Hero of Dayne

The noxious perfume of smoke, blood and dank cavern floods the giant chamber ahead. Lanky mottled-gray monsters sit surrounding a massive bonfire. Their throats reverberate with a cicada-like buzz at ear-splitting volume. Their too-large milky eyes stare transfixed upon the licking tongues of crimson flame, their razor-sharp claws digging into the cavern’s slick floor. One rises, lumbering into the shadows beyond the firelight. Returning, dragging a man by his hair, the monster tosses him onto the fire with ease. Gut-churning screams join the cacophonous din as a tower of black smoke drifts up toward a tall ominous statue, a pleasing sacrifice to their monstrous god.

Berol, a wizard, watches from a side chamber, locating a page within his spell tome. Uttering a spell and sprinkling a dark powder from his belt, darkness envelopes him from the tip of his head to the soles of his feet. Then, he fades completely, slipping the book back into a leather clasp on his belt. Watching the monsters for hours, nothing changed. They repeated the same buzzing noise, tossed sacrifices onto the fire, and seemed to enjoy the screaming. With each gift, the statue grew blacker from soot and, with each sacrifice, took on an almost wet sheen. Holding his breath, Berol moves past the monsters close enough for the hum to rattle his bones. Picking his way toward the darkened side of the cave, he saw a dozen or so people laying on the ground, bound in thick black ropes, and wounded, some barely conscious of blood loss.

The smell of death, burning flesh, refuse, and infection caused his eyes to water upon approach. Concentrating despite the loud buzz, he scans each captive’s dirty and emaciated face and finds the girl matching her father’s description. She lay curled up in a ball, huddled as close to the cavern wall as she could. Counting the monsters, he saw twelve in all, including the three guarding the captives. Berol was semi-confident in his ability to maintain two invisibility spells, but his conscience conflicted him for a moment. Brushing it off, he would only be paid for the girl; he had only come for the girl. He did not allow himself to dwell on the fate of the rest or what the monsters hoped to accomplish with their dark ritual. Focusing on what he knew, he knew he did not want to be near these caverns once the monsters’ completed their' ceremony. Pushing everything but his objective from his mind, he planned. First, he would save the girl and get paid. Whatever happened after, he would decide then.

Scooting through the captives, careful not to bump into anyone or step into anything foul, he made it to the girl. Clapping his hand over her mouth, he leaned close and whispered in her ear, “Don’t be alarmed, Anya, I am here to help. Do you understand” He waited for her to nod that she understood before whispering his incantation beneath his breath, the dark powder on his fingertips. Berol watched intently as the darkness flowed over her, and she faded from sight. Peering around the cavern, his heart thundering within his chest, neither the monstrous guards nor her fellow captives seemed to notice her absence. Berol allowed himself a relieved exhale before picking the girl up, cradling her slight form against his chest. She was lighter than she appeared; he felt the tremble of every breath she took. Then, carefully picking his way back, he paused, grabbing his bag before heading toward the exit.

Waiting until they put three passages between them and monsters, Berol dropped the invisibility spells and gently laid her on the ground. Using a knife from his boot, he hacked at her dark bounds, finding them coated in an uncanny stickiness. Tossing them into the corner with a snort of disgust, he assessed her for injury; she did not seem wounded aside from the crimson welts from the cords. She said nothing to him, too traumatized to speak. When Berol directed her to walk, she shook her head, assuring him that she was capable. Rising on shaky legs, they made their way to the cave mouth, stepping into daylight. Their eyes took a few moments to adjust, but the discomfort was worth it to put distance between themselves and the monsters. The air was fresh, smelling of vegetation and warm earth. The sunlight felt warm upon their skin, providing them small comfort. Berol drove them on for a while more beneath the mid-afternoon sun as they began feeling safe.

Anya begins stumbling, stopping to rest, her calm facade shattering. He noticed how pinched her cheeks looked; she wept openly, reality settling upon her mind that both the nightmare she experienced and its ending. She was pale. Had her father told him it had only been a week. Berol attempted not to imagine all she had suffered. At a loss for how to comfort her, he made busy rummaging through his pack, pulling out one of his tin ration boxes. Opening it, he offers it to her as well as his canteen. It is evident by her almost skeletal appearance she had been without food for a very long time. It was little more than some crackers and smoked meat, but it was better than nothing. She muttered her thanks before eagerly devouring them, only handing him back the tin when it was empty of every crumb.

Crossing her legs, Anya came to sit next to him on the soft grass, resting her back upon a tree, “Why did you save me? How do you know my name?” Her voice was soft and uncertain, as though anticipating more suffering.

“Your father paid me to retrieve you; he and your mother have been worried, they said a week.”

“Has it only been a week? It feels so much longer.” She frowned, “What’s your name anyway?”

“Berol Strake,”

“Are you an adventurer, Mr. Strake?” She questioned, closing her eyes, feeling the warmth on her skin.

“Of sorts, a wizard from Kenn.” He explains, leaning back on his palms, staring up at the dappled light filtering through the leaves above them, “Can I ask how a merchant’s daughter gets captured by a hoard of monsters?”

“I don’t remember much; I was out looking for an herb,” She shrugged, “One of the beasts caught me off guard. Do, do you think we’re safe out here?”

“From what little I’ve observed, they don’t seem to like the daylight,” maintaining spells drained his energy, he felt a small trickle as his magic began recovering, but he longed for a nap. But, he did not dare.

Berol and Anya could not afford to tarry here much longer, the rest was welcome, but they needed to get back to the village before nightfall. He anticipated the monsters were most active at night. Anya was weak; what could he do to help? Considering his options, Berol recalled a spell for enhanced distance, pulling three small bottles of various arcane powders from his vest pockets, and mixing them on a flat stone. Ready, he peers over at Anya before adding enough water to make a gritty paste and retrieving a small paintbrush from his pack. She had relaxed. Berol was sure she was asleep. He could not blame her; she would recover from this exhausting ordeal, but it would take weeks.

“Anya, you can’t sleep yet.” Berol stated, gently prodding the girl awake, “I need your boots.”

“What for?” She questioned groggily, peering down at her grimy boots coated in grime from the cave.

“I’m going to put a spell on them to increase your speed. That way, we can reach the village before nightfall.” He explained, removing his boots painting glyphs from his spellbook upon them before laying them aside to dry.

Though she did not understand completely, Anya obediently removed her boots, handing them to Berol. She soberly paid attention as he carefully drew two more glyphs with the paste upon the soles of both their shoes. Finally, he utters an incantation in a language she does not understand, and the glyphs glow orange. Handing Anya back her boots, she puts them back on. He shows her how to tap the toes of their shoes to activate their speed. They moved faster than they could naturally muster, passing clearings, trees, and a small brook, but even with their increased rate, Anya struggled to keep up. She slipped and stumbled, threatening to dash herself into the trees. Pausing again, wasting precious daylight, he considered other minor spells that may help, but it was too late.

Clapping her hands over her mouth, Anya suppressed a scream as the buzzing filled the air. Berol moved, putting the girl behind him, keenly feeling the exhaustion of his magic. Coating his fingertips in another arcane powder, the canopy of the forest provided enough shade for the monsters to find them. How had they caught up with them? Were they fast, or were there others? Mentally shaking himself, he needed a plan. Damning his mind for considering it so late, the best way to get the girl home would be sending her there. She was the safest home in her father’s shop. Having been there before, he leaped into action, taking up a small branch. He prayed he had enough power remaining to perform this spell.

Drawing a circle around Anya and scribing runes around the ring from memory, Berol gave Anya no warning. Then, uttering a different incantation, he snapped his fingers. Bright green light illuminated her before she disappeared into a cloud of smoke. His stomach heaved threatening vomit, but he diligently swallowed it down. He had no time. He had overdone it. Unable to see any creatures yet, Berol could barely hear them shuffling among the trees over the buzz. Pulling a pouch from his belt, he poured its contents into a tight circle around himself. Then, banking on the monster’s aversion to bright light, he cleared his mind and focused on the granules around him. They glowed almost as bright as the sun. Gritting his teeth, he took large, gulping, steadying breaths. Then, removing from his belt and drinking a vial of viscous blue liquid, he grimaced. It was disgusting but effective, allowing him to replenish his magical aptitude at a slightly increased rate. He already felt it flowing inside his mind.

Groaning and opening his eyes, three monsters tower on the outskirts of the flames, gazing at him with their milky eyes and clawing at the loamy ground with their scarp claws. His gambit paid off, and they would not pass the ring of light. Though they flexed their hands, they did not dare reach for him. Instead, Berol coats his fingertips in fire-powder, causing flames to leap out at the monsters forcing them to back away, but they do not leave. He had only seconds left inside his circle of light. With each moment, the light began dimming, turning himself invisible, the powder guttered out. The clearing was dark, his eyes needed to adjust to the lack of light, but once they did, it was not yet too dark to see beneath the forest’s canopy.

One of the monsters flung its claws into the circle. Then, the second. And then, the third. They flailed wildly, hoping to catch him by chance. Finally, one monster slashed Berol across the torso, causing bloodshed. Shoving his knuckles into his mouth, he did not cry out in pain. However, the monster’s damage was done, and blood seeped from the wound, giving away his position—long shallow lacerations. He wondered how good their sense of smell was. Could they smell blood? If so, it was too late now to ponder such things.

Fishing another powder from his belt, he pours it into the wound, immediately staunching the bleeding. Then, sidestepping another swipe, he sees space between the three monsters, giant enough for him to slip through. Berol counted his lucky stars. If he could slip off without the monsters noticing, he might stand a chance.

Unfortunately, Berol misstepped, bumping into the monster’s forearm. It grabs him around the torso with both hands, driving its nails deep into his flesh. Again, pain wrenched his concentration on the invisibility spell from his grasp. The monster holding him seemed pleased with itself, looking around at its fellows, waving him around like a rag-doll. Berol wished the creature would drop him.

Berol reminded himself to stay calm despite his pain. He turns his concentration on moving his blood-slick hand toward his component pouch. He needs the fire powder again. If he can coat his fingers in it, he can defend himself with flames. Berol wriggles just right, sloppily managing to cover his fingers in the powder. Touching the nearest part of the monster, he feels its flesh sizzle beneath his hands. The smell of rotten frying meat churned his stomach again, and again he swallowed it down. The flames were adequate. The creature dropped Berol before backing away, whimpering in a high-pitched squeal.

Approaching the next monster, Berol tossed the powder into its eyes, snapping his fingers and bathing its face in flame and igniting any powder that had fallen onto the first form of his pouch. It fumbled away, scraping its face with his clawed hands, gouging at its eyes, blinding it further—another high-pitched squealing noise. The third cowered away without attacking. Before the monsters could recover, Berol tapped the toes of his shoes and flew forward. Paying close attention to his footfall, the boots would dash him painfully against the tres if he were careless. If he tripped, the now wounded monsters might capture him. But, arriving in town, it was already dark, and he allowed nothing to give him pause.

Within the safety of the village walls, with the militia standing at the gate, it seemed safer somehow. However, Berol did not doubt that even one of the creatures would make easy work of them. It seemed too quiet, the lanterns lit, and the shutters shut. He marked toward Rhame’s shop. He did not knock, pushing open the door, and ascended the stairs to their living quarters. Breathing heavily, he collapses into an empty chair by the stairs. Coughing, a large man with a sagging gut, a woman with a kind round face, and Anya sat gawking at him.

Asking no questions yet, Anya’s mother retrieves some bandages for Berol’s wounds, demanding that he remove his shirt. They all had too many questions when Anya’s mother returned with some healing salves, a fresh bucket of water, and clean linen to wrap the injuries. However, Anya’s mother claimed that he was under her care, and all questions could wait until the morning. Encouraging Anya to sleep with her parents, they gave Berol her bed. Berol’s fevered dreams weave him in and out of consciousness during the first night. His wounds feel uncomfortable, enflamed. He loses all sense of time as he recovers. Finally, he is mildly aware of Anya’s mother nursing him back to health, encouraging him to eat and drink, keeping a cool compress upon his brow.

Vivid dreams blended fiction and reality. Berol saw Anya and her parents. He saw the dirty captives and heard the cacophonous buzz— the screams of the dying. Sometimes he found himself paralyzed among them. Other times, he found himself fighting the entire cave of monsters. He could not rely on his magic or was not powerful enough. Finally, death came for him, and he surfaced only to plunge back into the depths of unconsciousness.

Finally, awakening on the third day, around midnight, Berol slowly recalls where he is, what he had done, and why. His mind is slow to come to terms with his pounding headache. Alternatively, his wounds do not feel nearly as uncomfortable as they had, and recovery broke his fever. Gazing beneath the fresh bandages, he admired Anya’s mother’s stitchwork. The wounds drain but do not bleed. Staring up at the ceiling, his mind wonders what must be done now. Wincing, he realizes he cannot, in good conscience, accept payment from them. While he had only received his injuries by rescuing their daughter, they had also nursed him back to health after.

As far as Berol was concerned, that made them square. Sitting up, tossing his legs over the side of the bed, he gingerly tests the pain of the wounds. Finding it manageable, he determined not to overstay his welcome. Quickly locating his things, he puts on his pack and limps toward the door. But, hand upon the latch, he finds himself conflicted. If he leaves without saying goodbye, the home will remain unlocked. Anyone, monster or man, could slink in and harm them. After all, they had done for each other, all they had been through, and all the work it had taken to get Anya home. But, on the other hand, he could not leave in the dead of night. Returning to sleep, or at least attempting, Berol’s mind weighed heavy upon him. He needed to tell someone about the monsters, the village militia first, to ensure no one stayed outside at night. Then, they would rally the troops and send many men to empty the cave. Such bright thoughts filled his mind, but what about the monster’s god? Berol’s eyes shot open, and he sat up. The hairs of his arms stood upon on his skin.

Something was wrong; he relaxed slightly, not hearing the buzzing. But, he still could not shake the feeling something hunted him. Getting up again, gently avoiding pulling his wounds, he barely pushed open the shuttered window. Berol had no idea how long he dozed, but it was still dark outside. Something stalked down below. A great many somethings lurked beneath, sliding among the deep shadows extinguishing lantern lights. Finally, his door opened and closed. Anya stood looking at him with wide eyes.

Berol felt something wrong, relaxing slightly, not hearing the buzzing. But, he still could not shake the feeling of being hunted. Getting up, gingerly avoiding pulling at his wounds. He barely pushed open the shuddered window enough to glance at the dark street below. He could scarcely discern a great many somethings lurking beneath in deep shadows. From behind him, Berol heard his door open and close. Turning, he glanced Anya with her back to the door, staring at him with wide eyes.

“You feel it too,” It was not a question as she came to his side. Looking over his shoulder at the things moving in the dark, she clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Yes,” Berol grunted, “I don’t know what they are, but it feels worse than the things in the cavern. I think this is bigger than any of us realize.”

“Are we safe inside?”

“No.” running his hand through his hair, he gently pressed the shutter back close, “I don’t know, but whatever those things are, they are not the same monsters.”

“What are we going to do?” She questioned.

“We’re going to do our best to survive until daylight, then you and your family are going to evacuate the village. I have contacts back in Kenn. Hopefully, they can get soldiers or monster hunters out here to deal with this problem.”

Anya shifted uneasily, “Alright, but what if they don’t believe us like they didn’t believe father?”

“You can’t save everyone. So take your family and leave. Again, though, I believe traveling in large numbers would be safer.” but, Berol questioned his judgment. He did not know traveling in greater or fewer numbers would impact these creatures, so he felt somewhat disquieted giving advice.

“You’re not healed yet.”

“That’s never stopped me before.” He smirked, “I just need to make sure the wounds are bound uptight, and I take a fast horse.”

“Godspeed, Berol, thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Just keep surviving, Anya. You’re a smart girl, don’t get caught unaware again.”

She nodded, slipping back out to wake up her parents. She needed to explain everything to them, and they needed to pack, making ready just as soon as daylight cleared the horizon. Picking through his pack for a page of enchanted parchment, he took out a pen and began to write:

Dearest Eloise et Albion,

Send as many men as you can. There is danger here in the village of Dayne. An evil here threatens their people; I am sending this letter ahead of me so that you may gather forces before I arrive. Monsters in far greater number than I can conquer myself have summoned far greater demons. The village is no longer safe, and I fear other surrounding towns will meet a similar fate. I will do my best to explain to the village militia what is going on, but I doubt they will believe. I managed to save one hostage from their sacrificial pit and barely got away with our lives intact. Please, make haste.

Berol Strake

Moving to the fire, he said an incantation before tossing the enchanted parchment into the fire. The fire consumed it in an angry blue flame. Then, taking as deep a breath as his wounds would allow, he needed to think. If Eloise sent an entire battalion of soldiers, it might not be enough to defeat whatever the monsters unleashed. Like it or not, there was nothing he could do alone. Heavy footsteps plodded toward his door; Rhame did not bother to knock before entering, looming like a goliath in the doorway for a moment before stepping inside.

“Can I help you, sir?” Berol questioned, not bothering to look up from rummaging in his pack.

“Anya, she says there’s something dark going on outside and that we won’t survive unless we leave Dayne.” He snorted, “Is that true?”

“Yes, whatever monsters were hellbent on sacrificing, your daughter finished their ritual. There was half a chance they were stupid beasts, and it would do nothing. However, after what we witnessed skulking about in the dark, it seems worse.”

“Anya said they don’t like daylight,”

“That is one of a few things, but whatever they’ve summoned is different. We don’t know anything about it; them.”

“I thought you were an expert on monsters.”

“I told you, when I took the job, that I was not a monster hunter. I am a wizard; I know about many monsters in theory, but not in practice.”

“Is there nothing magical you can do?”

Berol could tell Rhame was getting anxious, “There are a couple of things I could do, wards on the doors and windows that may keep them at bay for a time, but it would drain my remaining aptitude for magic. Think of it like expending energy; I have to rest to regain in taking the time we don’t have.”

“Could you send us somewhere else, anywhere else, like you did, Anya?”

Berol shook his head, “Not all of you. Even without being in recovery, I could not send all of us.”

“Just send Anya,” Rhame stated, nodding rapidly, thinking he could at least save his daughter.

“I don’t think she would appreciate it,” Berol cleared his throat and wiped his hands on his pants, “but you are her father; I cannot tell you what is best for her.”

“She’s my only child. Her mother and I understand the risks of staying here; surely you know of somewhere safe, far away from here.”

Rubbing his temples, Berol began pacing the room again, thinking, “Fine, if Anya agrees to it, I have someone I know she will be safe with, and she could deliver a message. The mages in Kenn owe me a favor. I’m going to use it to get help here.”

“Thank you, once Anya is safe, we won’t trouble you anymore. I have your pay for returning her. It is what we agreed on.” He held a small leather pouch out to Berol, causing the coins inside it to rattle.

“Given our current situation, consider your debt void. You and your misses will need that money on the road.” Berol stated, “Do you have a horse I can borrow?”

“No, but there are plenty down at the stables,” He muttered, pulling a handful of gold coins from the pack, “This should be enough for a charger.”

Berol reluctantly accepted the handful of gold, but Rhame did not seem the sort to take no for an answer. Pocketing the coins, Berol pulled out a leather case for some chalk. If we were going to send Anya, he needed to write on their floor. Chalk would be easier to smudge away faster than regular charcoal or permanent paint. Anya sat on her parent’s bed as her mother thrust a few belongings and provisions into a woven straw pack.

“Lima, Anya needs to leave for a while, but Master Berol will let us know where she is, and we will travel to her on foot,” Rhame said to his wife as he placed his hands on her shoulders and locked eyes with her making sure she understood.

“You can’t send me away,” Anya cried, shooting to her feet, crossing her arms, “I’ve only just returned.”

“It won’t be long, love. I promise we will find you.” Her father reassured her, coming to embrace her.

Their goodbye was tearful as Berol attempted to give them space. Sitting on the floor, he drew a circle and carefully marked runes for sending Anya to the mage’s guild in Kenn.“Anya, you must tell them exactly what I say. Of course, it’s not going to make sense to you, but you must say Volo’vox Thoth’lolendi Nicht et Dayne. It will make sense who sent you and why you are there.”

“Volo’vox Thoth’lolendi nicht et Dayne.” She repeatedly recited as she paced the edge of Berol’s circle. “What if I forget?”

“You mustn’t,” He shook his head, ripping a piece of paper from the back of his tome; he scribbled the phrase out for her, “I assume you can read.”

Anya snorted indignantly, snatching the slip of paper from his hand before carefully stepping into the circle. Gazing at her parents' grieving faces for a final time, Berol stepped forward; striking out his hand, he snapped his fingers. Anya disappeared in a tongue of lapping green flame as she had before. Wasting no time, Berol scraped the chalk marks away with the sole of his boot. Now, nothing could follow her. With the knights of the realm and the mages notified, all that remained was to convince the city militia to evacuate and get a horse. They needed to run and not stop until sure nothing was pursuing.

“Are you familiar with the militia captain, Rhame?” Berol questioned, peering over at Anya’s father, who still clutched his weeping wife.

As much as Berol wished he could, he could not spare them even a few moments to gather themselves. Things would get worse before they got better. He did not intend for any of them to fight but to survive. Their fight was against time, not monsters. Berol had no idea when it happened, but his intentions shifted. He intended to find as many survivors as possible before departing the city himself.

“I told the captain, Shifan Knott, what happened to Anya. They did nothing, laughed at me for taking your word at the time you were fever-addled.” Shaking his head, Rhame clutched his fists as though. he wished to strike something. Berol reminded himself to avoid becoming the large man’s punching bag.

Before Berol could continue his plan, his heart dropped into his boots as the now all too familiar buzz filled the air outside, “We’ve run out of time,” He breathed, “It’s everyone for themselves now. You and your wife will follow me and remain silent.”

Peering around the room, iron pokers lay by the fire. Usually, he would not carry iron with them; too heavy. Instead, taking up the poker and pan, he distributed them amongst themselves, ending up with one of the pokers. Smearing some fire powder on the exterior of the poker, Berol has no idea if the iron or fire powder would help, but it at least gave them hope of a chance. Still weak on aptitude, he could use magic, but nothing as significant as he had to send Anya away. Glancing at Anya’s parents, they seemed to have everything necessary.

A few iron pokers and tools lay by the fire. Usually, Berol would have overlooked the iron implements, too heavy to carry for long. But, he took them up and distributed them among them on a gamble. He did not know what these new creatures feared, but sunlight and fire injured the buzzing ones. Coating his fingers in fire powder, it at least gave them hope of a chance. Still weak on aptitude, he could not do a significant amount of magic, especially after sending Anya away. Still, glancing back at her parents, they seemed to have everything they needed. There was no reason to linger here. Leaving the city, they would live or die, and Berol prayed for the latter.

“On three,” Berol stated, putting his hand on the knob of the door, counting down before carefully opening the door.

The three of them inched down the narrow stairs of the store, careful not to run into anything or make more noise than necessary. Peering out the glass shop front, it was utterly dark; someone or something had snuffed the street lanterns. Nevertheless, they did not bother to lock or close the door behind them as they exited the shop. The buzzing was loud but not close enough to make Berol concerned. All of his attention was upon moving silently and avoiding the deepest of the shadows. The creatures they had witnessed flittering about before seemed to like them. As much as Berol wished to create a light, he dared not. Instead, they allowed the buzzing noises to guide them out of town, making sure to travel whichever direction the buzzing was not—wishing Anya’s parents luck, once, outside the city wall, he related to them his plan to continue seeking survivors.

Wandering back into the city streets, Berol used the same method of being silent and avoiding the shadows to rescue and handful more survivors. Only when his conscience was satisfied that he did everything he could, Berol move as far away from the city as he could to wait for his companions. The relief he felt coated his skin; laying down, he closed his eyes as peace and shadows devoured him. His name was listed among the dead once mages and soldiers purged the city of Danyne and its surrounding towns. Berol Strake, the hero of Dayne, propelled Anya to join the mage’s guild and become a wizard and monster hunter in her own right, reuniting with her parents and living the rest of her days saving those who could not protect themselves.