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

Adora glanced around her dining hall, her gaze rising to the vaulted ceilings adorned with tapestries woven from silk, each depicting the Realm's storied history—great battles, alliances, and the legendary coronation of her ancestor Kandel Orwen. The walls were made of gleaming marble threaded with turquoise. Her long dining table, seating fifty or more, was draped in embroidered azure and white cloth, with the family crest— a dragon clutching a vampire's throat—soon hidden beneath trays, candelabras, and dishes laid out by the servants.

Traditionally, she would be the last to enter, but tonight, she wanted to throw her guests off their games. She didn’t have time for the usual shenanigans and veiled conversation. Her people were dying by the thousands thanks to Drago’s demons and other minions. She didn’t intend to allow any more horrors like what she found at the tiny half-elf village. She shuddered at the memory.

‘Charred remnants of homes stood like blackened skeletons against the twilight sky, their once vibrant banners now ash, drifting through the air like mourning veils. Naked bodies of emaciated half-elves, twisted and lifeless, lay scattered across the scorched earth—no signs of struggle, only the eerie stillness of a massacre completed with cold precision. The fields, once ripe with crops, were razed to barren soil, and the well where children once played ran red with the final remnants of their blood. There were no survivors, no trace of life, just a ghostly echo of what once had been.’

Adora gave herself a mental shake and gripped her fists behind her back. The vileness of what she saw would live with her for the rest of her days, but she couldn’t focus on it now. It was almost time for a different battle. Her herald approached.

“Your Highness, I present Lord Tyrese Hathshire the Fourth of Bisquine.”

A short, rotund man entered and knelt before her. He wore a green velvet cloak over dragonhide clothing. His family crest of a dragon skull over crossed swords was proudly emblazoned on his chest. The golden threads gleamed with protective magic.

“You may rise, Lord Hathshire.”

When he did, she took a good look at him. She’d not seen him properly at the tournament for her hand three years ago, and he usually begged off attending these things. ‘What are you up to?’ His face, sharp and aristocratic, with eyes that gleamed like cut gems, revealed nothing of his inner thoughts. Only cold calculation, and barely disguised ambition. He graced her with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Thank you Your Majesty. I am appreciative of your invitation to your magnificent home.” His unctuous voice slithered in her ear, coming close to making her squirm.

‘Do you, yourself foolishly consort with demons, or are you unaware demons are in your city?’

She tilted her head at him and then glanced up as the herald announced the next guest.

“Lord Donnell Maverick of the Great Land Plains.”

She narrowed her eyes. ‘This Abyssal whore.’ She ground her teeth. ‘I hate that I have to deal with him after his conspiracy to force me to marry him three years ago.’

Carter had wanted to kill him, but Maverick’s connections and lands made that impossible. The Great Lands Plains grew over ninety percent of the food the Realm needed. Additionally, his people loved him, seeing him as a benevolent lord who made sure they were both well fed, and protected. Prior to his attempted coup, a massive drought had hit the Realm, and he’d emptied his stores of food and water for the people who saw him as their savior. Moving against him would cause civil unrest at a time when she needed all her resources to battle Drago the Clanless and his demon armies.

Donnell swaggered into the hall the room with the confidence of a man who had never heard the word “no.” His every movement was deliberate, calculated, as if the world itself turned on his whim. Clad in finely tailored silk and gleaming armor polished to perfection, he radiated power—both inherited and seized through relentless ambition. A sneer flashed across his face before he hid it behind a cocky smile.

His gaze swept across the hall, lingering on the queen as if she were already his possession, a trophy that had simply yet to be mounted. “Adora.” His voice was a smooth, condescending purr.

Adora schooled her face into a blank mask. “Queen Adora is the proper way to address me.” Her voice dropped the ambient temperature several degrees.

“Of course, Queen Adora.” His voice oozed with a slow, deliberate drawl.

‘This snake makes me want to scream and stab him with a salad fork.’ She gave a half smile and tilted her head to him. “Much better.” Her arm came up and indicated the dining table. “Have a seat, and maybe join Lord Hathshire in conversation.”

The herald approached once more. “Your Highness, I present the Vaush-Tauric Lady Soo-jau.”

‘Oh, this will be interesting. Carter told me wonderful things about her.’ The dragon had restored his eyes after witnessing Azrael’s revelation had destroyed them. She was also Dearbhaile’s mentor.

Lady Soo-jau floated into the room, wearing robes of azure and sapphire. As she walked closer, they billowed out gently like waves across a lake. Her blue-tinged face had a small webbing of wrinkles. Gold eyes held warmth, humor and wisdom. Her presence radiated power unlike that of the Lords who had preceded her into the dining hall.

Adora felt a wide smile spread over her cheeks as warmth spread through her body. At the same time, she felt a shiver run down her spine, the intensity of the dragon’s presence weighing heavily in the air. It was as if the room had shrunk, the walls closing in around her, reminding her of the formidable power that stood before her. She took a deep breath. ‘Though I’m both excited and a little intimidated by her, I must steel myself. None in this room is allowed to think of me as anything less than their queen.’ She swallowed. ‘Even her.’

Lady Soo-jau dipped in a formal bow. “Your Majesty.” Her voice was a melodic yet authoritative timbre that filled the hall. “I am honored to be here in your castle.” She rose from her bow and gazed deep into Adora’s eyes.

The queen felt the piercing inspection went deep into her soul as if the Vaush-Tauric knew all her intimate thoughts and secrets.

“Welcome, Lady Soo-jau. I am honored by your presence at this dinner.” She stiffened her back.

The dragon gave her a small smile, that hinted at secrets yet untold, leaving Adora with a sense of unease—like a pawn standing before a queen in a game she didn't fully understand.

She held Soo-jau’s gaze, summoning the weight of her position, but felt the pulse of nervous energy fluttering in her chest. It was a delicate dance—acknowledging the power of the ancient dragon while firmly establishing her own dominion. The knowledge that Soo-jau had seen so much more, lived through epochs of history, pressed on her, but Adora was determined to stand her ground.

“Your wisdom is as renowned as your presence,” Adora continued, her words flowing with practiced grace, determined not to show how deeply the dragon’s aura resonated within her

The Vaush-Tauric gave her another bow and crossed to near Lords Maverick and Hathshire.

The two men paused their conversation and turned to her. Hathshire straightened in his seat, and flicker of uncertainty crossed his face as he took in her blue-tinged skin and regal posture. “Lady Soo-jau, your presence is… quite striking.” His words were halting as his smoothness faded a bit.

Maverick leaned forward. ‘I wonder how she will respond?’ An easy smile crossed his face when she arched an eyebrow at Tyrese’s words, but didn’t respond. ‘Ah. She ignored the weakling. She’s smarter than she looks. How can I use her?’

He rose and gave her a small bow. “Lady… Soo-jau, was it?” His question came out in a drawl. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Yes, it is.” Lord Hathshire said quickly.

“Why?”

Her simple question made both men pause. Hathshire fiddled with a goblet as he sank back into his seat, and Maverick gaped for a moment.

He closed his mouth as something dark flashed across his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Why, my lady, it is because your reputation precedes you.” His velvety voice carried a hint of rancid honey. It’s rare to meet someone of such… legendary stature.”

“My reputation?” She arched an eyebrow. “In what way is it… legendary, I believe you put it?”

"Why, Lady Soo-jau, your reputation is legendary for both your wisdom and your... unique abilities." His tone was smooth, laced with subtle implications. "I’ve heard tales of your influence reaching far beyond the borders of our Realm." He spread his hands in a gesture of admiration. "To encounter one as storied as yourself is, of course, an honor."

She blinked. “Interesting.” She gave them a small curtsey. “Excuse me.” Without waiting for a response, she moved to speak with a servant.

‘That bitch.’ Maverick’s blood pounded in his ears as he glared at her back. ‘How dare she dismiss me.’ He ground his teeth. ‘Calm yourself, Donnell. Don’t let anyone know she got under your skin. She’s beneath you.’ He inhaled and then slowly exhaled.

“That Soo-jau is something else, isn’t she, Lord Maverick?”

He turned his gaze back to Hathshire. “Absolutely, Tyrese! Lady Soo-jau is indeed something else. Something you’d be wise to not underestimate with your predilection for trivialities.” He took his seat again. “But enough about her; let’s discuss what truly matters—the plans for our future and how we can leverage this dinner to our advantage.”

“Indeed, Lord Maverick! While the Lady is certainly a force to be reckoned with, it is our own fortunes that deserve our utmost attention. After all, alliances can shift like sand in the wind, and those who are unprepared may find themselves swept away. I propose we consider how best to position ourselves amidst the changing tides of this Realm—both with the queen and our esteemed guests.”

###

As Carter stepped into the cave, the only light came from the flickering torch in his hand, casting jagged, wavering shadows across the stone walls. Its flame sputtered as it fought against the damp air, releasing the faint scent of burning wood mixed with smoke. Warmth radiated from the flickering light, though it barely held back the surrounding cold, casting an orange glow that danced wildly across the slick cave walls.

The darkness pressed in from all sides, impenetrable beyond the flickering light that barely stretched a few feet ahead. Damp air, thick with the scent of wet earth and mold, clung to him, swallowing his breath almost as soon as it left his mouth. The torch sputtered, fighting against the silence, casting shadows that twisted and writhed along the walls. Each shallow breath Carter took filled his mouth with the stale, metallic taste of damp stone and lingering decay, heavy on his tongue. The cold air carried a faint bitterness, like mossy earth soaked in stagnant water, leaving an unpleasant, gritty film at the back of his throat.

The uneven stone floor was slick beneath his boots, forcing him to tread carefully with each step. Water dripped steadily from above, each drop splashing into shallow puddles that reflected the orange glow of the torchlight, creating brief bursts of shimmer before dissolving into the inky blackness. The cave’s narrow passage twisted ahead, winding deeper into the earth, the walls jagged and lined with veins of strange minerals that glimmered faintly whenever the torchlight brushed against them. Carter’s grip on the torch tightened as his eyes strained to see farther into the gloom, every shadow a potential threat, every whisper of sound amplifying the tension.

Ahead, the passage opened into a wider chamber, and the light from Carter’s torch barely grazed the edges of the room, leaving most of it shrouded in darkness. The air felt different here—denser, almost alive with an ancient energy that prickled at his skin. The stone walls were cold to the touch, covered in slick moss and strange markings he couldn’t decipher. The flame flickered wildly as if the cave was breathing, the light shrinking and expanding as Carter’s heart pounded in his chest.

Carter blinked, his grip tightening on the torch as a figure stepped out of the shadows—his grandfather. Sixteen years had passed since he'd last seen the man, but the face was unmistakable. What was different, though, was the armor. It was plate armor, but unlike any he’d seen in the Realm before – clinging to his body like a second skin and made from an unknown alloy of a silvery purple-green metal.

“Grandpop?” His voice was filled with disbelief. His grandfather had vanished ten years before he’d been summoned to the Realm.

The old man’s sharp blue eyes locked onto his, filled with a familiar intensity, his long silvered brown hair cascading over his broad shoulders. His posture was firm and unwavering, belying his advanced age.

“How… how are you here?” His eyes swept over his grandfather’s form. “What are you wearing?”

An easy smile passed across his face, and he faded from sight. Carter's breath caught in his throat, the cold readiness in his chest replaced by a rush of warmth—a flicker of hope that vanished the moment his grandfather did.

“Don’t leave me again.” His voice was thick with unspent tears.

As the vision faded, Carter stood frozen, his arm still outstretched, grasping at the empty air where his grandfather had been. A hollow, aching silence filled the cave, more suffocating than the darkness itself. The weight of the years, the lost moments and unspoken words, pressed down on him, and his chest tightened with a grief he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in so long. He lowered his hand slowly, his fingers curling into a fist as if trying to hold on to the fleeting image, but all that remained was the bitter taste of absence, an emptiness that gnawed at his soul. He swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t go away.

After several moments, Carter continued through the cavern. The oppressive atmosphere continued to weigh on him, and the air seemed to thrum with power. He found himself drawn to a large chamber.

Before him stood a warrior in form-fitting silvery, purple-green armor like his vision of his grandfather. Sable hair hung over his bowed head. A familiar snow white blade was held in a spiked gauntleted fist. A low growl came from him.

Carter titled his head. “Who are you?”

The warrior tossed his head, throwing his hair back and revealing a skull-like visage with sparking and glowing electric blue eyes. A pair of horns grew from its temples and curled around like that of a ram. Poisonous green slaver dripped from jagged fangs.

Carter ripped his sword from its sheath. The familiar chill spread through his body, but it was irrelevant as he readied himself for battle. His knuckles whitened on the hilt as he rolled his shoulders, making sure they were loose. His stance widened a bit as he rose to the balls of his feet. He angled his sword, ready to parry or strike.

“Okay, what are you?”

With a guttural roar, the creature leaped to attack.