"The First Darkwar" by Michael Tresca

"Dalog," said the Darklord, his fiery red eyes focused on him, "Come here."

Dalog, knowing better than to resist his master's call, was still hesistant. The Darklord who called him was revolting. A lich beyond the years of even the mighty treants, the Darklord was missing skin on different parts of his body. One half of his face was missing except for the white eyeball, while the remaining fleshly side held but a gaping void. His left hand was fleshless, the other wrapped in a black glove. The Darklord wore a beautiful gown of royal purple, a mockery of the noble position he once held.

"Come here Dalog!" he hissed. "Now."

When the Darklord was calm, he was upset. Dalog hurried over. The Darklord's fleshly side of his face twisted in a horrible, distorted grin.

"You detest me, don't you.?"

"No, my lord, I-" Dalog was cut off.

"SILENCE!" The Darklord gestured at Dalog and his whole body felt as if it were simultaneously ripped apart and reassembled in that instant.

"Did you REALLY think that you could keep your thoughts from ME." He laughed a long, cruel laugh. Dalog gasped from the shock.

"I can create." A small mouse appeared in his gloved hand. "But I can also destroy." His left, skeletal hand smashed into his open palm. Blood trickled from the paste that was once the mouse in his clenched fist.

"Dalog, look. See." The whole throne room disappeared, to be replaced by nothing but blackness and twinkling stars. The sphere of Welstar rotated slowly below them.

"Look, apprentice. You fancy yourself an Archmage? See my powers! Normally, this space would suffocate you, if it didn't freeze you. Would you like a demonstration?" He laughed as Dalog tried to choke out a response. "I feel your fear. I shall spare you Dalog. Look there."

One skeletal hand pointed towards a black smear across the surface of Welstar. It occurred to Dalog that the smear was very large for it to be seen from their vantage point.

"That is the Darkwall. It advances, always. With each inch it creeps forward, my reign comes that much closer to completion."

Dalog nodded. He knew all this.

"What you do not know, Dalog, is that I intend to hold Welstar hostage. But we need a bargaining chip to ensure that Welstar does not call for help."

He pointed at a constellation of five evenly placed stars. "Welstar is the youngest of its sisters. Even my power is nothing to the incurred wrath of five living stars."

Dalog looked curiously at the innocent twinkles of light. They looked so small.

"How do you subjugate a living planet?" he said out of turn.

The Darklord turned towards him. "How indeed. We cannot force Welstar to our whims, but we can keep it silent. By holding hostage something it holds very dear.”

"And what is that, my lord?"

The Darklord's vacant gouge in his face glittered with a red light as their surroundings returned once again to the grim setting of his throne room.

"By slaughtering every last unicorn until I possess the last five."

* * *

Korn Leither, Master Bard, looked at the people who sat around the pentagram table. They were all present: Ranik Radisgad, the High Justice. Dragon Thanis. Stronessa, High Clerist. And Brescot Kor, High Warrior. Together, the five constituted the leaders of the Constellation, the Knights of the Star. They led the strongest fighting force in the world. That knowledge was little comfort for Korn. He had called the conclave for a matter of grave concern.

“Speak up Korn!” said Brescot. “Are we not a Star? There are five points, only one knows what’s going on!”

“At peace, High Warrior,” said Thanis, “Our Master Bard is troubled. Tell us your mind Korn.”

“Thank you, Dragon Thanis.” Korn took a deep breath as he collected his thoughts. “I appreciate your sympathy. But brother and sister knights, in all the songs I have written, in all the wisdom and experience we as a whole have collected, nothing can prepare you for the news I am about to tell you…”

“Get to the point!” shouted Brescot, slamming one mailed fist onto the table.

“Very well.” Korn leaned forward. “As you all know, there are other worlds than Welstar. One of these worlds, Crypt, is a war torn place because of…gnomes.”

“Gnomes?” said Stronessa in disbelief.

“Gnomes,” Korn repeated. “They are rather mechanically inclined. Unfortunately, very few of their inventions work correctly.”

“But I don’t see the problem,” Brescot broke in, “If none of these gnomes so called “inventions” really work, what have we to worry?”

Korn’s lips became a thin line. “Normally, nothing. The Darklord has changed things however.” At the mention of the Darklord’s name, brows furrowed and fists clenched.

Brescot was the first to respond. “What,” he said, cracking his knuckles, “has he done with their inventions.”

“These gnomes have been at war with several other nations on Crypt. The dwarves of Vulcan most recently came into possession of a gnomish invention that never worked, the Thunderstick. But the dwarves have perfected it. They are deadly weapons indeed. And they are selling them to the Darklord’s armies.” Korn reclined in his chair.

“I don’t know what a Thunderstick is,” Stronessa said with characteristic calm, “but they sound unpleasant.”

Korn nodded. “Oh, they are that, Stronessa. Worse than that. Like crossbows only with flaming pitch as ammunition that explodes on impact with ten times the force.”

Ranik rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “With the Darklord’s armies armed with such Thundersticks, they will be unstoppable.”

Dragon Thanis rubbed his forehead. “Then we must act quickly. If the Darklord is recruiting allies from beyond Welstar, we had better be ready to do the same.”
Ranik nodded. “I shall speak to the Drensieqi. When we’ve no machinery, a handful of Drensieqi will do just fine.”

“And I shall speak to the Nervchertians,” said Brescot as he flexed one arm experimentally, “We speak the same language.”

Dragon Thanis sighed. “I shall speak to the Anathaeran and Meritoson elves. I believe we too, have a common interest.”

Korn looked around. There were only two other potential allies to contact. Neither were friendly: the dour dwarves of Jreast or the freezing cold northern reaches of Svairn.

“Ladies first.”
“Svarin will be fine, thank you,” said Stronessa, winking at him.

Korn nodded. “Alright then. I will speak to Boromar.” He steepled his fingers. “Well, brothers and sister, this may be the last time we see each other for months. Anything else?”
“May the gods of all that is Pure and Good bless us,” said Stronessa.

Korn recognized the blessing. “Fine then. May we always uphold the Constellation.” Korn put his hand to his chest as the others did likewise, “Song!”

“Justice!” shouted Ranik.

“War,” muttered Brescot.

“Religion,” said Stronessa.

“Power!” the last coming from Dragon Thanis.

“May the Stars shine forever!” They said in unison. Then each, one by one, left to brave the long hardships ahead.

* * *

Quantum, Grand Master of the Drensieqi, leaned forward, “Why should we?”

Ranik, instead of being surprised, met the golden gaze of the Drensieqi. “Grand Master, I realize you made a pact that cut your people’s relations from the rest of Welstar, but you must understand. The time for racial prejudices is passed. The Darklord’s armies will spread like a disease. While you may be the last to be attacked, by that time even the magical might of the Drensieqi will be helpless. Let us unite now while we are strong by the bonds of friendship and love, while we still have a fighting chance.” He folded his arms across his chest, awaiting Quantum’s answer.

“Well spoken, High Justice. But you must understand that my peoples’ welfare comes first before all things, even if it means only a brief extension to their security. To get involved now, after years of persecution would be unthinkable. Not only would my people not be moved to action, many of them might say you deserve it. I do not share that philosophy, but I know the general consensus, and there is no love lost between our races.”

“Then you will not help.” Ranik’s eyebrows knitted together in frustration.

“I did not say that. You are a true and just man, Ranik Radisgad. I have considered the sides. If the Darklord intends to use this faux magic, this technology, then you will need our assistance to balance the scales. There are several half-breeds beyond the Drensieqi border who may feel a much stronger kinship with humanity than the purebreds beyond the Wall. They are not many, but they may balance the scales in your favor. I will speak to them. I trust you will lead them well.”

“Indeed I shall, old friend,” said Ranik. “Grandmaster, recognize that in this act you are not only helping the Constellation, but you are helping every thing that creeps and crawls on Welstar. I thank you for your faith in my abilities.”

Quantum’s smooth features wrinkled into a smirk. “You should have been a Drensieqi.”

Ranik rose and bowed at the waist. “Farewell. May we both be smiling the next time we meet.” And with that, Ranik left the Grandmaster’s presence with hope fluttering in his chest.

* * *

“Let me pass! I, Brescot Kor, High Warrior of the Constellation, demand to speak to your high king!” Brescot’s fists were clenched in frustration. The two hulking Nervchertians didn’t intend to let him pass, even if he was the High Warrior. Then again, Brescot hadn’t become the High Warrior through words alone.

“You don’t look like the High Warrior to me,” said one of the barbarians with sneering arrogance.

Brescot nodded amicably, placing one hand on the shoulder of each of the guards. “Look closer,” he muttered, and with that, he collided their foreheads. Brescot dusted his hands.

“Wonder what the king must be like,” he said to himself.

* * *

Thanis had arrived at Anathaera without incident. He expected the Anathaeran elves to be reluctant to help. Their presence was barely felt by the surrounding indigenous peoples, but they were nevertheless a very important ally to the Darkwar.

Lost in his thoughts, Thanis did not detect the Anathaeran elf that seemed to sprout from the very foliage around them. His voice was soft-spoken but carried a hint of menace in it as he spoke.

“Step no further!”

Thanis opened both hands in a sign of capitulation. “Be at peace, Anathaeran, I mean you no harm. But I must speak with your people. I bring urgent news.”

The elf seemed to size him up for a moment. Thanis was in human form, his blonde hair and golden eyes hinting at his true identity. Finally, he motioned for Thanis to follow him.

They couldn’t have traveled more than a few hundred feet before the elf disappeared, seemingly before Thanis’ very eyes. Something was definitely wrong.

A whistling arrow streaked past Thanis’ ear. An ambush!

Thanis dove to the side and rolled, springing up into a combat-ready position with his sword drawn. His eyes scanned the tree line. Nothing.

Again the Anathaeran sprung up, and this time Thanis was ready. He was not more than two feet away when Thanis charged him, only to find a small sapling snapping into his chest. It was enough force to knock him off his feet. He fell to the ground with a yelp.

The Anathaeran stood over him, confident of his advantage. His slender sword was out and pointed at Thanis’ throat.

“The Darklord does not take kindly to such tactics. Neither do the Anathaerans. You should have known better than to try to negotiate with them. Now I will have to kill you.”

Thanis propped himself up on one elbow. “A clone,” he said in a tone dripping with disgust. “Selling out your living brothers?”

Clones were a rare dark magic that occasionally struck living beings in the Retroverse. Their lives were usually very brief as most were insane killing machines. Those who succeeded in murdering their real twins often took their place. Thanis briefly wondered what became of the Anathaeran who had died so that Thanis could be deceived.

The clone allowed himself a smirk. “You don’t think all Anathaerans are like this? Trust me,” he gestured with his chin over his shoulder at the location of Anathaera, “they’re not very friendly.”

Thanis sighed. “I didn’t want to resort to this, but you leave me no choice.”

The word “what?” died away in the clone’s throat as Thanis underwent a fantastic transformation. His leather armor seemed to merge with his flesh as his elongated shoulder blades sprang from his back. He seemed to unfold like a paper puzzle, stretching and growing smoothly until a silver-colored dragon was snout-to-nose with the startled clone.

“I wanted to use a less threatening form,” Thanis roared, “but it seems threats are the only words you understand!”
The clone had backpedaled a safe distance. “You’re right,” he shouted back, “threats are the only thing we understand!”
A shower of arrows punctuated his taunt. The projectiles bounced harmlessly off of Thanis’ silvery hide. Although he could not see them, Thanis knew the Anathaeran elves were protecting their brother the only way they knew how.

The hail of arrows seemed to last an eternity. Thanis shielded himself with both wings, closing his eyes and tucking his head beneath an armpit. For all his size he appeared to be a lame bird that had hurt its wing.

When the attack finally stopped, Thanis uncoiled himself and resumed his speech. “I come in peace!” He pointed one claw in the direction where the clone had stood before, although he had long since lost track of him. “You have been betrayed! The Darklord’s forces are on the move and they will reach your home first. You must listen to…me…”

Thanis’ guttural growl faded as his saurian gazed focused on one Anathaeran elf who chose to show himself. At first he had hoped it was a gesture of peace, but the elf’s knocked arrow gave him pause.

He squinted and his draconian vision brought the arrow into sharp focus. It had a crudely carved dragon’s maw carved into the head of the arrow. It was a Dragon Slayer, undoubtedly provided by the same clone who had attempted to kill Thanis. Suddenly, it all made sense. Instead of rallying the elves against the Darlord, Thanis’ transformation made it appear as if the roles were reversed, as if Thanis was the instigator of the fight. It would only cement the extreme xenophobia of the Anathaerans.

The arrow seemed to be released in slow motion. Thanis turned and launched himself into the air with a powerful leap, his wings smashing aside trees as he attempted to get enough lift to get clear. He felt the brush tug at his haunches and tail. He arched his neck in desperation.

The arrow’s magic was not so easily evaded. It whistled through branches and even around a tree with purpose. Thanis pumped his wings again and lifted himself free of the treetops. The arrow sailed upwards beneath him.

He felt a lancing pain pierce his lower torso and the spatter of his own blood as the Dragon Slayer exited the other side. Time resumed its inexorable march as Thanis crashed through the treetops, the green terrain beneath him hurrying beneath him until he skidded to a halt at the base of a gigantic tree. The world spun around him.

Thanis craned his neck upwards to view the many faces that stared down at him from their treetop domain. How ironic, he thought, he had finally found the Anathaeran village.

Then Dragon Thanis felt no more.

* * *

Stronessa clumped through the icy wastes of Svarin, cursing the snow that slowed her pace to a crawl. The reputation of the Glenwei who populated the frozen landscape did not match their unforgiving surroundings. They were known as a warm and joyful group, their doors always open to weary travelers. After trekking through white hill after white hill, Stronessa looked forward to sampling some Glenwei hospitality.

Her journey northward had taken weeks, and for the most part was uneventful. The dangers of the Svarin wastes were few, but the most dangerous one was the wastes themselves. If it wasn’t snow blindness it was hypothermia. Even bundled up as she was, her cotton wrappings were soaking wet from sweat and melted ice.

Stronessa thought she saw something move to her right, as she had the past twelve times before. The snow blindness, she decided, was finally getting to her.

Suddenly a piercing battle cry sounded and a hulking albino lizard came skiing down the slope, spears pointed forward. It was an Alcor, snow white lizardmen who had large, flat tails not unlike platypuses. They used them to slide down the rolling, snowy hills of Svairn to great effect. Although she had heard about them, the surprise their strange means of locomotion engendered froze Stronessa in her tracks.

Another battle cry from behind her jolted her out of her shock. Stronessa drew her sword and crouched into a combat position as the Alcor closed. She could see more of their milky white forms, nearly invisible to her untrained eye against the glistening snow.

The first Alcor swung his spear in a wide arc over his head, obviously used to prey fleeing with their backs to him rather than a prepared warrior. The advantage of his longer reach was spent as Stronessa dove into a snowbank. The Alcor skidded to a halt, causing a furrow of snow to spill out at the end of its descent.

Stronessa spat snow out of her face as she stumbled to her feet, sword ready. The snow stung her face it was so cold, and the icy chill breeze that seemed to never stop blowing turned her lips numb. She looked around for the Alcor.

He was preoccupied with another target, men bundled up tightly in furs with large machete-like weapons. Her heart soared for a brief flickering moment as she realized that these people were engaging the Alcor. Then it froze in her chest when she caught a glimpse of their glittering red eyes. Snowgoblins.

Stronessa gritted her teeth as a different Alcor came flashing down the slope. It leaned into its tail to create another wave of snow as it stopped, this one aimed at Stronessa’s face. She put up one arm to cover her eyes as the ice and snow pelted her. She heard the wide-footed pads of the Alcor running towards her as he leaps from his tail into a charge. Stronessa took two clumsy steps backwards and swept low. The angry hiss indicated Stronessa had bought herself some time.

The Alcor snaked its head in a distinctly saurian fashion, sizing her up. She was, it seemed, a more difficult prey than it had counted on. Its confusion did not last long. A Snowgoblin took advantage of the monetary distraction and cut it down at the base of its spine. Stronessa almost cheered. Then the Snowgoblin came stomping for her.

Stronessa noticed the Snowgoblins managed to overcome their distinct ground disadvantage by wearing what looked like rackets beneath their feet. The Snowgoblin hacked viciously at her face, but she parried. Despite their fearsome appearance, they didn’t match bulk for bulk with the Alcor or even Stronessa. She decided to use that to her advantage.

Stonressa retaliated by grabbing the Snowgoblin’s arm and pulling hard. Instead of falling over, he ended up helplessly sliding towards her, nearly a foot higher than her in the snow. She used that moment to stab him in the stomach. The Snowgoblin crumpled over.

Things were getting desperate around her. Stronessa took a moment to count the sides. Eight Alcor, seven Snowgoblins. Not good. If the Snowgoblins won, she would be sold into slavery, no doubt as a plaything for Snowgoblins who had never seen blonde hair such as hers. If the Alcor won, they would eat her and sell her hair to the Snowgoblins.

The tactics of the Alcor demonstrated a deadly effectiveness. The Alcor moved by at over forty miles-per-hour as they sledded down the slopes on their tails, without losing any balance. She watched two more Snowgoblins go down in an explosion of red and white while three Snowgoblins hacked another Alcor to death.

Stronessa looked around in desperation. As her eyes fell on the Alcor corpse she formulated a plan.

One well-placed chop to the base of the Alcor’s tail provided a crude but similar means of locomotion. Their tails were essentially wide spines with hardened cartilage filling them out. She clambered up on top of it and tested her balance. Two more Alcor who had just finished bloodying their muzzles on a dead Snowgoblin hopped onto their tails and began to ski towards her. It was, Stronessa decided, time to leave.

She glanced upwards at the overhanging snow banks that surrounded them at all sides and made some quick calculations. The nature of the depression she was in was chosen precisely because of the gradation of slop the terrain provided. The Alcors could gain excellent momentum from the edges of the depression, and then after executing their attack could lie in wait at the narrow gap at the end of the small valley to finish off the job. One way or another, anyone moving at high speed from the top of the slopes had to make it through that small bottleneck. Stronessa was determined to try.

She sheathed her sword and lifted her hands to the sky. As a Knight of Religion, she was familiar with all the gods of the various pantheons. She rarely invoked any of their names out of respect. But in this case, she felt Akadi wouldn’t mind.

“Akadi, mistress of wind, queen of snow, hear my prayer! Unfurl your storms, unleash the pale, strike once, strike twice, let thunder wail!”

Akadi did hear her, for at once the normally heavy gray overcast clouds that were ever-present across the Svairn skies became agitated. A loud rumble caused the remaining Snowgoblins to look up in confusion. Their well-timed raid a failure, the few remaining Snowgoblins were attempting to loot whatever Alcor bodies they could and stomp away to freedom.

Stronessa leaned forward and kicked her Alcor tail off the snow. At once, she was whistling past snow bank and sprawling red patches of dead bodies.

A Snowgoblin zoomed into view. Stronessa leaned hard to the left as his blade thrust towards her head. It snagged only the fur edges of her hood, but it was enough to elicit a cry of dismay from her. It was immediately drowned out by a crash of thunder echoing directly overhead.

Stronessa whooped. It had worked! The thunder was answered by a rumbling crash, the sound of snow and ice plummeting and rolling down the slope. One Alcor, preoccupied with devouring a Snowgoblin, looked up just in time to see several tons of snow come crashing down upon it.

Stronessa kicked at the snow to the sides of her Alcor-tail again. She was fast approaching the end of the depression and the snow was right on her heels.

An Alcor slid into view to her left. “Don’t you guys ever give up?” she muttered in dismay.

The Alcor leaned slightly to the left and came into striking distance. Unlike the albino lizard men, it was all Stronessa could do to keep her balance on the tail. She did not have the luxury of engaging in combat. The Alcor had no such handicap as it attempted to spear her tail.

The first attempt nearly succeeded. She wobbled and almost lost her balance. She attempted to compensate by veering away from the pursuing Alcor, but it deftly kept pace with her. It stabbed at her with its spear, missing her head by inches.

The roaring sound of collapsing snow behind them grew so loud that it drowned out all other sounds. The time for combat was over, she realized. She crouched down and watched her speed increase. Then she flattened herself across the tail. The snow flew up to the sides of her in great furrows. With her face so close to the glistening terrain, only then did Stronessa realize just how many rocks were being concealed by the snow. One false move and she would be pulverized to a bloody paste.

She glanced over at the Alcor who had fallen behind her. It hissed again and poled itself along for increased speed with its spear. Then it glanced over its shoulder.

The avalanche exploded over it. Stronessa saw its spear flip end over end, and then it too was lost in the snow.

There were no signs of Snowgoblins or Alcors anymore. Stronessa began to wonder if her plan wasn’t such a good idea after all.

The snow began to hit the sides of the depression and fall back in upon itself, speeding it up. The smaller and subsequently faster pieces of snow-debris rolled past her, and she could feel a heavy mist of snow arching up behind her like a tidal wave.

Stronessa yelped as a large, sloping rock jutted up at the foot of the depression, invisible only yards before because of the snow that covered it. Stronessa clambered to her feet just seconds before she hit the rock and was launched into the air.

She hung there for an eternity in mid-air as she flailed helplessly. Then she slammed into a precipice overlooking the bottom of the depression. Stronessa scrambled for purchase.

The avalanche continued to boil beneath her. Stronessa held on but she felt her grip slipping. Her fingers numb, she knew she could not hold out for long. After a few more seconds, she slipped off the precipice into a snowy void…

Only to fall three feet into the snowy embankment that had gathered beneath her thanks to the avalanche. Stronessa sat there, half buried in the snow, for several minutes. Then she laughed. After dusting herself off, she made a quick prayer of thanks to Akadi and limped out of the now-filled depression.

* * *

"M'lord, there is a company of dwarves here. They wish to see you." The servant's face betrayed his mind. He was intensely interested in why they had arrived. Many rumors as to what Wetzylbaum's treasure consist of were circulating amongst the servants.

Ymerek turned his tired eyes to his servant.

The elf's quest for godhood had not gone well at all. His eyes widened, as if someone suddenly doused him with cold water.

"I will see them."

The servant bowned low as he retreated. "Yes, m'lord."

Minutes later, Boromar Ironsoul, leader of the last dwarven company from Jreast, entered the throne room. Two of his guards flanked Boromar's sides.

Boromar was a proud dwarf, but a weary one. His stout beard was ragged and unkempt, as he hadn't the time to trim it. He was still outfitted in armor, which looked as battleworn as Boromar himself.

Ymerek raised a delicate brow in disapproval. It was considered bad manners to be armored in a throne room, or at least, Ymerek's throne room. At Death's Pass, which Ymerek renamed (cleverly enough) Ymerek's Pass, there were no other catles to compare, so the elven mage concocted his own rules.

"Chancellor Ymerek, I am Lord Boromar." He motioned to the men behind him. "This is my company."

Ymerek smiled when Boromar called him Chancellor. He had obviously been briefed by Ashman, his Sword Arm. Few people use his real title, instead calling him "lord."

Strangers were seldom informed of Ymerek's divinity. They soon found out, however.

"I would ask a favor of you." The dwarf smoothed his beard, nervous. "I would never ask, but if it were not for certain circumstances..."

Ymerek cut him off. "I know what you need, Lord Boromar." He leaned forward, sneering. "You wish to have the small coffin and the skeleton within it that I retrived from Wetzylbaum's lair."

Boromar's eyes lit up. "Then you defeated the might Dragon King of Death Pass?"

"With my own powers I destroyed him, pompous, overgrown lizard that he was." Ymerek lied without blinking. While Ymerek could easily find out if Boromar was lying, for he could read his mind like a book, the dwarven lord did not have that advantage, and Ymerek knew it.

The short figure bowed low. "You are a powerful mage indeed, Chancellor."

Ymerek sighed, his eyes rolling towards the ceiling. "Yes, I know."

A moment of uneasy silence passed, and then the chancellor continued. "You may have the coffin and all the riches that were in it. I need them not." His eyes bore down into the stout dwarf below him, his small stature exaggerated by Ymerek's high throne. "I do need power, however. Perhaps someday you can help me."

The dwarf bowed again. "The Jreast clan owes you much. I will make arrangements with my company."

"Please, stay! My home is your home." Ymerek encompassed his surroundings with a gesture.

"My many thanks."

"Of course." Ymerek then looked in a different direction, indicating he was tired of the dwarf's company. Boromar bowed once more and then walked out, thinking only thoughts of praise.

As soon as he left the throne room, the dwarven veteran headed straight for Ashman's quarters. Ashman greeted him at the door, waving away the guards. He was grilled immediately about how the meeting went.

"Did he say yes?"

The dwarf tugged at his beard, amused by Ashman's sudden interest. "Yes, he reacted exactly as you told me. All pomp and no prowess."