Read Free the Darkness (King's Dark Tidings Book 1) Online
Authors: Kel Kade
Free the Darkness (King's Dark Tidings Book 1)
King’s Dark Tidings
Book One
Free the Darkness
By Kel Kade
This novel is a work of fiction. All characters,
places, and events in this novel are fictitious. Opinions and beliefs expressed
by the characters do not reflect the author’s opinions and beliefs.
This book is intended for adult readers. It
contains graphic violence, creative language, and sexual innuendo. This
book does
not
contain explicit sexual content.
Text
copyright © 2015 Kel Kade
All
Rights Reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, by
current or future technology.
Written and Illustrated by Kel Kade
Acknowledgement
Thank you to my family
and my most patient and understanding daughter who have encouraged and
supported me throughout this writing process.
Table of
Contents
“Good men want only the power to make things right. Great men
seek to make things right and gather the power to do so. Great leaders find
those who are worthy of wielding power and set them to the task of making
things right.”
- Coroleus, J.E. 1,067
Relief washed over the weary rider as his destination
finally emerged from the gloomy, moonlit darkness. He had not at all been
certain of the success of this mission, and if he had failed, he would not have
lived to regret it. Tree branches creaked at the night’s gentle exhale. It was
soft and passive, so unlike the aggressive sucking pops and sloughs of the mud
pulling at his mount’s hooves. He shivered beneath his damp cloak and shifted
the bundle that was carefully tied about his torso as he repositioned the
various weapons worn both openly and secreted beneath his padded leather armor.
He reminded himself that if these people had a mind to end him, his weapons and
all his years of training and experience would be worthless.
The brief respite he felt only moments ago for having
reached his goal was short-lived, as the persistent doubts that had plagued him
from the mission’s onset resurfaced. A flash of heat surged through his blood
as an overwhelming anxiety breached his carefully constructed defenses. Loyalty
and honor could only take a man so far. His gut churned like a twisting rope
winding back upon itself.
A noose
.
But, no, these people would not bother with a noose. He would not even see it
coming. One moment he would be alive and breathing and thinking, and then he
would cease to exist. The rider did not even consider that he might meet the
Maker. There was no glory of an afterlife – not for men like him. Any
oath-bound who caught the attention of his liege could not hope for his soul’s
redemption. After all, loyalty and honor could only take a man so far.
As his horse plodded closer to the foreboding fortress, his
future’s fortunes once again flashed across his mind. How might he be received?
Would his success simply go unremarked as a natural expectation of having
fulfilled his duty, despite the trials and transgressions he had suffered?
Could he dare hope to be congratulated for his courage and unwavering
dedication to his liege? He released a soft grunt.
About as likely as me ever meeting the Maker
, he thought sourly. If
they did not kill him here, it was just as likely he would die upon his return
to his liege, having fulfilled his duty.
Had his liege finally drawn him into his greatest confidence
in assigning him this mission, or was he a “loose end” destined to perish in an
unfortunate
accident
? Never did he
consider not returning – at least not for more than a breath. If he ran,
he would be hunted, and it would not be long before one of
them
would snuff out his life. The brief days –
hours?
– of freedom would be
filled with terror and dread as he waited for the bleak blackness of the void
to consume him. No, running was never an option. Even had there been the
slightest chance of success, he could not consider it. He had loyalty and
honor, after all.
The lone rider took a deep, shuddering breath, steadying his
nerves as he covered the final few paces before the solid iron gate. He pulled
his mount to a stop and waited. There was no need to pound or call out his
presence. They would have known he was here long before he set eyes on the dark
citadel. A clank and groan reverberated through the metal goliath that posed as
a door, and then it swung open in eerie silence, except for the soft swoosh of
air being draw through the passage as it curled around the monstrous structure.
Nudging his horse with his heels, he passed through what he
was certain was the darkest, blackest shadow he had ever encountered and could
not help the shiver that rocked him as he considered the implication of
crossing such a veil. A moonlit figure emerged from a shadowed recess before
him. Others might call the recess the door to the main hall. To him, it was
perhaps a portal to
H’khajnak, the demon
realm.
The restless warrior took
a steadying breath and forced his hands to release their tension on the reins.
He was not successful in dispelling the tightness in his shoulders or the rest
of his body, for that matter. The battle charger snorted and stomped, no doubt
picking up on his rider’s anxiety. All the dread and struggles against the
dangers he suffered to get here had finally pooled together and were
threatening to overcome him. This was not the way an experienced veteran
behaved. Perhaps he had finally cracked.
Despite the gloom, the
moonlight was bright, and the rider could make out most of the features of the
approaching figure. He was a middle-aged, stern-faced man whose only two facial
expressions were
blank stoicism
and
scowl
. The moonlight reflected off his
slightly balding crown but was absorbed into the coarse, dark material of his
robe that fell to mid-thigh. The robe draped over a plain tunic and pants of
dark color and fastened with a leather belt. If the belt had a buckle, he could
not see it for nothing the man wore reflected any light. With his head covered,
the man could probably disappear altogether, which was most likely the point.
Although no weapons were visible, in this place, it was certain the man was
well armed. The man stopped within a few paces but did not invite the rider to
dismount.
“You brought it?” spoke a
quiet, harsh voice.
“Yes -,” the rider
croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again, “Yes, I brought
him
to you.”
The man grunted, “It
matters little what you call it –
him
,
if you prefer. It is no longer relevant.”
A sliver of the warrior’s
terror receded, replaced with indignation. “Regardless of your intentions, you
would do well not to forget who he is. You will regret it otherwise.”
The robed man nearly
chuckled –
nearly
. “I was
unaware you had a gift for prophecy. You had best remember that
this
,” he pointed a gnarled finger at
the wrapped lump resting against the warrior’s chest, “is not a person. It is a
weapon, newly forged and as yet without an edge. Any who meet him will not live
to remember it.”
“Does that include you?”
snarled the rider. His concern for his own welfare was quickly dissipating as
the reality of the situation dawned on him. Perhaps he should have run. They
certainly would have found him, but surely he could have hidden one small babe
somewhere, perhaps with a loving family, before he died. After securing the
child’s future, he could have fallen on his own sword to prevent them from
torturing him for information. He lightly squeezed the small bundle, eliciting
a slight gurgling
coo
.
A cruel smile played
across the man’s face as he replied, “I will live to serve my purpose, same as
you. Neither of us can expect much more than that. Now, hand him over. He is no
longer your concern.”