Rise of the DarkWalker: The Chronicles of Carter Blake, Book II

Carter pictured Dearbhaile. Her hair, a fiery dark orange, hanging over her right shoulder in a braid, catching the sunlight and turning into a brilliant halo of crimson and gold. Her eyes were the color of grass after a rain, they sparkled with a keen intelligence and a hint of mischief, as if she held a secret that no one else could fathom. Long, delicate lashes framed those captivating eyes, giving her a look of perpetual enchantment. Her lips were like sun-ripened strawberries, her skin was smooth and fair. Her high cheekbones and delicately pointed ears gave her an exotic allure, accentuated by the intricate arcane symbols on her pale azure robe.

He looked around, but saw nothing. “Aw, this is bullshit. How can I get a sword, but not an elf?” He froze. ‘Wait. Is that the limit? If it’s an object I can get it, but if it’s a person, I can’t?’ He scratched his beard. “This would be so much easier if I had a teacher.”

Carter went over to Adora and placed a sword in her hands. He raised her arms, making sure both hands were on the hilt, and swung the blade at the large demon’s throat along the same path his dagger had traced earlier. After placing a kiss on her cheek, he walked off, away from the battle.

###

He stood outside of an ancient keep in terrible condition. Ivy covered walls had entire sections missing, having fallen due to the elements and time. The drawbridge was down and splintery-looking. An ancient portcullis was frozen halfway up and coated with rust. A tree grew out of the top of a ruined tower. Algae floated on the surface of the stagnant, half-filled moat. In the middle of the half rotten drawbridge was the hole his foot had made last time he’d been here.

‘How odd that Adora’s summoning brought me back so close to here.’ He stared up at the crumbling top of the edifice, watching a raptor of some sort gliding through the air. ‘I still don’t know what I’m going to do about the lich within, but I suppose I’ll think of something.’

He returned his attention to the bridge before him. ‘I’m so glad I have that teleport scroll in my gauntlet. Just hope the demon will let me have it on the first try.’ He rotated his left hand, visualized the scroll he wanted and whispered the command word. “Noct.”

A bulbous vial with a lemon colored liquid appeared in his hand. “Godsdamnit, not my night vision potion. My scroll of teleportation.” Exasperation filled his voice as he slide the potion to his wrist and it vanished inside the gauntlet.

Once more he visualized the scroll, rotated his wrist and uttered the command word. This time, the correct item appeared. “Thank you.”

After focusing on the spot beyond the rusty portcullis, he lifted the scroll and uttered the activation word. “Eaunai.” Golden energy swirled around his body and an instant later, he the interior which was dim with some of the evening sunlight wafting through holes in the wall. Motes of dust and cobwebs danced on the faint breeze. The stone floor was covered in patches of puddles, moss and mold. Cracks ran through the once well-made stonework.

He approached one of the partially melted windows. A mound of old leaves, twigs and bits of stone were piled near it. Here and there, bits of glass sparkled in the debris, probably from the broken windows. Most of the window was covered by ivy. He pulled some to the side, and peered through.

Outside, the ground still bore the scars of the battle which felled the keep and drove out Delena’s family. Remnants of siege engines littered the field below; broken catapults, shells of burned arrow towers, and a couple ballista lay with broken a bowstring or a busted torsion spring.

Carter pulled back from the window and cast his gaze around the ruined room. A dark stairwell to his right lead down. A sturdy looking door and a shuttered gate were the only other objects in the area. Carter stroked his beard as he considered the doors and stairwell. ‘Do I go down, or forward?’ He glanced up at the ruined floor above. Stone walls rose up to wooden rafters going back and forth high above.

Gaping holes marked places where the upper parts of the old tower collapsed into the area below. He moved over to one of the holes, taking care to stay away from bricks near the edges and peered in. A deep drop into darkness greeted him. ‘Note to self, don’t fall in there.’

He approached the shut gate. It was a massive structure, built from thick, weather-beaten oak and reinforced with bands of iron that had long since rusted to a deep, reddish brown. The wood, once vibrant and strong, was now aged and splintered, bearing the scars of countless winters and battles long forgotten. A large fancy emblem, once proud, was worn and faded, the details almost faded to time and weather. He ran his fingers over the sigil and looked at the powdered metal they picked up from it. ‘Either Delena’s father is older than I thought, or she lied. This has the age of decades on it, not a couple of years.’

He grasped the heavy iron ring that served as the gate’s handle. As he lifted it, flakes of rust floated to the ground and it squealed in protest at having to move for the first time in many years. He pulled, muscles in his arms bulging. The gate groaned in protest as he applied pressure. The iron bands creaked and the wood shuddered as the gate slowly came open.

The opened gate revealed a long, narrow hallway. Murder holes lined each side, above his reach. Dim sunlight came through, highlighting motes of dust drifting through the air. Dust and debris lined the ancient stone floor. A great crevasse ran along one wall which was partially fallen into the hall. The side closest to him was fairly intact, but the one closer to the wall was in complete ruin. Inside the fissure, a lichen green statue – missing its head – lay face down. Its outstretched arms appeared to be holding the walls open. He could make out another dark hole around the chest area of the statue.

When he reached the other gateway, he found them partially open. When he slipped in, he noticed a once-grand throne room which lay in eerie silence, its former splendor a distant memory. The air was thick with dust, disturbed only by the occasional breath of wind that slipped through the cracks in the stone walls. Columns of marble, once polished to a gleaming white, now stood chipped and scarred, the fine carvings that adorned them eroded by time. The floor, a mosaic of an ancient hunt, was cracked and uneven, with vines forcing their way through the gaps, reclaiming the space for nature. Broken tiles littered the ground.

At the far end of the room, the throne itself stood as a grim testament to the passage of time. Carved from dark, ancient wood, the once-majestic seat was draped in the remnants of a once-luxurious animal hide, now moth-eaten and faded to a dull brown. The wall to the right of the throne once a masterpiece of art depicting the kingdom’s greatest victories, had crumbled in places. Sunlight filtered through the gaps, casting bright beams across the room, illuminating the ghostly remnants of what had once been a seat of power.

Carter gazed at the room, taking in the ancient room. To his right, he spotted the cleft in the floor from the hallway. Both sides of it were smooth this time. He crossed over and peered in. Worn steps, carved directly into the stone, descended into the darkness below. A faint draft rising from the crack, carried with it the cool, earthy scent of the underground. The steps were narrow, barely wide enough for a single person, with rough, uneven edges that suggested it had been carved in haste. ‘Let’s see what’s down there.’

As he descended, the air grew cooler, the scent of damp earth growing stronger with each step. The light from the throne room above quickly faded, swallowed by the encroaching darkness, until only the faintest glow from above remained, a distant memory of the world left behind.

The stairwell spiraled down, deeper into the earth, its twists and turns disorienting and its descent seemingly endless. The silence was profound, broken only by the echo of footsteps and the occasional skittering of unseen creatures that called the depths home.

He rotated his left wrist and uttered command for a torch which appeared, lit, in his hand. The flame flickered in the dim light, casting dancing shadows against the rough stone walls as the torch burned steadily in the Walker’s hand. The scent of the burning torch filled the narrow passageway, a pungent mix of tallow and jute.

At the bottom of the stairwell, where the air was thick and the darkness nearly impenetrable, the crackling torch gave the air a faint, greasy odor, one that clung to his clothing and hair, permeating the air with a scent that was both earthy and metallic, like the faint whisper of a distant battlefield. The smell was a constant companion, wrapping around him like a shroud, a reminder of the fragile light he carried into the depths of the unknown.

###

Carter walked along a rough-hewn corridor, the torch punched through the shadows. Something plinked into a puddle, the sound echoed through the dank air. He lay his hand on the moist wall and peered around the corner. The hallway ahead appeared to be empty, but the stench of rooting flush gave away the presence of undead.

'Skeletons or zombies?' He paused, waiting for confirmation. Skeletons required different combat tactics from zombies. Oddly, they were tougher, too. 'Do skeletons require a bigger connection to the Necromantic Plane?' Peeking around the corner again revealed no more than the last time. 'Doesn't really matter. I'm going to have to go through them in order to continue.'

An insect whined near his ear, causing him to swat like a dog scratching its ear. He dropped the torch into a deep puddle, casting him into darkness.

Carter placed his hand on the wall and tread slowly. He had no desire to fall and hurt himself – or, worse – die. Despite his care, he still stumbled over a trunk when the wall turned a corner.

“Godsdamn it.” He gingerly felt around until he found the wall again. Sliding his hands down, he hit something slimy. He recoiled from the touch of alien coldness, and then wiped his hands on his pants as he crouched. ‘I wish I had another torch.’ Relocating the chest, he forgot to check for any traps, and paid for it when a few thousand volts of electricity slammed into him, and knocked him on his ass.

Ozone filled his nose as he gingerly rolled back to his feet. Flickering light drew his attention to the now burning chest. ‘By all the hells.’ Whatever had been in there was now most likely destroyed. The flames showed him wooden dummies, a couple weapon racks with rusted weapons and some straw filled targets. ‘Must have been the training room back when it was occupied by the living.’

He moved to head away from the fire and a gleam caught his eye. The firelight had briefly reflected off of something shiny near the bottom of one of the racks. When he bent to examine the object, a line of icy fire raced along his back. “Motherfucker,” he cried, spinning away. As he straightened, he discovered the pike welding zombie.

The reanimated corpse thrust its weapon at him again. Carter leaned to the side and caught the haft of the spear.

“Not this time, zombie.” He kicked the undead's chest, knocking it back and making it lose its grip. He slammed the pike's point through the zombie's eye and out the back of its head, pinning the creature to the wooden weapon rack behind it. It slumped limply.

He carefully and swiftly looked himself over. ‘Wouldn’t be good to have injuries for the blood of that monster to get into.’ Carter straightened and retrieved his sword from where it had fallen. ‘There’d be a lot of unhappy people if I became an undead.’

He paused. The dim, flickering light revealed a thin strand of wire just above the floor, not six feet from where he stood. ‘It would be smart to get a torch and to have a pole to keep me out of range of other traps.’ A turn and scan of the rack, showed him a halberd and a cluster of torches. ‘Jackpot. These will come in handy.’

Four of the torches went behind his belt as the fifth was lit. As the head burned merrily, Carter hefted the weapon and tapped it against the wall. The metal clanged reassuringly off the stone and the wooden haft held up under the vibrations travelling through it and up his arm. He nodded to himself. Stepping over the wire, he reached back and broke it with the halberd. A nine foot section of the floor dropped into a shaft. ‘Devious. The wire was at the center of the pitfall.’ He squatted beside the hole and held the torch over it.

The dancing light didn’t show him much. The hole was too deep. ‘How far into the ground does this go? I thought I was at the bottom already.’

Carter straightened with a shrug. He moved to the other side of the room, meticulously scanning for traps with each step. His eyes caught sight of a plain black sarcophagus, standing oddly on its end. Before he could react, the lid fell away with a deafening crack, shattering on the stone floor.

From within, a skeleton, its bones clattering with unnatural life, stepped forward, a sheathed sword at its side. Its hollow eye sockets seemed to lock onto him instantly, as if it could sense his presence through some dark magic. Without hesitation, it drew its weapon and charged.

Carter was ready. He raised his halberd, the sharp tip meeting the skeleton’s advance. The undead creature impaled itself through the right eye socket, its skull shuddering with the impact. With a swift, practiced motion, Carter twisted the pike, sending the skull spinning through the air, where it smashed against the far wall.

He exhaled, thinking the fight was over. But a sudden, sharp pain slashed across his belly, snapping him back to the moment. The headless skeleton continued to attack. The torch in his off-hand, though quickly disintegrating under the assault, served as an impromptu shield. He growled in frustration, feeling the heat of the dying flame, and swung the halberd with renewed fury.

Bone met steel with a sickening crunch. He smashed the sternum, then the clavicle, and finally crushed the pelvis of his relentless foe, leaving it in a heap of shattered bones at his feet. Panting, he barely had time to catch his breath before he looked up and saw them—an entire crowd of skeletons, their bony fingers clutching weapons, all advancing on him.

He glanced down at the ruined remains of his pole weapon, its once-formidable length now splintered and battered.

“Damn.”