Kingdom's Darkness (Gemstone Royals Book 2) Read online

  “Han!” Nyla hissed, her gaze growing frantic.

  Deswald knew she was worrying about Ben. But that thought quickly lost precedence as strange looking people emerged from the dark forest, surrounding them. Deswald had never seen anyone like that before. Their skin was red, as though soaked in blood and then dried to the texture of charcoal. They stood on limber bony legs, holding spears in long fingered hands, a look of death in their soulless eyes.

  “What in the name of El’s holy hill,” Deswald muttered.

  They stood in stalemate for a moment. The strangers standing confidently in what they knew was a sure victory. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Cordwall and Pike easing their way towards them, swords drawn, eyes wide with fear. They came and stood with their backs to Deswald and Nyla’s, facing their attackers.

  “Where are the others?” Deswald asked.

  “I don’t know,” Cordwall replied breathlessly.

  “We’re dead, just like everyone else here,” Pike announced, holding his blade out with surprisingly steady hands.

  “Not until we are,” Deswald said firmly, “By El’s light, greater is the power with us than with them.”

  “For Aldor!” they all shouted with practiced confidence.

  He bent his knees and held out his sword, “Stay together!”

  Their enemies charged towards them. Their thin legs propelling them forward with such speed it was like they were barely touching the ground. Within seconds they were upon them, spears, staffs and swords met. Deswald’s sword clashed against a spear and he leapt over the other end as his opponent tried to sweep his feet. But as he landed, in one swift movement he was relieved of his sword. He stood with his bare hands, peering into the sinister eyes of what could have been a man. Its eyes were large with blood red irises, resting on a yellowing sclera. Under his lips, resting on his wide chin were three short pointed bones.

  A quick glance about him showed that the rest of his unit had joined the fray. Deswald growled at the man and reached into his boot, removing his blade. He flipped the blade in his hands, relishing the familiar feel of it. He had carried the rare blade with him since he had purchased it from a merchant some time ago. His opponent’s eyes fell on the blade and Deswald saw a familiar human reaction flash across his devilish face; recognition.

  They circled each other amidst the sounds of fighting around them, then launched at each other. The man waved his spear deftly catching Deswald on the arm, puncturing his armor. Deswald grunted and stumbled back.

  “What are you?” he shouted.

  The man only smirked, a maniacal satisfaction in his eyes. Deswald took a step toward him, but he was too fast. His nimble knee caught Deswald in the stomach and as he stumbled back, the movement continued with a high kick to his jaw. Deswald tasted blood, as he hit the ground. He was in awe of the fact that the man was not even a little bit fazed by the armor Deswald wore. Looking up at the man, he saw that he was about to plunge his spear into him. So he rolled out of the way just as his opponent drove the spear into the hard ground. Deswald turned and kicked out his knees, bringing him down, before snatching his blade from the ground where it had fallen. Not a sound of pain escaped the creature when he fell. Deswald scrambled to his feet, lifting his blade to finish the man, just as an arrow landed in his right shoulder. A furious pained roar erupted from him, and a dark shadow filled his vision. Yanking the arrow from his body, he saw that the man had found his footing again. Deswald made his way toward the creature who was now looking at him with something close to interest. In one bloody hand he held an arrow, in the other he held the rare dagger.

  Deswald glared at his opponent with fury in his eyes. They started their tense dance again, but this time Deswald was the only one armed. The man charged first; he was quick but not quick enough. Deswald evaded his attacks, ducking low before he plunged the arrow into the creature’s bare stomach. It fell back, rage flaring in its odd coloured eyes. With bared teeth, Deswald ran up on the creature and planted his blade in its side.

  He watched in surprise as the fierceness in the creature’s eyes turned into shock. It looked at Deswald with defeat in it’s gaze. Deswald leaned forward, tightened his grip on the blade, a menacing look in his eyes. His opponent slumped to the ground and Deswald withdrew the blade. He turned to the activities around him, then looked down at the bloody blade in hand, feeling a strange bond with the weapon that had saved his life. A sense of invincibility and power flowed through him, he ran with bare hands into the fray.

  “They bleed!” he roared.

  ✽✽✽

  Neither Deswald nor his team had expected to survive the attack, the evidence was in the unanimous wide eyed look they all wore as they made their way to the next location. Hoping that this time they found their peers and not another red devil ambush, as Pike would have described it.

  "Its up ahead" Nyla said breathlessly.

  “Yes, I see it!” Cordwall shouted, limping eagerly after Nyla without awaiting Deswald’s instruction.

  Deswald understood their eagerness to find the village, he too was not in the mood to care about formalities and lines of authority. They had barely managed to survive the ambush, he ached all over and was a bloody mess, just like the rest of them. At least they had managed to keep their lives and the items from their quest secure. Deswald had a feeling that it was what the creatures were after.

  Ben was helping Han who had been gravely wounded and seemed to be barely holding on. They needed to get him medical attention quickly.

  “We should proceed with caution,” Ben said.

  “Ben’s right,” Deswald said, “after what we just encountered, there might be more waiting for us.”

  He had removed his breast plate which had been pressing into the arrow wound in his shoulder and knew that he had limited protection without it. He was not about to be taken by surprise again. The creatures they had faced were a force to be reckoned with, but once he had managed to take a few of them down, the others eventually retreated. A part of him was relieved that they did, but another part of him wished that they would not have, there was a part of him that thoroughly enjoyed watching them bleed, watching them die; that part frightened him.

  “There it is!”

  In the distance they could make out what was a village. Wide logs with sharpened tips stood together as the village’s first line of defence. The group, with eyes wide open for any last-minute surprises, made their way there. But as they neared it, a frown deepened Deswald’s brow. He lifted his hand, and commanded them to slow down.

  "Something’s not right," he said.

  The quiet surrounding the village and the wide-open log gate gave Deswald a bothersome feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “What should we do?” Pike asked, with the new found respect that saving his life had earned Deswald.

  Deswald lifted two fingers and pointed to either side of the gate then he drew his sword. The others followed. Cordwall took over carrying Han so Ben could have his arrows at the ready and Nyla drew her two short swords. Wordlessly Pike and Nyla made their way stealthily to one side of the gate, while Cordwall and Han took the other. With Ben as his cover, Deswald proceeded towards the open gate. They had their differences but over the course of their quest they had learned to speak the same language: survival. Something they all understood only came from working together.

  As Deswald entered the gate, the smell of burnt wood reached his nostrils. He walked carefully, his sword held down in front of him and his trusty dagger at his belt.

  “It’s too quiet,” Ben whispered.

  Deswald nodded, “keep your eyes open.”

  Suddenly Ben cried out in pain. Immediately, Deswald dropped low, as a flurry of arrows rained down around them. Grabbing Ben, he dashed behind the guard post next to the gate, his eyes searching around them frantically. Ben was on his knees beside him an arrow sticking out of his stomach.

  “What’s happening?” Nyla shouted from behind the gate.


  The arrows continued to rain down on them, “stay put!” Deswald commanded.

  “Cease fire!” a voice boomed, somewhere in the distance.

  Deswald and Ben exchanged glances immediately. They would know the voice of their commander anywhere.

  “Identify yourselves,” came the thunderous voice, which had echoed in their heads for the first few weeks.

  “Arnell of cohort eight,” Deswald shouted back.

  He was greeted with silence, during which the sound of Ben’s panicked breathing was amplified beside him. Then they heard the sound of running feet, drawing closer to them.

  “Show yourself Arnell,” this time the voice sounded closer.

  Deswald took a deep breath and peered out from behind the guard post. Familiar faces looking grimly cautious, stood around them. Commander Arthur stood with them. Deswald stood up, helping Ben up with him, then made his way into the open. He could see his commander breathe a sigh of relief.

  “The others?”

  “Come out everyone, it’s safe.”

  Nyla and the others came forward. Instantly her gaze found Ben’s, a concerned look on her face. But she quickly averted her eyes.

  “Sorry about that Mathis,” the commander said to Ben, “after what we have faced today, the men are a bit on edge.”

  “What happened?” Deswald asked.

  A grim expression darkened the commander’s countenance, “we were attacked. Many of the villagers lost their lives, even some of our men have been lost. But we managed to push them back, or rather something called them away. We thought they had returned when we heard you come in.”

  “Saharia’s edge is compromised, the questors who arrived before us are all dead, the border guards as well,” Deswald said.

  “Wait, what do you mean massacred?” the commander asked.

  Nyla extended the document given to her by the dying soldier, his bloody fingerprints as a testament of his sacrifice. The general took it tentatively.

  “He said to tell you that it has begun.”

  The general looked afraid; a look they had never seen him wear.

  “How did you escape the border?” he asked looking up from the letter.

  “We were late,” Deswald said with lowered gaze, “a smaller group it seemed had remained behind to keep watch.”

  He lifted his eyes now, “but we subdued them.”

  The commander’s eyes narrowed in doubt, “you? You subdued these creatures alone?”

  “Thanks to Deswald we had them running for the dark forest,” Pike said proudly.

  “What are they?” Nyla asked, standing a way off from Ben.

  “We do not know,” the commander said, “but we have to get back to Aldor immediately. The woods are not safe and the caravan arrives in two days. I sent some men ahead to meet them…”

  “Excuse me commander,” Ben interjected, with a hand lifted.

  Everyone turned to look at him, “might I be able to get some medical attention in the meantime.”

  “Walner!” the commander barked, “attend to Mathis and Han. The rest of you come in and get yourself refreshed. We must reinforce this village until the Caravan arrives.”

  ​Deswald fell into step with Commander Arthur, “sir, might I ask where is prince Jasper?” He had hoped to hand over the contents in his bag that made him so uneasy to carry around.

  The commander shook his head, “after we dispersed you for your quests the prince was called back to Aldor. We will meet him for our final report when we return.”

  “You mean if we return,” Cordwall added from beside them, his shoulders hung with weariness as his mace and sword dangled from his hands.

  For the first time since their quest began, Deswald found himself sharing Cordwall’s concern.

  Chapter 4

  There it was again, that nagging sense that something was wrong. He had grown to live with it, having learned that the unexplainable but undeniable urging that he sometimes felt never led him wrong. Right now, it was telling him that one of his father’s sheep was missing, but ever doubtful, he had to make sure for himself.

  "87, 88, 89..."

  He reached down and drew the last few sheep aside as he counted again, "87, 88, 89..."

  He stopped, and turned about him, his trained eyes perusing his flock, "I only sold 10 of you yesterday, did I not," he said, looking pointedly at a black North Forest sheep. The sheep looked back at him and bleated, before resuming its nonchalant chewing. He frowned.

  "Where is 90?" He raised both hands toward the unconcerned flock, rolling his eyes at their disinterest. Not that they ever responded to his regular monologues with anything other than their customary bleating.

  Towards the forest. He stopped short, there it was that odd sense directing him, never in words, always with a strong feeling. Sometimes he could ignore it, other times it nagged and nagged until he could do nothing but oblige. Despite the discomfort of obeying the goading in this mind, he had always been grateful for it in the end. He knew now that he dared not risk it being wrong. He turned back and reached for his staff, touched his hip where he kept his dagger and took off in the direction of the forest.

  "I am coming, fear not!" He cried, leaping over the back of 40, who was lounging away from the flock as usual.

  “You better be right,” he muttered, to whatever strange presence he had been carrying with him, since he had turned sixteen.

  He rounded the bend and sped along the path that took him into the woods, he never carried his flock through here because they were always bound to get caught in some kind of bramble. So how did Ninety stray so far away? Finally, he heard it; the terrified bleating. He ploughed through the woods, ignoring the brambles grabbing at his trousers, as he thought about how much trouble he would get in with his father if he lost one of them.

  He skidded to a halt when another sound, more terrifying than the first, reached his attuned ear; a low growl of contentment. It stopped him short, whatever it was, Jahreed had a strong feeling it had just found a pleasant snack in his lost sheep. With eyes wide with panic, he reached for his dagger and crouched low, his eyes darting about the mess of vines and branches in search of the threat. Ninety had gone quiet. He steeled his mind against the thought, knowing that if something had really attacked his sheep, his life was in just as much danger. He partly expected and hoped for that familiar nagging, to tell him to run, duck, hide, do something. He was sure that anything it told him to do he would do it in an instant, he was so afraid. But of course, it was silent and he was alone.

  "Ahhh," he screamed, as a gigantic beast leapt from the bushes towards him.

  Jahreed leapt out of the way, missing the heavy footfall of the furry beast by mere inches. He scrambled to his feet and retrieved his knife with shaking hands. The beast peered at him, its gold flecked eyes holding his gaze, long fangs glinting in anticipation. He had never seen anything like it. It was majestic, its tan coat looked like threads of pure gold ran through it, with paws wide enough to cover Jahreed’s face with one stomp. As if reading his mind, the beast growled, marking the ground beneath it with a gentle stroke of its paw. It then shook its heavy body proudly, so that the gold threads in its fur caught more of the light, making it seem to glimmer.

  "Okay beast," he said breathlessly, holding the cold stare of what could only be a Ma’jion, a rare breed of lion that was said to live beyond the mountains, where men dared not venture. According to legend they only ventured to lands occupied by men on the command of El himself, bringing with them a warning of judgment or a sign of his presence… Jahreed could not remember exactly. A thing of stories, stood before him, very much real and hopefully no longer hungry.

  "I mean you no harm. Although you must have made a feast of Ninety, there is no strife between us," they circled each other, the lion-like creature viciously flashing its fangs, him tremulously waving his very inadequate dagger.

  "How about a song, no one can say no to a song," he continued to make senseless convers
ation with the beast that seemed to care less about what he said, much less sang. But it was more for his sake that he started humming, a difficult feat when one was shaking from head to boots.

  The Ma’jion tossed its magnificent head of hair as if bored by the lad’s humming, then leapt toward him. He fell back onto his behind, closing his eyes and holding his arms over his face; prepared to embrace a bloody agonizing death. But when he felt nothing but a light breeze over him, as a shadow passed over the light behind his eyelids, he shook violently with relief. He opened teary eyes and turned onto his stomach, looking up in time to see the lion-like creature sauntering deeper into the woods.

  As he breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that his life was spared, all he could think of was what in the world was a Ma’jion doing walking about the woods of the North Territory.

  "Jahreed!"

  He jerked involuntarily still worked up over what he had just encountered. With a trembling hand, he managed to retrieve his dagger where it had fallen into the moist earth of the woods. His brother called him again, and he picked up what was left of his strength and pushed himself upward. He met his brother Waldon at the edge of the wood, where wood met pasture. Waldon's frown deepened at the sight of him, eyes dark with contempt as usual. Waldon had no idea what he had almost walked into.

  "You left the sheep unattended again. Have you no heart? Father will not be pleased when he hears you were off into the woods again, no doubt gathering material for that useless hobby of yours."

  Jahreed gaped, about to explain to his gruff brother what he had just witnessed. But then he dropped his hands, his shoulders drooping in resignation, he would never believe him.

  "I am sorry brother," he replied, "I was only gone a brief moment."

  His brother glared at him, "get back to work!" He growled.

  Jahreed glared at him but obeyed. His shoulder ached from his fall and his limbs felt weakened, now that fear no longer warmed them. As he trudged back to the pasture, devising a plan to get a replacement for Ninety before his brothers found out, the annoying feeling came over him again. Instantly he felt an urge to go into the city, visions of the palace flashed before him, followed by a strong urge to see Princess Pearl.