scar of his past deeds. A Black Vesper was a name he hadn’t heard spoken for a very long time.
“Where is it headed?” he growled, fingers tightening on the coil of chain secured to his side beneath his cloak.
“Straight toward Tims.”
“Let’s move.” He glanced upward and Firrle’s keen gaze met his. A subtle nod passed between them, and the fire dragon’s mouth curved into what might have been a grin. Narrowing his eyes, he vanished into the night sky to find his own adventure for now. It wouldn’t do good to unravel everything Tims had believed in just yet. A dragon would probably tip him over the edge.
Ravage stepped toward the bridge’s edge, peering down into the city’s shadows. Focus hardening, he leapt into the abyss.
Tims jumped from rooftop to rooftop, his strength ebbing with every bound. This weakening was familiar, always nearing the palace. Lord Conner’s estates lay within the noble district, still a fifteen-minute run away. He had to press on. With a powerful leap, he scaled a wall and paused to catch his breath, welcoming the cold air that brushed against his flushed face, cooling the heat within.
He was about to vault onto the next roof when a familiar chill gnawed in his gut. It was similar to the feeling he got when in the hidden grove but slightly different somehow. It was this prickling buzz at the back of his mind. Slowly, unease mounting, he turned.
Something wasn’t right. It was close.
Peering over the roof’s edge into a shadowed alley, he spotted it. An eerie pair of glowing blue eyes locked onto him.
Fear slammed into him like battering waves. He retreated a few paces as the prickling sense in his mind flared, warning bells coming to life. This was no ordinary creature! His mind raced back to his terrifying encounter in the inn.
Drawing his sword, he undid several buttons on his vest for swift access to the knives strapped beneath.
Suddenly, a distant squawk shattered the silence. In a dizzying blur, Tims’ perspective shot high above, surveying Sarsda laid out beneath him. Towers stretched skyward like grasping fingers, bridges linking them like veins. The vision zoomed in sharply on a lone figure standing on a rooftop and immediately, his heart thundered wildly. His world spiraled as he realized it was himself.
The view swerved abruptly, plunging down toward the alley below, bathed in an eerie bluish light that breathed life into the shadows’ lurking shapes.
In that vision, the pair of glowing eyes crystallized into a monstrous beast with limbs and expansive wings, its grotesque head distorted yet faintly human. Its slender, warped body stood tall, locking its gaze on him.
In a heartbeat, the creature emitted a chilling clicking sound followed by a spine-tingling screech. Wings unfurled like dark sails as it lunged forward.
The vision ended abruptly, and Tims watched in paralyzing horror as the monstrous form soared toward him.
Unsheathing his sword, he spun away from the roof’s edge to brace himself in the center, ready to confront the terror.
Bathed in moonlight, the beast landed with a heavy thud, wings folding against its body. It moved with a hobbled gait, eyes ablaze. Its mouth yawned open, revealing a mass of writhing appendages and a long, tube-like tongue that slithered out. On the ends of six limbs, pinchers reaching out with powerful force.
Pausing briefly, it regarded Tims with a cold, calculating stare. Then, with a bloodcurdling screech, it surged forward with impossible speed.
Tims yelled in terror and swung as a limb lunged for his neck. He deftly parried another limb, knocking it aside. The creature’s limbs were a blur of power and speed, its muscular sinews taut beneath scaled skin dripping a viscous secretion.
The creature retreated momentarily, eyes narrowing as it sized him up. Intelligence glimmered behind its monstrous facade. Tims knew this could not last long if he only blocked and parried. The creature would anticipate his moves soon. He needed a decisive strike.
Feigning retreat, he waited until the beast relaxed its guard, then stepped forward, feigning an attack. The creature raised a limb to block, but another swept low toward his abdomen. Twisting aside, Tims swung in a backward arc, slashing deep into the limb.
A spray of green blood erupted, and the creature screamed with agony. The blood hissed on the roof tiles, rapidly eating away the stone.
Tims retreated several steps, cursing softly, careful to avoid the sizzling spray.
Enraged, the creature charged again, this time with wild, flailing limbs, blood spurting.
Tims swore loudly, dodging limbs and spray with tactical rolls. Leaping upright, he unleashed two pinpoint-accurate daggers. They pierced the beast’s chest, blood spilling from the wounds, but the creature barely faltered. Red eyes locked on him as it tore the daggers free, hurled them back.
He ducked low; one dagger whistled past his head, the other grazing his neck. Spinning, he swung his sword tightly but met air. Cursing fiercely, he braced for the next assault.
The creature charged again, roaring, knowing Tims’s timing had been off.
Tims grimaced, his life flashing before his eyes.
A brilliant explosion of yellow, blue, and white light shattered the moment with a deafening sharp crack! The blast struck the creature’s chest, hurling it twenty feet back, its mouth opened in a howling screeching roar.
Tims watched transfixed as a hooded figure emerged from the shadows. His eyes glowed yellow behind the shadow of a cloak, wielding a glowing blue-white chain whip. He recognized the figure instantly. He had seen him at the Half blade Tavern.
“Get back!” the figure barked, flicking the chain like a living serpent. A star-shaped gem at its tip pulsed with raw magic.
He scrambled back as the creature lunged with rage.
He hooded figure positioned himself with his feet before the whip lashed out with a whistling sound. The raw pulsing star glowed and soared through the air impalinga limb, its contact instantly igniting the flesh as it speared through bone with a shattering crunch. Green blood sprayed in the air with a sizzling spray mixed with glowing droplets of fire. Before the beast could recover, the chain whipped back, the star sinking deep into its neck.
A roaring inferno of flames erupted from contact and the creature’s head ripped off with tendrils of nerves and sinew to roll on the rooftop in a blaze of yellow flames. From the severed neck, the magical fire spread out and through the rest of the creature’s body, burning in a blaze of intense fire. Ten seconds later, the flesh had turned to black ash being blown in the wind, leaving no trace it had ever existed.
Tims stood frozen, struggling to comprehend what he had seen.
The figure retracted the chain behind his cloak and turned.
“Who… are you?” Tims whispered, his eyes widening.
The figure regarded him silently before replying, “A messenger.” Without another word, he turned and vanished.
“Wait!” Tims called, unsure why.
Stopping at the roof’s edge, the figure glanced back.
“Are you friend or foe?”
Again, the figure paused as if debating how to answer. “Neither,” came the cold reply. Then softer, “Wherever I go, death follows.” With a leap, he disappeared into the night.
Tims stood there, his world unraveling in a spiraling storm of revelations that might damn him if discovered.
Slowly, he stepped back and lifted his gaze to the heavens, lost in wonder and dread.