Darkness Rising 1 - Chained

Chapter 14: Escape into the Mist

Blossomstide 1924

The mist was heavy on the hillside above Silverton. They had made camp after a hard day’s flight over the Silver Mountains and Sir Robert stood watch with a look of intense boredom on his face. Ekra-Hurr loitered at the fringes of Emelia’s vision, like an itch that could not be scratched.

Jem was regaling the pair with some dull details on the centuries old feuding between Goldoria and Thetoria. Despite her weariness, Emelia was nervous about sleeping as she feared a recurrence of the dark dreams.

“Although the nation was born through an alliance of tribes against the threat of the goblins, the ogres and their half-ogre mage leader, it was always going to lead to descendants that would evolve differing philosophies. I mean the split from Goldoria was sixteen centuries ago, but the two countries have found an excuse to squabble ever since, like brothers arguing over a favourite toy. I suppose during the time of the Empires, when the silver and gold in the mountains was not strictly theirs to fight over they…”

Emelia jolted at Jem’s words. “Jem, hang on. Sorry to interrupt.”

Jem looked quizzically at Emelia.

“You mentioned a war with a half… ogre? Was that in Thetoria?”

“Yes. A half-ogre mage called Vildor raised an army of ogres and goblins that threatened the seven tribes. The tribes united under King Gilibrion, who became the first High King of what was then called Trimena. That was back in the Era of Legends.”

“He was a mage? But I thought humans did not have magic until... well, the Era of Magic, centuries after that?”

“Again that’s true. Ogres however are one of the races with intrinsic magical auras. Their magi have been wielding Dark-magic for centuries, well before human mages began to practice mysticism, whether elemental or dark. Why the curiosity about Dark-magic?”

“It’s because she’s a witch!” Ekra-Hurr called over.

Emelia scowled and lowered her voice. “It’s all a bit strange, Jem. Dreams, I’m not really sure. To be fair I have met a Dark-mage twice now.”

Both Jem and Hunor sat up at this.

“What do you mean you met a Dark-mage? When?” Hunor asked, looking at Jem with concern.

“The night that we got captured by the knights. I sort of bumped into one in a graveyard. I was all right though. I’d seen him before, years ago in Coonor, just before I met you two.”

Jem’s face was concerned. “That’s why you looked so dishevelled when you caught up with me going into the inn. Why in Mortis’s name did you not mention this to us?”

“Well to be fair, Jem, we were being battered around the tavern then hauled hundreds of miles away on the back of griffons. You were sulking and Hunor was busy not coming up with any way to get us out of this. Cap it all with the slightly worrying prospect of returning to servitude in shackles, hopefully still with my head, and you might appreciate why a tale of shadow slinging creeps might have slipped my mind.”

Jem began to splutter a retort when Sir Robert approached. The mist had condensed to form tiny beads of moisture on his plate armour.

“Enough jabber about black magic you three; you’ll bring a curse down on us. Thief,” he asked, gesturing at Hunor, “your sword intrigues me. Why is a Thetorian cutpurse carrying around a Shorvorian blade? I understood they were only wielded by the Hârdan.”

Hunor looked at the knight and Emelia noted a drawn look in his face, as if the memory was pained.

“I suppose you could say it was inherited, in a way. It’s Shorvorian steel and magnate alloy, folded a thousand times and tempered in the ancient forges of the lonely isle. An old friend and mentor bequeathed it to me. He was the one who taught me to fight.”