Land of Madness Read online

  “You have betrayed your Oath as Guard-Captain. So long as I breathe, I will fight for this city. As your Lieutenant, I relieve you of your title and position. Pick up your sword and fight!”

  The former Captain stood there, a dumbfounded look on his face, knowing he had no room for argument. Seeing no other alternative, the Captain doffed his crested helmet and placed it on the cobblestone. He had lost his title. He was Guard-Captain no longer. Michael and James simply stood there, confusion, excitement, and fear on their faces. They had never seen Sven this angered about anything in his life. Nevertheless, he was finally the Guard-Captain.

  “I want a report on the rest of the city. We need more men here too. This area is exposed, and we cannot defend it ourselves. Corporal,” Sven called, turning to their former Captain, “send whoever is fit to fight. I need them here now!”

  “Captain, what would you have us do?” James asked, motioning his shield at himself and Michael. His face was still a stone, but there was a tinge of peace, knowing Sven would lead them to victory or die in the process.

  “We have no choice. We have to hold this position and wait for reinforcements. We have to give people enough time to get out of the city safely. The Protocol should have taken effect the moment this wall fell.” Sven reached up and lowered the visor on his helmet; James and Michael followed his example, nodding in agreement.

  Their messenger started off, running down the road, the sound of his boots clacking against the cobblestones as he ran toward the barracks to carry out Captain Sven’s orders. The sudden change in command would be surprising to many, but Michael had no doubt the men would accept the news well. His predecessor had ruffled far too many feathers to have kept his position much longer.

  “You relieved him of his duties, Sven. Why the demotion too? And such a severe one at that," James wondered aloud, not expecting an answer, or caring what the answer would be. He was more curious about the way that situation happened than anything else.

  “He wavered in his duties, and he must know the price for that. Had anyone else been that delinquent, they would have been thrown in a cell by that man. His time for leading has ended. If we still live after this, I will reevaluate my decision. Until then, he will follow orders from the whole bloody legion of guards if that’s what it takes,” Sven replied.

  “What of his Highness? Surely, he may dislike this turn of events when he hears of them,” Michael asked. The King had a fiery temper and had personally selected Sven’s predecessor as the Guard-Captain.

  “The King will understand. He appointed me as the Lieutenant for a reason. He may not be happy with the punishment I have given, but he will not go against my decision.”

  As Sven said this, another ball of fire came crashing to the street mere feet from James. Debris flew through the air, and some of the fire splashed onto James’s cloak which quickly set fire. He acted swiftly and released the clasp holding his wool cloak to his armor, letting it fall to the ground. A gentle breath of wind caught the cloak as it fell to the cobblestones, fluttering it briefly. It continued to smolder after falling to the street.

  “We should get out of the open. The street gives us no protection from the fire. We need some amount of cover,” Michael suggested, looking at the market stables. The stables were empty this early in the morning, so it would provide them with cover.

  “We don’t want to get pinned in the stables by another Minotaur, if they have any, and we would die there, likely quicker than if we stay here. We should move up the road where we have some cover from the fire, and can see the wall still,” James suggested. They could escape through the alleys if needed.

  “James, move into that alley,” Sven ordered, pointing across the road with his shield, “and Michael, you and I will move ahead to see if we can learn anything else about this assault. Let’s hope we can learn something that will help us.”

  “Sven, should we really be splitting up? Look at that thing Michael killed. It came out of nowhere,” James stated. He was, understandably, slightly worried about this. Something was wrong about this whole night.

  “What thing that Michael killed? I only see the Minotaur.”

  “Where did that thing go?” Michael wondered aloud, worried that it was alive and might come after one of them again.

  “What the hell was it? And are you sure you killed it?” Sven asked, since he had still been laying on the ground at the time.

  “Captain, if I knew what it was, I would tell you. It had a jagged knife in its hand, and it had grabbed the back of my neck. Squatty, grey-skinned ugly bastard. I am sure it died. I planted an arrow in its stomach and neck. It was bleeding right there in the street,” Michael said, pointing to what was now only a blood stain on the street. The creature’s body wasn’t there, and the dark, drying blood was the only trace that it had been there.

  “How tall was the thing? You said it was grey-skinned” Sven asked, looking around for whatever the creature happened to be.

  “It was about this tall,” Michael said, holding his hand just above his waist, “and looked like the goblins my gran told me about in childhood stories, except it was grey instead of green. It had big eyes, a crooked nose, jagged teeth, knobby little fingers. Every detail from the stories of goblins.”

  Before Sven could say anything about the goblin, if that’s even what it was, the balls of fire, horns, and drums stopped, very suddenly. The timing felt orchestrated and extremely disciplined. Everything was deathly silent, and the hint of dust that still hung in the air seemed to stand still. In a heartbeat, all three soldiers were standing with their backs toward each other, watching every direction, waiting for an attack. With shields raised and visors dropped, they waited for whatever was about to happen.

  A series of guttural, echoing shouts came through the city. The sound pealed down the streets, seeming to grow louder as it went. Loud heavy footsteps started shortly after the yelling began. The footsteps sounded the same as the Minotaur earlier, but it seemed hardly possible that that many Minotaur would be massed in an assault against a city founded by Elves nearly four centuries ago. The Elves had killed many of the wild creatures that had lived in the area. Supposedly whole species had been extinguished, like a candle.

  “Captain, what are we going to do? I doubt we will stand long against whatever force is charging toward the city right now.” James’s voice was level and strong, but the question he asked made it clear that he was terrified. Few faced Death without at least a tinge of fear.

  “We make our stand here. Whatever is coming our way, we will fight. I don’t care if we have to give some ground, we have to fight long enough for everyone to get out of the city,” Sven answered. The tone of his voice said he would allow no arguing those orders; this street would be a mass grave if it had to be.

  Michael continued to scan the street and buildings around them, unsure exactly what he looked for. If he looked for something specific, he would miss everything else. Two blocks up the road, Michael thought he saw someone walking across the street. He was of average height and build, but he wore a long black cloak that covered his feet. The cowl on the cloak was deep enough to hide any features of his face. Michael saw no weapons on the man, but he was walking down the street, and stepped through flames unscathed. The air around him seemed to grow dark, as if his presence alone was devouring light. The dark man stepped into an alley, out of Michael’s view.

  Unsure about what he just saw, Michael set his shield on the ground leaning against his leg, sheathed his sword, and drew his bow. He readied an arrow as he scanned the closest alleyway he could see and checked for any movement. His eyes went from the left to the right across the street, from the ground to the rooftops. The Council prohibited ladders to be left out after the Rooftop Thieves, but some people disregarded the Council’s rules.

  On the roof of the shop Sven was thrown into, Michael saw movement. Not the dark man from the street, but it was definitely something. He only saw a glimpse of the person, if it was a per
son, but they vanished quickly.

  “Don’t make any sudden movements. Someone or something is watching us from the rooftops. I only caught a glimpse of movement from the shop.” Sven tapped the side of his sword against his shield to acknowledge.

  “Why is nothing coming through the city wall? They collapsed the walls, and sent in scouts, but their army proper has not come into the city yet. Something is wrong about all of this,” James wondered aloud.

  As James finished saying this, Michael saw the person on the roof again, but this time they had a bow drawn. Michael raised his bow, drew the arrow to his ear, kissed the feathers as his father had taught him, and loosed the arrow. Time seemed to slow down as the arrow sailed through the air, the wooden shaft shaking as it flew. After a couple seconds that felt like a lifetime, the arrow met its target, the wide arrowhead contacting and pushing through the archer’s clothing and into its body. As the arrow punched further into the man’s body, Michael watched as he started to fall from the rooftop.

  Before he could report the archer falling, half a dozen Minotaur burst into view. More of those goblin creatures were on the Minotaur’s backs, as if they were war horses. None of the Minotaur appeared armed, but they charged toward the soldiers in the street. The thundering sound of their hooves drowned out everything else in the city. One of the riders held a pike, while the others carried jagged short-sword or gnarled clubs. Sven stood there ready to stand his ground; his grip was so tight on the haft of his sword his hand trembled. Perhaps that was from a fear of dying in the street. There was no way to tell without being in the man’s head.

  As the Minotaur approached, they formed a ‘V’ like migratory birds, taking up the whole width of the street, a few feet between their ranks. Sven dropped to one knee with his shield raised slightly to cover his head from the leading goblin’s pike. He raised his sword and swung it at the lead Minotaur’s leg. The tip of his sword sliced through tendons and muscles as the beast charged forward. The Minotaur tumbled to the street, groaning in pain, and James brought his mace down on its rider. A hearty crunch accompanied the goblin’s screech as it nearly folded in half from the blow. Michael followed Sven’s lead and struck the second Minotaur. The beast fell to the ground, its rider falling to the street, sliding from the momentum.

  The remaining formation of Minotaur sped past Sven, Michael, and James; the goblin riders must not have been expecting resistance, or they expected more than simply three men. As the Minotaur ran past, a flood of goblins spawned in the street, with shrieking cries and rattling weapons. They reached the three soldiers quickly, but they were too few to push back the men as they cut down the disorderly ranks of goblins. Unarmored, they fell quickly to swords, shields, and James’s mace.

  Bodies and limbs littered the road; blood flowed across and between cobblestones like rainwater and seeped into the sandy dirt between the stones. The goblins’ daggers and shields, which looked like pieces of bark torn from great oak trees, fell to the street with the bodies of felled goblins. Dozens of corpses piled along the side of the street.

  The Minotaur from the charging formation returned, their goblin riders shrieking at the sight of their brethren falling. The street filled with grunting and snorting

  When the Minotaur were a few meters away from the trio, lightning shot from the sky, striking randomly in the fray of goblins. Thunder boomed after the blinding flash of light and the air smelled like burned hair and skin. More bolts of lightning flashed down from the sky, striking goblins and Minotaur alike. Sven, Michael, and James stood within a ring that formed from the lightning. The surviving goblins scattered; their weapons clattered to the ground as they ran in every direction.

  Only one Minotaur still stood after the sudden outbreak of lightning, it’s face showing concern. It approached the soldiers slowly, as it questioned how these three unsupported men had just routed a swarm of creatures. Anything with a modicum of sense would be terrified of that perceived reality.

  When it was a few meters away, it leapt into the air, its club lifted over its massive head and horns. It landed, the club crashing into the ground, missing the soldiers completely, as if that was intentional. The beast stood slowly, looming over the men. This Minotaur had a golden ring in its nose with a single jewel stud in the center of the ring. Its ears were distinctively cut, as if this beast had been a farmer’s steer. Someone had claimed this monster, but who? And why?

  “I am Death. I am Pain. I am the Soul Claimer,” the beast grunted, its voice a horrendous sound that nightmares were made of. “Surrender to me, and your death will be quick.”

  “I have sent many to Death in my life. I have seen his face, and you aren’t Death,” Sven replied, as he adjusted his stance, with his sword pointed toward the beast over the top of his shield.

  Something about the Minotaur seemed wrong, besides that it was the mixture of a man and a bull. As it stepped toward the soldiers, its skin rippled like water in a pond after a handful of stones splashed into the water. The next step and it appeared to fall off the Minotaur, revealing a man wearing a midnight black cloak that remained motionless, even as it continued to walk. In his right hand, covered by a scale-like black gauntlet, the man held a simple longsword. The blade was long and narrow, light glimmering off the black steel. Though the cowl he wore should not have obscured his face beyond his eyebrows, darkness took the place of his face. This man seemed to have crawled from the deepest pit of Hell, an entity born of darkness itself, not even a touch of light within his body.

  He took two steps forward when his sword met Sven’s blade. Midnight-colored lightning flashed from the dark-bladed sword and knocked Sven to the ground. Slim tendrils of smoke lazily flickered from his body. His sword remained in his hand, the blade broken nearly a foot from the tang, no visible trace of the rest of it.

  With a single motion, the man stretched out his left hand toward James, who flew into the façade of a nearby shop, the walls crumbling around the hole his body had made. Michael was the only one left standing, paralyzed. He felt no emotions. He tried to raise his sword, but his arm refused to move.

  The man paid no mind to Michael, simply walking further down the street, unaccompanied by the goblins, who had clearly abandoned their siege at the sight of the lightning. The first Minotaur’s body had disappeared as well. The demolished wall and a few dozen carcasses in the streets remained as the only sign that either had been in the city at all.

  Sven finally stirred on the ground as the building finished falling around James. Michael felt himself walking toward the shadowy man, somehow feeling like he wasn’t moving his own legs. The voice inside his head yelled at his legs to stop carrying him toward the man, but they were moving of their own will. With every step he felt like a prisoner within his own body, merely a passenger of the fleshy vessel. He kept walking toward the shadowy man.

  He felt his fingers tighten around the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword, the faintest creak coming from the leather as it strained under his grasp. His shield rose to cover his chest in case the man was to swing his devilish sword. His arm brought his sword back, ready to strike with the speed of a viper. Feeling began to fade as he leapt from the ground, thrusting the blade of his sword forward into the motionless cloak of the man who could have decimated the entire Guard without breaking a sweat. As the tip of his sword approached the impossibly motionless cloak, everything around him faded into impregnable blackness. Darkness…

  Chapter One

  Michael’s eyes snapped open. He realized his body was drenched in sweat, desperately clinging to the breath that violently escaped his lungs. Another nightmare about that dark man. Who were the other people with him? He knew no one by those names. What city was that? It clearly wasn’t Feldring. There weren’t any mountains that he had ever seen in the dreams. Was this a city founded by Elves? How could it be? The Elves were just a long-forgotten relic from the deep history of the world, remnants from exaggerated stories told to boost the courage of men. No one had ever seen
either of those species in at least the past millennium. The Elves were supposed to have been killed off during a forgotten war in some far-distant land, but Michael always saw that war as a series of tales passed along through the generations, changed with each telling.

  It was still incredibly dark outside. Based on the amount of moonlight coming from the sky, it was still a few hours before sunrise. He would not be able to sleep any longer, especially not after that nightmare. He sat up in his bed, throwing aside the heavy wool blanket that was now damp and cold. Winter was approaching quickly, and the mountains grew far colder than the villages in the valley below.

  After facing the shock of the frigid wooden floor, Michael brushed aside the ashes from his fire the evening before. He diligently built a box with kindling, struck a match, and held the match to the center of his pile of wood. The twigs transferred the flame quickly, igniting in a bright ball of fire that spread to the sticks and twigs. He knelt in front of the hearth, watching the flames dance across the surface of the wood, smoke trickling from the fire as the bark clinging to the sticks smoldered.

  Captivated by the flames, and his nightmare, Michael stared into the growing fire, contemplating the events of this same dream that had been haunting him every night for the past month. The same details were in every dream; Sven, whoever it was, always fell first, followed by James. Minotaur always had a goblin on their back, and the goblins always disappeared as soon as the dark-cloaked man appeared. However, he never figured out what it meant. Another part of him wanted to know the meaning of the nightmares to remain a mystery. Part of him wanted to know the meaning of the dream and why it stopped when it did. He had never dreamed beyond the tip of his sword touching the dark man.