Ta’rul let out a sigh
before knocking on yet another door. The light was beginning to fade and
it sluggishly crept through the narrow streets of the elven town of
Yondril. Elsewhere the warming glow of candles was starting to shine
through windows, as the townsfolk prepared their evening meals. Her keen
elven ears picked up the sounds of children laughing while they played
around the dinner tables.
But this house remained silent. An inky blackness hung to the windows. There was no laughter here.
“Who are we expecting to find in this place?” asked Ta’rul with a grimace.
Her assistant Kareal carefully pulled out a scroll from her satchel and read down a list of names.
“Cartheon… Silverheart” replied Kareal after a moment.
Ta’rul raised an eyebrow at the name Silverheart. It was a family name
that had become steeped in scandal following the fall of La’theal
Silverheart and her return as La’theal Bleakheart, the mad crone.
It was also a name that Ta’rul was painfully aware of. When La’theal’s
mind had finally snapped, Ta’rul had been one of the inquisitors sent to
capture her. The fallen mage had fought as though she were a cornered
beast, killing her kin like an orc rampaging through a settlement.
Ta’rul had fought bitterly alongside the other inquisitors to finally
subdue La’theal. She stroked the scar on her cheek. A constant reminder
of the name ‘Silverheart’. La’theal’s subsequent escape had infuriated
Ta’rul. All those lives lost, for nothing.
Ta’rul hoped the name was simply a coincidence. It was a fairly common name, after all.
“Any relation to the crone?”
Kareal checked her notes.
“It does not say.”
Ta’rul hammered on the door again.
“Master Silverheart! This is Ta’rul Truebreeze of the Inquisition. We have some questions for you.”
This was the part of the job that Ta’rul hated. The tedium of completing
reports. She had joined the Inquisition to stamp out the threat of the
fallen kin, not knock on doors in a backwater town.
Along with Kareal, she had initially been sent to Yondril to investigate
rumours of butchered livestock. Normally this sort of report would not
be of concern to the Inquisition, but there were troubling mentions of
dark dreams haunting the residents. Nightmares full of eyeless monsters
and cruel whispers. Then the children had started to go missing. The
last victim was seen disappearing into the murky woods that neighboured
the small town. Despite the residents’ best efforts the children that
had vanished could not be found.
Ta’rul listened to the laughter of the younglings around her again. Its innocence was a precious commodity in times like this.
Since arriving in Yondril they had spent the days going from house to
house, questioning the inhabitants and looking for any signs they had
been touched by the Void. The townsfolk hated them. Hated the
Inquisition and its methods. But they were a necessary evil. The
creeping darkness of the Void had to be stopped and the Inquisition was
often the last defence against a far worse evil.
Ta’rul was about to hammer on the door again when a weak light shimmered from behind the dusty windows.
“Coming! Coming,” croaked a voice.
“Just when I was about to kick the door down,” whispered Ta’rul to her assistant. They both shared a private smile.
The door creaked open to reveal an aging elf. Thick wrinkles
crisscrossed his brow, like the tributaries of a river, while one eye
was a milky white; clearly the result of a former injury. His dark robes
were tattered and his hand trembled around the candle holder, while the
other was tightly clutched against his robes, seemingly to hold it
together against the light breeze.
Ta’rul immediately noticed that he seemed reluctant to open the door
wider than a small crack. She tapped sharply at the insignia of the
Inquisition on her breast.
“Master Silverheart,” Ta’rul unintentionally spat the second name, “my colleague and I have some routine questions for you.”
The elf’s remaining eye flicked from the insignia to Ta’rul’s face, before a sickly smile formed on his face.
“You have caught me at a poor time Mistress Inquisitor,” wheezed Cartheon. “I have not been well and was just about to retire.”
“This won’t take a moment,” replied Ta’rul curtly before pushing the door open and barging past the old elf.
“Excuse us,” said Kareal and joined Ta’rul inside.
The door led to a sparse living area. A small dining table sat in the
centre of the room. It was mostly covered in dust, apart from one area
near a dilapidated-looking chair. A stove was nestled in one corner,
although judging by the chill that seeped through the space, Ta’rul
assumed it had not been lit in some time. The stove was surrounded by
unwashed pots and pans. The only other thing of note in the room was a
large bookcase that dominated one of the walls. Unlike the other
objects, this was well kept and the books were dust free.
“Apologies for the intrusion Master Silverheart,” said Ta’rul, while
eying the sorry space, “but I’m sure you will be abed in no time.”
Cartheon closed the door behind him with a sigh. He shuffled over to the
table and placed the candle on the table. Its weak light was almost
absorbed by the darkness around them.
“Please, call me Cartheon,” replied the elf before sitting heavily on the lone chair.
Ta’rul caught Kareal’s eye and nodded her chin toward the bookcase. With
a deft movement, her assistant approached the collection of tomes.
Ta’rul noticed that Cartheon was watching Karel keenly.
“Only you live here?” asked Ta’rul and Cartheon’s attention temporarily snapped back toward her.
“My wife… passed over… some time ago,” muttered Cartheon.
Ta’rul wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but the light of the
candle appeared to wax and wane as Cartheon spoke. She tried to feel for
a breeze to explain the odd sensation but the room remained strangely
still. Undeterred, she carried on.
“You have heard what’s been happening in the town? The livestock? The children?”
“A bad business, indeed,” replied Cartheon.
“Have you seen anything untoward?”
“I keep myself to myself nowadays,” came the reply.
“Any strange dreams?”
Cartheon paused.
“Just the… usual.”
She tried to read the old elf’s face but he simply stared at her
blankly. Before she could ask any more questions, Ta’rul was interrupted
by a cough from her assistant, who was holding a book in her hand.
Ta’rul walked over and grabbed the book. She couldn’t help but give a
small gasp. The purple cover was emblazoned with a single, yellow eye
and a name that sent a chill down her spine.
“Whispers from the Void?” she asked Cartheon. “This book is banned!”
The book was one of many the Inquisition had deemed to be heretical.
Although not as extreme as some that told how to unlock the pathways to
the Void, it recounted the notes of an elven mage who had, allegedly,
accidentally summoned a beast from the Void. It went on to kill the
mage’s family and assistants before disappearing back into the black
portal, along with the mage.
“Ah, that is where I mislaid it. It was meant to be a gift,” Cartheon
snatched his single gaze away from Ta’rul and focused on the candle
before him. The light gave an involuntary shudder.
“For whom?” asked Kareal, with a hint of suspicion.
“My niece, of course,” replied Cartheon.
The light from the candle was getting weaker by the moment. Ta’rul
turned to the window to see a roiling mist creeping up the glass, which
was blotting out any of the remaining sunlight from outside. Her hand
strayed to the blade at her belt.
“A name you may recognise,” added Cartheon with a low chuckle.
“La’theal Silverheart?” questioned Ta’rul and her blood ran cold. She
shot a glance at Kareal while carefully placing the unspeakable tome
back on the shelf. It would have to be burned once they’d finished with
the old elf.
“Please,” snapped Cartheon, “I must insist you use her true name: La’theal Bleakheart.”
Now the thick mist was working its way under the door and into the room.
It created a grey carpet on the floor, which twisted and coiled around
Ta’rul’s feet.
“She was always my favourite,” said Cartheon with a hint of pride in his
voice. “A true talent! My wife would have loved her too but, alas, she
was taken from me before La’theal was even born. The Void takes but it
rarely gives back.
“La’theal just wanted to help. To find my wife in the maze of darkness. I
guided her. Taught her about the Void and she became something… incredible. Something more amazing than I could ever imagine. I am but a messenger compared to her.
“Come, it is time to give you a message. To give this whole realm a message!”
There was now a steel in the old elf’s voice that hadn’t been there before. A steel that made Ta’rul nervous.
Cartheon stood with a grace that belie his age and began to motion with
his hands. The air became thick with the pull of magic and a purple
light shimmered around the elf’s fingers. As his motions became more
frantic, his robe flapped open to reveal a thick scar across his chest.
The tissue around the edges of the scar was bloated and bruised, as if
it were a rotting wound.
Ta’rul watched in horror as a shimmering doorway appeared at the back of
the room. Through the door she could see a workshop with books piled
upon tables and black mirrors hung on the walls. The surface of the
mirrors rippled as though a stone had been thrown into a pond.
“She came to me when they cast her out,” screeched Cartheon. “They
wanted to kill her! Kill my beautiful niece. So we created this new
library together.”
He stopped writhing his hands in the air and pointed to the flickering door.
“What have you done?” gasped Ta’rul.
“The Void comes for us all in the end,” said Cartheon with a sing-song laugh, “and now it comes for you.”
With a ghastly sound of flesh being ripped, the scar on Cartheon’s chest
tore open to reveal a gaping yellow eye. Its gaze darted around the
room before fixing on Ta’rul.
“You’ll pay for this!” shouted Kareal and drew her blade.
“I’ve already paid a price far heavier than you can imagine.”
Before Kareal or Ta’rul could reach him, Cartheon dashed toward the
doorway and dived through it. Kareal was about to give chase but Ta’rul
placed a hand firmly across her chest. They both watched as the door
disappeared.
“What now?” asked Kareal.
“We must send word to the Inquisition. Cartheon has done something-”
Ta’rul’s words were cut short by an ear-piercing scream from outside the
house. The elves looked at each before dashing into the street. The
last rays of daylight struggled to cut through a mist that had descended
as if from nowhere. It coiled around the homes like a snake around its
prey.
“Where did the scream come from?” said Kareal while casting about her gaze.
Their efforts to locate the source were interrupted by an explosion of
masonry from a house up ahead. Chunks of brickwork were hurtled onto the
street, followed by the limp form of an elf. The body landed in a heap
among the broken wall. Through the gap in the home, a hulking, shadowy
form pulled its way through the hole and into the street. Much taller
than a man, with bulging muscles and arms that ended in twisting
tentacles that were bunched into brick-like fists. The monster turned an
eyeless face toward Ta’rul and Kareal.
“A nightstalker,” gasped Kareal. The creature responded with a guttural roar.
Ta’rul quickly sheathed her sword and reached for the crossbow hanging
from her belt. Loading it quickly, she took aim at the beast and fired.
The butcher stumbled backward slightly as the bolt punctured its purple
skin.
“A hit!” cried Kareal.
The celebration came too soon, however. With another roar, the monster
ripped the bolt from its skin and threw it to the ground, then stood
there for a moment, as if observing the pair.
“What’s it doing?” muttered Ta’rul while preparing another crossbow bolt.
The butcher raised one of its arms and pointed it toward Ta’rul. The
tentacles quickly shifted and morphed together until they formed a
second, hideous mouth. Behind the fangs of this awful head, a purple,
shimmering light began to form and cast a flickering light across the
butcher’s mighty form. Finally, with a sickening roar, the mouth opened
and spat forth a glob of energy that rocketed toward the elves.
Throwing aside her crossbow, Ta’rul quickly pushed Kareal out of the way
before diving to the ground, just in time to see the crackling ball of
light pass over them. It hit the side of a house and exploded with a
sharp crack that hurt Ta’rul’s sensitive ears.
“What was that?” shouted Kareal.
“Something new,” hissed Ta’rul.
Before the butcher could take aim with another insidious blast, Ta’rul
pulled Kareal to her feet and dragged her into a nearby alley, then ran
blindly through more passageways. In the distance she heard the butcher
howl with frustration. Eventually Ta’rul stopped and grabbed Kareal by
the shoulders.
“Listen to me,” she stuttered through gasping breaths, “Cartheon has
done something terrible here. If he’s working with La’theal, you need to
warn the Inquisition. Find the horses and return to Ilanatha.”
“What about you?” asked Kareal.
“Someone needs to protect the town.”
“But-”
“Just go!” shouted Ta’rul and pushed her assistant away. Kareal gave
Ta’rul one last, desperate look before turning and running down the
alleyway. Ta’rul prayed she would make it to Ilanatha.
As Ta’rul took a moment to catch her breath, she caught the sound of
something creeping across the tiles of a nearby roof. As silently as she
could, she pulled her blade from its scabbard and gripped it firmly.
She was just in time to see a pair of talons appear over the edge,
followed by an eyeless face. It fixed its unseeing gaze onto Ta’rul.
“I’ve faced your kind before, reaper,” she growled and raised her sword.
In a bizarrely graceful movement, the creature leapt from the roof and
landed in front of Ta’rul. However, instead of walking on two legs in a
hideous mockery of elvenkind, like the horrors she had fought in the
past, this creature moved on all fours like a dog. It used four mighty
talons as gruesome legs, while another pair of blade-like talons on its
back twitched and shuddered in cruel anticipation. Circling around
Ta’rul, its head suddenly split open into four, revealing rows of
wicked-looking fangs.
This is no mere reaper, thought Ta’rul.
Perhaps sensing her confusion, the monster pounced at her, talons poised
ready to rip and tear. Ta’rul quickly brought up her sword and sliced
cleanly through one of the talons on its back. The limb fell to the
ground, still twitching, while the beast roared in anger or pain. Ta’rul
took the opportunity to dash forward with her weapon and quickly
plunged the blade into its cavernous maw. The brute twisted and writhed
before eventually falling still. With a sigh of relief, Ta’rul pulled
her sword free from the corpse.
Before Ta’rul could inspect the body further, she heard the unmistakable
noise of more talons tapping against the roof tiles. Not keen on facing
a horde of these new, deadlier reapers, she headed toward the centre of
the town; keen to find others who may be willing to fight this
onslaught.
Turning almost blindly through the narrow streets, she eventually
arrived in the market square and stopped in disbelief. Wrapped around
the church spire at the heart of the town was a hideous snake-like
creature. A pair of membranous wings flapped in the air, while the fiend
snapped its prodigious jaws at a few brave members of the town guard
that were hacking and slashing at its monstrous body.
While Ta’rul watched, the foul creation darted its head toward the
ground and snapped up an elf in its jaws. It took a moment, as if
taunting the onlookers, before biting the soldier in two. It swallowed
one half of the body, while the other bloody half tumbled to the ground,
followed by shouts of dismay.
Ta’rul had only heard legends of the foul beast before her. The void
lurkers were ancient creatures that roamed the plains between worlds,
only entering the mortal realm when they needed to feed on the
unfortunate souls of their victims. To see one here, in Elvenholme no
less, was something that chilled her to the core.
Cartheon must have done something truly awful to unleash such madness upon this town, thought Ta’rul, bitterly.
Another scream snapped Ta’rul’s attention back to the awful scene in
front of her. She was just in time to see an elf being swallowed whole
by the lurker.
This has to stop, she thought and ran towards the titan.
Ducking under a sweep of its massive wing, she slashed upward and was
greeted by a roar of pain. The other elves gave a ragged cheer. She
turned ready to attack once more and was almost knocked over as the void
lurker started to beat its enormous wings. Ta’rul braced herself
against the wind while watching as the giant uncurled its tail from
around the church spire and slowly took to the sky.
“Follow it!” she shouted to the guards. There were grunts of recognition
from the gathered fighters and they took off after the monstrous
attacker.
Ta’rul was about to join them when she spotted a shimmering portal
beginning to form in the centre of the town square. Looking around for
support, she cursed herself for sending away the town guard so quickly.
The swirling portal grew until it was a yawning, black chasm. Ta’rul
could sense, rather than hear, the unnatural screams and howls that
issued forth from this otherworldly rend in the fabric of space. She
wanted to cover her ears, to drown out the maddening sounds, but she
knew it would be no use.
Almost casually, an elf stepped forth from the portal.
“La’theal,” hissed Ta’rul.
Clad in a purple cloak, similar to that of a Nightstalker banshee, and
with hair as black as a raven’s wing, La’theal Bleakheart gave Ta'rul a
lopsided grin.
“Ta’rul Truebreeze! What a treat,” shouted La’theal and clapped her
hands together. “Still got the little gift I gave you last time, I see.”
Unconsciously, Ta’rul lifted her hand to the scar on her cheek. Was it her imagination, or could she feel it throbbing.
“I won’t let you escape this time!” roared Ta’rul and lifted her sword.
La’theal responded with a preening laugh that echoed off the buildings
surrounding the market square. The cackle chilled Ta’rul more than the
roars of the monsters she had already fought that day.
“How wrong you are,” sneered La’theal. “Now is our time.”
La’theal lifted her arms and unspeakable horrors spilled forth from the
portal behind her, accompanied by La’theal’s shrill laughter.
Ta’rul gripped her sword ready to fight, but she knew it was pointless. She had lost. They had all lost.
