DarkWinds (Chapter 1)

Posted by Atei

Sunlight broke through the clouds and bathed Castle Atei in warmth and light. The stormy night had passed and the birds were singing again.

Inside the monolithic stone structure, Amon Atei, Grandmaster Wizard, was giddy with excitement. He and his wife Rachel had just confirmed that she was pregnant with their sixth child. Amon divined that it would be their last child, and he looked at his wife for confirmation.

“Yes, my Beloved: a girl,” said Rachel to her husband’s questioning gaze. “Azrea Atei, daughter of Amon.” Amon had already been smiling about the upcoming birth—now he was nearly delirious with joy. A girl! After five fine boys, a daughter!

Placing his hand on Rachel’s belly, which would not start growing for some time yet, he closed his eyes. He could feel the life within her—his daughter Azrea.

He fell silent and the unwanted memories came back:

When the first five children had been born—Pau, Covenant, Aellius, Joshua and Toten, it had been a time of joy mingled with great sadness. His beloved Britannia had been fighting against one of their own: the evil Lord Blackthorne and his wretched minions. For years the war raged on. As a mage-soldier in her Majesty’s army, Amon had become famous for his daring and heroics. On more than one occasion he had come up with a trick or unusual tactic and turned a hopeless defeat into a victory. He even saved Queen Lissar herself once, a fact that he was reminded of again and again.

His magical prowess grew throughout the war until he attained the rank of Grandmaster. Some said he was even more powerful than Guildmaster Connor, but Amon cared nothing for that. He was simply fulfilling his duty as a Briton; defending the realm in any way he could and against any enemy, including a man he once called friend, Lord Blackthorne. When they were younger, Amon and Blackthorne were inseparable. They fought together, side-by-side, against any enemy.

They first gained recognition in the liberation of Cove from the Orcs. Talented fighters but not very smart, the Orcs proved to be no match for the Queen’s army.

Both Mage and Swordsman distinguished themselves that day when they stopped a flanking maneuver by the Orcs on their own, through bravery and sheer will. With Orcs coming in on all sides, Blackthorne and Amon healed each other, fought for each other and encouraged each other.

Whenever Amon would get low on the energy he needed to cast spells, Blackthorne held off their attackers just long enough so Amon could meditate and restore his “mana.” If Blackthorne were injured, Amon healed him, both through the use of “magic bandages” and with healing spells.

They stood their ground against impossible odds, and when the reinforcements arrived, the Orcs were driven all the way back to Cove Orc Fort.

General Obroskai said afterwards that if the Orcs had been able to complete that flanking move, many more soldiers would have died. That victory was gained more from guts and luck than brains, but it did not matter. Other victories followed and before long, both were Generals in her Majesty’s army.

Several campaigns later, after the victory over the Trolls that drove the blue-hide behemoths from Moonglow, Amon finally admitted to himself that a change had come over his friend.

For some time Blackthorne and he had debated the subject of a military government versus an aristocracy. Blackthorne felt that military rule would be more orderly, more disciplined. Of course Amon took the side of his Queen.

Amon had forced himself to come to the conclusion that Blackthorne was no longer content to lead the Army of the Realm—he wanted to rule the Realm itself.

The day that Amon lost his friend was the day that the war really began. Blackthorne had summoned him to his private chambers, and when Amon arrived, Blackthorne was no longer dressed in the typical silver armor of Queen Lissar’s army. Now, he wore black armor and carried a black sword and shield.

“Join me, Amon. Join me and together, we will rule Britannia.”

“My friend, this is treason. No, this is madness. Do you know what you are asking of me?” asked a very concerned Amon.

“Yes I do, my friend. I do indeed.”

“Blackthorne, please see reason. You cannot hope to win against the might of Queen Lissar’s army. They will kill you, my friend, and…”

“LORD Blackthorne, Amon. With you or without you, I will rule Britannia. It is my destiny.”

“I cannot allow you to do this. Please, do not force me into doing something I will regret.”

Blackthorne looked upon the Wizard and laughed. “You cannot stop me either, Amon. No one can.” Quickly disarming his shield and sword, Blackthorne spoke the magic phrase “Kal Ort Por” and vanished from the Queen’s Castle. The spell, centered on a “recall rune,” allowed its user to instantly teleport themselves over great distances. Blackthorne’s “recall” point was his own Castle, where his army awaited.

That had been 15 years and countless deaths ago.

Amon also remembered the day of the final battle: the bodies, strewn carelessly about the desert battlefield of the Compassion Desert; the smell of burnt flesh; the blood—so much blood. Broken and battered armor and weaponry littered the sandy dunes for as far as the eye could see.

Blackthorne’s army was defeated. He was utterly alone before the might of the British heroes, Amon at the lead.

Surrounded by warriors on all sides, beaten, bloodied and on his knees, Blackthorne raised his eyes to Amon and smiled.

Amon had forewarned his soldiers about Blackthorne’s “recall” trick. “Do not even think about trying it this time, Blackthorne,” Amon said to his former friend. “One word and I will kill you myself.” Amon then turned to his lieutenant and ordered the traitor taken into custody.

At that moment, a shimmering black void appeared near his nemesis. Blackthorne stood, smiled at Amon again and in one quick step, disappeared. The soldiers tried to follow, but the void would not let them pass.

Energy bolt, mace, sword, lightning bolt, flamestrike—nothing could penetrate the blackness. As it faded away, Amon and the rest of the “victors” could hear Blackthorne’s evil laugh from the other side.

---

Rachel saw a tear on her husband’s cheek then, and asked, “Amon, what is it?” Shaking himself free from the unbidden, unwelcome memory, Amon replied, “I’m just so happy, my Love,” his voice thick with emotion. He lowered his head and voice before continuing, “This time will be different. I swear it.”

Rachel, an insightful woman and talented mage, understood her husband’s sorrow all too well. “Amon,” she said gently, “I know that.” She grabbed his hand and they intertwined fingers.

Raising his eyes to meet his wife's gaze, Amon wiped the unhappy memories from his mind. He looked at Rachel then, and grinning happily, replied simply, “Yes milady.” They both smiled then and headed downstairs to tell the rest of the family of the soon to be arriving addition.