Lost Legacies Slayer's Sorrow

Chapter Two

Darker Woods

In the dark recesses of his mind, he dreamed of a great many things. These must have been related to things from his past, but they were not separated thusly in his dream. His dream was an amalgamation of many events into one great fabrication. Some of them were familiar to him, but others were not recognizable at all. This stream of events flowed on and on at such a pace that he was forgetting what he had seen as soon as the next one occurred. He saw a great walled city, a great wood, and a ridge of mountains that seemed to go on forever. His vision was then brought to Athyorn Valley, but from above, as if he were a bird soaring over it.

It was the conclusion that vividly clung to his mind as he awoke. It began with a glimpse of his sister Daylinn. She was running through the forest with her sword drawn. She seemed terrified. Next, he saw his father. His father began to speak to him, but as he did, he was transformed into a great wyrm. It was no random wyrm, but one Symone knew. It was Kaltez, the lord of the valley. The dragon gave a sinister smile and spoke, his forked tongue licked his terrible lips.

“You will find her for me, won’t you?” the great wyrm asked.

Find who? Symone thought, but then he began to remember. A terrible feeling came over him that there was something horribly wrong here. He began to cough and he felt as if he were choking. He forced open his eyes, coughing into his hands. When he looked there was blood smeared upon them. Whether it was from coughing or one of his other various injuries he did not know. He was lying on the ground and it was nearly dawn. The sun was just beginning to light the fringes of the Eastern sky. The events that had transpired in the night began flooding back into his mind, along with the gravity of the situation he now found himself in.

Using the large Oak tree that he had previously met with great force, he struggled to his feet. How could his sister betray her whole village? How could she put her family at such risk? He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He was sore everywhere. He had never taken such a beating. He was rarely ever beaten, whether with weapons or in grappling matches. This was the reason he held rank in the village guard, though he was the youngest of them all. That, and his indomitable determination, which Daylinn was soon to experience firsthand. Besides the large gouge upon his head, he had a great deal of bruising about his back and ribs, some of which were certainly broken. His whole body ached as if not one part of his body had been spared from the impact, and his breathing was strained and painful in his chest.

Daylinn would not have bested me if it wasn’t for her calling upon those blasted winds, he thought. How had she learned such spell-working? Spell-working was not looked favorably upon in the valley. Anything strange or suspected of bringing about trouble was to be cast away and avoided at all costs. She must have found someone to teach her in their village, but who?

Symone staggered back to the village slowly as he set all the intellectual faculty that he could muster to the task of determining what ought to be done next.

By the time he made it back, he had made up his mind. He was determined that he would leave again in pursuit of Daylinn. He could not face his father until he brought her back and every moment wasted was a moment that Daylinn could get farther away or be devoured in the wilderness. He had little confidence that she had currently made it very far. How far could she get in the dark anyway? Where could she go? With his skill in tracking, he was likely to have her back and bound within her tent before his parents even awoke. As much as he wanted to go directly after her, he knew better than to travel off without proper supplies. There was always a possibility that his search could stretch into the next day.

He made his way to the supply tent, where he had first discovered his sister’s treachery. As he entered the tent, he remembered that she had taken their grandfather’s chest with her as well. As if it wasn’t enough for her to run away, she had to go and steal the chest too. Now they had nothing of what was commanded of them to bring, and he had only nine days left to retrieve them both and make the trip back to the ceremony before it began. He scoffed out loud at this. He first made his way to the dried meat and nearly tripped as his foot came into contact with something heavy.

He reached down in the dark tent to feel what had caused him to nearly topple over and his hand came in contact with the fallen chain from the iron chest. He did not realize where this chain had come from until he lifted it close enough to his face for him to make out the detailed design upon the lock that hung from it. He nearly dropped it in shock. How could a mere girl have gotten a lock opened from the chest when his father had tried for years to do the same? Could she have opened the chest? Was the power that she displayed from some artifact within the chained chest? He placed the chain in his sack and felt around the floor of the tent searching to see if he could discover any more discarded chains. He found none. After a few minutes of this, he continued filling his pack with supplies. He quickly cleaned and bandaged the gash on his head, and he ate some of the meats as he packed them hoping to replenish some strength. He did not think to search for a map, for he had no conception of the journey upon which he was about to embark. If he had used any amount of foresight, he would have grabbed a map, a bow, arrows, and a great deal more food, but alas he grabbed only what he would need for a few day's journeys at most.

He went to a tiny tent not too far from his parents. This tent belonged to him. It was much smaller than most, but within it was his waterskin, chain mail, heavy cloak, and a small bag of coins. As he entered, he heard a dog barking from a nearby tent. Most likely because he was struggling to do anything quietly with his injuries. He gathered the items, slunk from the tent, and traveled the short distance back to the clearing. The dawn had not yet come. He was walking a little easier now, but the pain was still there. He did as a warrior was to do, he didn’t think about the pain. He thought about his duty. He thought about his sister and what he was going to do once he found her, and he thought about what would happen to his family if he didn’t. He hastened his pace.

He quickly made it back to the large Oak tree and racked his brain trying to remember which direction Daylinn had gone. He was fairly certain that he had figured it out when he heard a noise in the distance. His hand immediately went to his sword hilt and he pressed himself against the back side of a large tree. He strained his ears seeking to identify the strange sound. The noise was not discernable. It was a low hum and it slowly grew louder. It did not sound like any man, beast, or instrument that Symone had ever heard. Whatever it was, it appeared to be getting closer.

He stood as still as a stone and listened intently, but the noise ceased just as quickly as it had started. He waited a long while but heard no more of the mysterious sound. Symone continued in the direction that he had chosen before the interruption, but he was much more careful now. He had been brash to assume that there were no dangers in the forest so near the edge of the valley. Sure, the valley was generally safe, but it was never bright to travel alone, even in Athyorn Valley. The edges of the valley and the wood beyond were said to be very dangerous. Few traveled that way. Also, thoughts of Daylinn rigging traps or waiting to ambush him began to fill his mind.

Due to the location of the ceremony, their trip had taken them very near the edge of Athyorn Valley. This was the closest Symone had ever been to the edge of the valley. Athyorn Valley was fairly self-sufficient. It had farms, lakes, rivers, mills, tinkers, and blacksmiths. Everything one would need and many things they didn’t. The people here rarely bothered themselves with the goings on in the rest of the kingdom of Korynn, let alone all Alevyn. The Dragons would not allow it anyway. They wanted their portion of the livestock and wealth from the valley. The king dragon himself was said to have a great hoard in the mountains to the North. The Drakenridge Mountains. Symone shuddered. That was where the dragons had lived in hiding before the last slayer was defeated. The king of dragons and of Korynn had quickly decreed that no one could leave the kingdom, without his express permission. This was rarely granted and was likely only obtained through bribes or promises of reward for the king. Some left anyway, but nearly none had returned. Whether the others made it past the borders or not was a mystery. Symone’s family had lived in the valley their whole lives. Only his grandfather had been so foolish as to leave, and he did return a few times, but it was very likely now, that his luck had run out. His family had not heard from him in over a decade. Symone had heard wonderful stories from his grandfather as a child. Stories of places where the people were rumored to live in safety and outside of the rule of dragons. These were all far away from Athyorn Valley. Great cities of men and by the words of his grandfather even fey-elves. When he was a child, he had always looked up to his grandfather and loved listening to his stories. It was only after he grew older that Symone realized his father had always been right in warning him of his grandfather's imaginative exaggerations. The world was not as his grandfather had described. It was a dark place, and people have to do what it takes to survive in it.

The sweet smell of the forest filled the air as he headed deeper and deeper into the woods. The sun had now risen, and he had still found no sign of Daylinn. He had come upon a path that seemed to be made by the frequent travel of animals. He searched high and low for any sign that he was heading in the right direction, but he found next to nothing. Daylinn had done well covering her tracks if she had gone this way. He found some slight tracks that could have just as likely belonged to an animal as to Daylinn and some crushed vegetation here and there, but nothing that pointed with certainty to Daylinn.

He followed the trail, as he thought his sister might have done as well for the ease of covering her tracks. A good way down the path, Symone thought he heard that same noise from before sounding afar off. He repeated his actions. His hand went to his hilt and he obscured himself behind a fallen log. The noise ceased abruptly. What was this blasted noise, he thought? He was determined not to waste any more time hiding so he immediately began down the path once again.

After a few hours of searching, he was now quite confident that he had indeed picked up Daylinn’s trail. He had found full boot prints her size and a place that looked like she had rested for a while.

The trees were no longer green and vibrant here as they had been in the other part of the forest. There were many dead trees, and even the living ones seemed to be tinged by a greyish hue. The whole wood seemed to lay in a grey shadow. He thought of stopping for a moment to rest but quickly dismissed it. His parents had now likely discovered that the two of them were missing. He regretted not leaving a note, but he never thought that Daylinn would prove this difficult to track. He stopped just long enough to drain the remaining water from his waterskin. As he resealed and stowed it back in his bag, he heard the same strange sound for the third time coming from the thick trees far off behind him. He stopped again and listened intently. It seemed to once again grow a little closer and then cease before Symone could form any kind of conception of what it might be.

Was Daylinn following him afar off and mocking his search or was it some strange beast? He decided that he would not be made a fool of any longer Whoever or whatever it was that was following him in the distance and making that noise about to meet Symone up close.

He made a broad turn and quietly circled back to the direction from which he had heard the noise. To do this quietly became more and more difficult the further he went along. The woods thickened greatly. The thickness of the canopy blocked out a great deal of the morning sun and the dew was thick upon the leaves and forest floor. He was getting small cuts and getting quite wet as he tried to slip through the foliage. Grey rotted trees and greyish ivy of all kinds choked the distance between the large grey trees. Smaller bush-like trees with whiplike branches stretched out in random places seeking to draw blood. They were covered in thick dark leaves with jagged edges. Symone realized quickly that these were razor sharp. They blocked his way so he was forced to find another. He would normally have drawn his sword and hacked his way through, but he was hoping to maintain the element of surprise when he caught up to whoever or whatever was making the noise.

Going slowly through a wall of the grey ivy seemed to be the best route. He slowly pushed his way through the thicket. The ivy was draped from the canopies above, coming down in thick twisted weblike curtains. It looked as if this ivy went on for quite a while, but it was his best option going forward. He slowly parted the tangled mess with his hands as he went. It was stringy and unless he was imagining it, the ivy seemed to be reluctant to be parted, as if the ivy itself was resisting his efforts. A shiver ran down his spine but he didn’t know why. He shook it off and pressed forward slowly and quietly. The ivy grew denser and denser as he went, making it more and more difficult to move forward. Now there was a great distance of it on every side of him. He could not even see an arm’s length in front of him. It was very unnerving to be surrounded by the greyish veil of ivy and he could not shake the ominous feeling that something lurked beyond it, just out of sight.

It was only when he made it about halfway through the thicket that he discovered it was no trick of his imagination that the ivy had seemed to resist him. It was now clear that the ivy itself was moving. Was this some kind of trick or hallucination caused by poison, pollen, or his own fear? It was closing in upon him and wrapping itself tightly around him. It already had his wrists before he realized it and as he pulled it was like pulling against a hangman’s knot. The more he pulled the tighter it became. A legion of vines now sprung toward him as if they had been wound by a spring. When they made contact, they wrapped several times around his midsection. This was the moment that Symone began to panic. This was no hallucination. He was completely unable to move, and more vines encompassed him with each passing second. If only his sword had been drawn, he would not now face death. He strained to try to get it. His legs could move a little, but with great effort and there was no way he could reach his blade. He did the only thing remaining for him to do. He shouted as loud as he could. “Help! Help! The Forest seeks to kill me!” As he yelled, the vines tightened around his chest like a serpent coiling around its prey in order to squeeze the life from it. He could barely take a breath. He tried to reach with his mouth to chew any of the devilish vegetation, but he was unable to reach.

He was nearly on the verge of giving in and passing out when the vines to his right, toward the center of the thicket, began to part. A very large and particularly thick flower protruded from within. The stalk from which it was suspended upon was thick and dark grey. The flower itself appeared to be wilted. It was so grey that it seemed to suck the color away from the already grey-tinged vines around it. As it slowly drew past them and toward Symone the vines writhed as they changed from looking only slightly grey and slightly unhealthy to a darkened colorless mass of withered vine. Symone was being lifted by the vines that held him and being brought closer and closer toward the terrible plant. As he drew near it, the flower began to open from its center as a flower blooming in the spring, but instead of color and beauty, there was only darkness and death.

As it opened Symone could see what was within. Its center looked like a great dark abyss. A portal to nothingness. Symone was so terrified that he could no longer even muster the strength to speak. Symone had heard of carnivorous plants, but none that posed a threat to large or intelligent creatures. And certainly, none that fed on color and life. A quick end to a short journey, he thought. His mind was too panicked to even comprehend the darkness toward which he was slowly being drawn. He tried with all his might to resist, but now he could not even budge the vines that held him tight. His whole body was numb from lack of blood flow and his oxygen was running low.

Inside the petals was line after line of sharp grey ridges that writhed in anticipation. The vines that were holding him and the parts of his body that he could see began to be touched by the greyness. He felt as if his vitality was being sucked from him.

He could see the color leaving his body and being sucked into the abysmal flower as it approached his abdomen. He could also see that the vines that had wrapped themselves tightly around his midsection were beginning to wither and slacken as he approached the flower. His mind had been flooded by despair, but now a glimmer of hope shone afar off in the darkness. He mustered all of his remaining strength and, using his abdomen, he pulled his knees up toward his chest. The vines around his abdomen were so withered that they snapped free and those binding his legs were now directly in front of the flower. They too began to wither, along with the strength in his calves. He let them drop back down and then swung them back up kicking toward the flower. His legs snapped free and he made contact kicking the bottom of the grey wilted flower, sending it backward into the wall of ivy. As it made contact with the ivy, it drained all of the life and color from it. The flower turned once again toward Symone and new vines moved slowly toward his legs, seeking to replace those that had been weakened and torn.

He swung his legs up once more, escaping the creeping vines and he flipped his legs upward locking them in the ivy that held his arms above his now downturned head. His sword hilt was now in reach of his bound hand as he was now entirely upside down. He grabbed the hilt with his left hand forcing the sword and scabbard to point downward and he hung on tightly to the hilt with his hand as he let his legs swing back down. As they did, the downward force was simultaneously drawing his sword. He was now determined that this fowl plant would not have him.

He twisted his body forcefully while at the same time flexing his wrist at just the right angle to cut the vines holding his left arm. He was now hanging from only the arm that held the sword. He reached up with his main arm to grab the sword from the hand that remained bound, and he swung quickly with his free hand, severing the remaining ivy. He fell to the ground with a thud.

This all happened in a matter of seconds. The flower that was slowly progressing toward him before now recoiled as if it were aware of the change of events. It receded into the ivy out of Symone’s sight. Symone toppled over due to the remaining weakness in his legs and abdomen. They were still tinged by the grey. Symone wished dearly to be away from this wretched part of the forest. He struggled to his feet and adjusted his stance to compensate for the weakness in his core and lower limbs. He raised his sword and swung wildly in every direction, felling the hellish ivy the best that he could. He swung and swung as if in a demented rage, taking down every vine and stalk in sight, but he found no sign of the flower that had nearly sucked the life from him. He must have felled fifty square feet before he stopped and doubled over, panting to catch his breath.

It was then that he noticed the same strange noise sounding in the distance. How long had it been present without him even noticing? Symone decided upon a different approach. He ran toward the noise as fast as he could, half because he was determined to get to the source; half because he wanted to get as far as he could away from that horrific flower. With his sword drawn, he ran, chopping at any vegetation that blocked his way. Through ivy, over rotted and fallen trees, under limbs too thick to slash, he ran toward the noise and he heard it growing closer and closer.

He ran and ran until he came into a great clearing. His muscles aching and crying out for him to stop. The noise ceased and he was yet to find its source. He collapsed from fatigue upon the grass and moss-cushioned ground and he began to weep. The weight of his village, his family, and his near-death experience all weighed heavy upon his heart.

“You must be very lucky or very clever,” said a voice from within the shadows of a large grey tree at the edge of the clearing. “Once Ikhor chooses prey, it is usually too late to escape him.”

Symone whirled his head in the direction of the voice. How had he not seen this strange creature previously? Next to the tree, leaning casually against it, was the short jet-black male humanoid, dressed in black studded leather and a leather cap. Symone also noticed two swords sheathed in black scabbards on his belt, one on either side of him. Though the creature was in the shadows he was clearly visible. He was darker than the shadow itself.

“Who are you?” Symone asked. He had nearly asked, what are you, but he thought that impolite. “And who or what is Ikhor?”

“I am Zeke the Darkling, at your service,” the strange man said as he removed his hat and gave a slight bow. “And Ikhor is a very old creature from the ancient days of the Dark Forest. So old as to be worshipped by some, and so powerful as to be feared by all. Ikhor has great power over the plants who are tinged by his corruption. I see you have not gone untouched by it as well.” He said, motioning to the grey patches on Symone’s armor and skin. “Of course, Ikhor is not nearly as powerful as he used to be. He still has a broad influence throughout the forest.”

Symone had never heard of a creature such as Ikhor, nor had he ever heard of a Darkling. He slowly returned to his feet. Zeke did not move. “Begging your pardon good sir,” Symone said. “But if you are now at my service, how is it that you know so much of my recent struggle, and yet did so little to aid me?”

“Alas, it was not I that saw you tramping casually into the ivy of Ikhor, but another, and he came quickly to recount it to me. We may not fear him so much as others might, because we are well aware of his tactics, yet not many of us would walk willingly into his hungry maw.”

“How many of you are there?” Symone asked. He was now examining the grey patches in his chain mail. It did not hurt, but beneath his muscles were extremely weak. He was slightly hunched and his legs felt as if they were on the verge of collapse.

“There are many Darklings in the Dark Forest,” Zeke answered and then he looked at the ground and added sullenly, “but there are not nearly as many as there ought to be.”

Dark Forest? Symone was just now realizing that he was no longer in Athyorn Valley. He had crossed over into the Dark Forest. Daylinn had led him into this awful place. Then he remembered his purpose. “Have you seen a girl? I am looking for my sister who very likely has come this way.”

Zeke lifted his head, seeming surprised. “I have not seen or heard of any girl coming this way. If she had, I would know of it, but I guess that explains why you would come wandering through such dangerous places. It is not very often that we see valley folk in the forest, or any men for that matter.”

Symone wanted to ask what kind of folk other than Ikhor and the Darklings inhabited the forest, but another more pressing question came flooding back to his mind. “Was it you or some other of your folk who was making that humming noise? It has followed me since before I entered the Dark Wood.”

“It was not I, nor any Darkling,” Zeke said. “If we were following you, you would not hear a single sound from us. We heard no noise other than your heavy footfalls running through the wood”

Symone was beginning to think that he may like the little fellow and that Darklings, though their name may seem fowl, weren’t all that bad. Then Zeke spoke again.

“Whatever it may have been that you heard, you won’t need to worry about it for a good while. You will be in the custody of the Darklings.” He then motioned to two Darklings, one on either side of Symone, whom Symone had not noticed previously.

One of them looked a lot like Zeke except he had only one sword and it was of a different make. The other one had long hair and a more feminine form, she had two long daggers and a crossbow hanging from her belt. Each of them gently grabbed one of Symone’s arms. Symone was about to pull away when Zeke spoke again. This time his voice sounded strangely soothing, and it was sweet to Symone’s ears.

“You will love it with us,” Zeke said soothingly. “We will keep you safe. We will just have you come to visit our friend and he will ask you a few questions.”

“A few questions…” Symone said slowly in a daze. After a moment of trailing off, he decreed determinately “I will love it with you!”

Symone wanted to go with him. He really did trust the little guy. There was no reason not to go. He really didn’t have anything better to do. All thoughts about Ikhor, Daylinn, his village, and that strange noise floated right out of his mind. His only thoughts were of his new friend and how he may please him by accompanying him wherever he may go. He went along willingly, the two Darklings guiding him along. What a wonderful place, he thought to himself, and a wonderful people. I cannot wait to meet their friend.