To survive, you must not fear unspeakable acts.
—The Book of Bevyn, 703 A.D.
King Emrys sat on his horse, his lips pressed tight but inwardly cheering as catapults flung boulders and liquid fire toward the enemy castle’s walls. Piercing shrieks like a thousand hawks filled the night sky while the rocks and flames sped through the air. Cwaun Castle will be ours!
When the stones and fire came hurtling back, never having touched Cwaun’s walls, Emrys shouted to his troops the command a king hates most, “Retreat!”
“I spared you, old king,” blared a voice from the castle. Emrys tugged his Friesian’s reins, the tall, black-as-night horse pivoting away from Castle Cwaun.
King Ostus leaned out the turret window, his fist raised high. “I want you to witness my power with your own eyes.” His haughty laugh stung Emrys. “Wars are not won by armies. They are won with magic, and mine is mighty. Prepare Dunnbow to be occupied at dawn. Resist, and all your people die.” Ostus released a dove out the castle window, which transformed into a bat when touched by the moonlight.
The bat circled King Emrys thrice, then dove and dug its sharp claws into his face.
“Heya!” Emrys slapped his horse’s backside and sped home to Dunnbow Castle.
Hawthorne adjusted his tall, pointed hat before speaking, static electricity sparking as his fingers touched the wool. The king’s sorcerer knelt before Emrys, seated on his silver and gold throne. “Your Highness, we cannot defeat Ostus of Castle Cwaun.” He looked down at the carpet embroidered with a drawing of Emrys' great-great grandfather impaling a dragon with a lance and then said, “Ostus’ wizard’s magic is more powerful than mine. I am sorry.” Hawthorne swallowed and raised his head to offer the king an expanse of neck. “Kill me, for I have failed you and our kingdom.”
Emrys gave a sober smile and rested his hand on the wizard's shoulder. “I don’t want your head, my friend. I only want to defeat Ostus.”
“We cannot defeat our enemy, but there is magic that will prevent Ostus from conquering us.”
“Oh, Wizard? Tell me everything.”
None of Emrys’ soldiers resisted when Ostus let his army into Dunnbow because the castle was empty. Ostus and his knights searched everywhere, starting with the highest turrets. When Ostus reached the dungeon, he found the king and his knights dead, taken by their own hands. He examined their bodies, noting no women or children were among them. “Did they escape?” Ostus asked. They must have! “Find the women and children!” he commanded his troops.
But something else was missing, too, though Ostus couldn’t say what. As he brought the torch closer to the dead, a raw sensation of incompleteness, like a forest without singing birds, festered in his mind.
No matter, I have won. Emrys and his army are dead. Castle Dunnbow is mine.
Ostus was sitting on Emrys' throne, alone in the king’s chamber, admiring his conquest and relishing his realm, when he felt a cold hand grasp his arm. He turned to see a shadow of a robed figure wearing a crown, holding a scepter of umbra. Two of his knights burst through the chamber’s doors, their swords drawn, their faces pale and tight with fear. Another six knights followed. They assumed a fighting stance, swords extended and angled up, and screamed.
Before they could scream a second time, all the knights fell to the floor, their heads canted, blood dripping from their noses.
“Nine īnfernus!” Ostus thundered.
Images of the dungeon flashed in Ostus’ memory. The torch's light had illuminated the bodies, but the dead cast no shadows.
A susurration of murmurs and clanging swords filled the hollow of his ears. One by one, shadows filed into the room, their hoarse whispers overlapping. A chill wind blew out the fireplace fire, plunging the room into utter blackness, but the shadows remained visible.
Their whispers grew louder and faster, echoing off the chamber’s walls.
Ostus leaped so quickly from the throne that his crown fell off, the metal banging loudly against the stone floor. He fled the castle. The shadows did not pursue him.
If you enjoyed this story, I think you’ll also like Losing Your Fear.
So were they really dead or fake dead by magic? Either way, I wouldn’t want to battle dark shadows.
This makes me want to write a tale with a wizard. 🤓
Wow, Bill! There is lot of action here for such a short piece. It has the depth and completeness of a much longer tale. Hard to accomplish! Congatulations.