Of Tears & Darkness: 1 Light of Elliana

Part 4 - Drennard

They rode all day on into the night. During which a series of thunderstorms vented their full fury, filling the air with blinding flashes and loud rumbling. Wind-driven rain hammered at them, seeking to penetrate every nook and cranny. Which made Prince Donovan pull his oil-cloth cloak tighter around him. Hours of constant downpour had turned the road into one continuous muddy mess. The mire clung to nearly everything it touched, save for his cape which kept him warm and dry.

An hour later, the line of storms finally passed, and the wind blew itself out as the rain fell gently and finally stopped. The first light of dawn revealed thick black smoke rising into the sky ahead of them. A mild gust of wind filled the air with swirling smoke and fine ash, making Donovan cough and sneeze even as his eyes started burning.

Prince Donovan rounded a bend in the road and came to a complete halt. Beside the road, stood a massive oak with gnarled boughs which arched high above. What had caught Donovan's attention was much closer to the ground, however. Around the tree trunk were bodies of men, women, and children alike. Spears had been driven deep into the great tree behind them, pinning each in place.

Beyond lay the smoking ruins of what had once been the thriving town of Drennard. Light from the early morning sun bathed the surrounding countryside. However, darkness cloaked the smoking remnants of the village. Prince Donovan studied the charred remains of the once simple homes and noted no living creature drew near. No birds or darters flew into or out of the dimness, they either turned back or flew far above. Donovan knew they also sensed the evil which lay there.

Despite knowing he needed to enter Drennard's ruins, Prince Donovan was loath to do so. "There is the night which doesn't last, and there's the darkness where even the bravest souls dare not enter, lest they lose their way," a voice whispered in Donovan's mind. The prince struggled to regain his courage, to do what he had come here to do.

"What is it?" Changa asked as he leaned closer to Prince Donovan.

The unexpected loud voice startled Donovan out of his train of thought, and he thought for a moment his heart had stopped. Prince Donovan swallowed the lump in his throat and regained his wits. "I can't tell what it is. Why is Drennard so dark?"

"I don't like the looks of this Donovan; it's too quiet," Brennen muttered.

The horses must have caught wind of something they didn't like, for most of them were acting skittish. Despite Prince Donovan's misgivings, he urged his mount forward while gently stroking his neck and speaking in a soothing voice to calm him down. Slowly, Donovan led them past the monument of evil, onto Drennard's main street.

Prince Donovan surveyed the remains of the town he had ridden so hard to avenge. From each tree which had once given shade, bodies now hung from spears driven into thick boughs and tree trunks. The prince removed his steel-studded leather helm and wiped sweat and ash from his face.

"A Nyen has no stomach to fight openly like this. They cower in the darkness, waiting to ambush a few at a time who are old, injured, or weak." Changa's face was livid with anger.

Ahead, a flicker of movement made Donovan pause. It had come from a small grove of trees ahead. He cautiously advanced behind cover, towards where he had seen a flash of movement. Prince Donovan crept forward and saw vague shapes of bodies, all but hidden in trees and tall grass. A battle standard's tattered remains flapping in a breeze had been what had caught his attention. Upon a field of royal blue, hovered a golden dragon with wings outstretched. Grasped in its left claws were yellow roses. In its right claws were the Twin Blades of Justice signifying in war and peace. It was Etmindor's, Royal Crest.

The entire patrol lay here, minus Henri and Donovan's Uncle Samuel. His uncle hung from two massive spears, which each pinned a shoulder to the tree behind him. His body was swollen and bruised, a testament to the beating he had endured. Upon his battered form hung his cloak, which was torn and stained with dirt and blood. What had killed him was a deep slash across his breastplate, which had almost cut him in two. Without any warning, his Uncle Samuel's head turned to gaze at him with eyes that held a pale-green gleam within.

"Donovan, be a good lad and help me down." His uncle's voice compelled him to act, despite sucking noises issuing from his gaping chest wound. Faintly, Donovan thought he heard his name called yet it didn't matter. The only thing which mattered was his Uncle Samuel needed help. He had almost reached his struggling form, which was urging him onward with raised arms.

Suddenly, Donovan felt someone grab his shoulders and jerk him back powerfully. "No brother. What inhabits his body is not of this world; no one could survive such a horrible wound."

The expression upon his uncle's face changed from a serene smile to one where the lips pulled back in a snarl revealing shattered-teeth. "Man-child, the Master has decreed your kind must be killed or subdued along with your allies. Your men shall be slaughtered and eaten, the women will make fine breeders, and the children will become fit slaves. You, Prince Donovan, shall serve as my faithful servant."

The spearheads which impaled his Uncle Samuel now glowed an unholy sickly-green and became wisps of black smoke. Spear shafts once attached, clattered to the ground along with his uncle's corpse which was stirring. In horror, Donovan watched his uncle stand and turn towards him.

"Donovan, our dead aren't dead anymore! The spears are no longer holding them. Elliana, please grant me strength, they're coming for us. We've got to get out of here!" Arthur yelled.

"Watch out Changa-to your left." Someone yelled.

Mathew ducked a scythe wielded by a balding man with a wisp of hair. He side-stepped the blow and responded with a resounding blow to the side of the man's head. Donovan noted he heard the crunch of bone, and the sickly green lights in the undead man's eyes winked out.

Donovan's dead uncle was coming straight for him with arms raised and gloved hands outstretched. His lower jaw was moving as if mouthing silent words. Blackish-red drool oozed out of his mouth and ran down his throat. Prince Donovan thrust his glinting blade into his uncle's corpse and shoved hard with his left hand to disengage.

His uncle's dead body was unphased by his attack. Donovan changed tactics and chopped downward. The sword impacted his uncle's head with a solid crunch of bone. To his immense relief, his blow proved to be effective, and the nightmare before him collapsed and became still.

"Aim for their heads. Nothing else seems to stop them," Donovan shouted. He felt icy fingers of fear run down his back.

"It just was not possible for the dead to come back to life, was it but there they were," He wondered.

Arthur, was steadily backing away from a young undead girl swinging a sickle. She wildly was swinging it back and forth. Donovan noted his friend had not escaped the attack unscathed. His friend's shirt had rent in it with blood staining the clothing. The feather of his recocket hat swung back and forth upon a sliver of its quill.

The undead was steadily advancing, unphased by the hideous wounds that they bore.
Young boys or girls, or the elderly did not seem to matter, they all had grabbed a weapon, and were muttering non-sensible jargon. Everywhere Donovan looked, the undead seemed to be walking out of every door and window. As he watched them stumble towards them, he felt like a slab of meat at a butcher shop.

Amidst the smoke and spiraling ashes shadows moved in and out lurching towards them. So far, they hadn't lost anyone, yet Donovan knew if they didn't get out of here this was sure to change. "Everyone-get to the horses, we have to get out of here. Mathew, Davis, Arthur fall back." All of them were backing away from corpses who were surging forward with eyes that shone with a pale, sickly green light.

Changa stopped and was staring at something. Donovan followed his gaze, toward what had captured his brother's attention. Beyond where spears had pinned his uncle's body, the dirt was pushed outward, and the air above was coal black. He couldn't tell what lay within, for around the hole was a cloud of light and dark. It was here where the feeling of smothering pressure was most potent. The prince ran over and mounted his destrier, as his other men followed suit and prepared to leave.

"Where now brother?" Changa asked as Prince Donovan led them away from Drennard. As they retreated from the fissure, Donovan noted the pressure and evil he had felt was lessening. Quickly, all of their group mounted their horses and gave the lost town one last look.

"Let's find who did this and kill as many of them as possible," Donovan roared. With a growl of approval, they rode hard for the Danner Bridge which spanned the Upper Narne River ahead. The living dead chased them to the outskirts of the town and vanished in the distance behind them.

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