Rise of the DarkWalker: The Chronicles of Carter Blake, Book II

Sunlight danced across the gravel arena floor. Beams struck flecks of mica and bounced into the warrior’s eyes, nearly blinding him. Deep, heavy growls came from the darkness ahead of him.

Skeletal fingers tipped with ragged claws gripped the side of the gateway as the creature heaved itself further into the light. Clumps of flesh, sinew and fur dripped from large paws.

A milky eye dangled from its socket above a jagged muzzle which opened in a roar. The other eye glinted with scarlet malevolence.

‘An undead werewolf?’ The warrior rubbed his hand across his forehead. ‘That’s gonna be a bit harder than the drow were.’

In a blur of motion, the werewolf hurtled across the arena floor and hammered the warrior into the far wall. Roars of approval came from the demonic audience.

The warrior slowly stirred and rose to his feet, knees wobbling. He shook his head to get the blurriness from his vision, to no avail. He smacked the side of his head and glanced up to see the undead monster rise to its full height before him.

An upward swipe sent the warrior’s head into the area as the rest of his body flew back to crash into another arena wall.

The demons leaped to their feet with another mighty roar of approval.

Carter left the barred window, went to the far wall of his cell and slid down to sit on the floor. ‘How do I always end up in these situations?’ Five days he’d been here and was no closer to escaping than before. ‘Haavastaad is living up to her reputation of knowing everything. I tried to sneak out of here, and I was captured almost immediately. I attempted to feign an illness, and my guard poured what had to be five gallons of water over my face. And, none of the bars are rusty with Tianarri moss on the walls, either.’

He chuckled. The half-demon Belial had set up that trap for him when he was fourteen and his prisoner in another arena.

A series of clicks alerted Carter the wall with the window was about to rise. ‘My turn again.’ He shook his head. ‘Surely she knows I’m King of the Realm, so why am I not dead, or ransomed, yet?’

He pushed himself to his feet and walked to the cell wall as it rose. He’d tried to stay inside before, to refuse to fight for their entertainment, but the wall he’d been sitting against had slid forward, pushing him out into the arena.

He shielded his eyes with his hand, and peered up at the audience. Adrenaline shot through his body as a grin grew on his face. Haavastaad sat in her throne in the center of the seats high above the arena floor.

A gate on the opposite side of him creaked open. A black blur shot out and directly at him.

Carter dove to the left and rolled to his feet in time to see the undead werewolf slam into the far wall and stick. Cracks and gore blasted up and out from the impact zone.

‘What the fuck did that?’

A horn sounded from behind him. He turned to see a massive twelve foot tall, crimson skinned fiend stalk out of the holding area. It wielded a colossal great axe with a ruby in the base of the shaft. Filmy white eyes flashed as it leered, showing off its jagged slavering fangs. A snake protruded from the side of its neck, coiling and hissing with malice.

The demon twirled the axe in its clawed hand before spinning it behind its head and passing it over to its other. It vanished from his sight.

The world slowed to a crawl as his Moment of Prescience activated. The demon, now behind him, buried its axe in his shoulder, nearly cleaving him in two as the demonic audience roared with elation.

Time jolted into motion again and Carter threw himself to his right. The axe just missed him, getting buried into the ground up to the part where the blade was affixed to the handle.

He kicked at the demon’s inner elbow, but its right arm deflected the blow and caught him by the ankle.

A second later, he was airborne and then crashing into the arena wall. His head slammed into the brick and he hit the ground, insensate.

The demon growled and looked to his mistress. Haavastaad leered and nodded her head. It returned its attention to the fallen Walker of Worlds and stalked over to him. The greataxe rose into the air, held aloft by both hands, before being brought down with tremendous force. With a sickening squelch, the beard of the weapon was buried deep in Carter’s back, nearly cutting his torso in two.

***

Adora released a yawn that threated to crack her jaw as she used a cloth to wipe away demon ichor.

Angriz staggered in, stumbled over to his cot, and collapsed on it, face down.

“It was that bad, my friend?”

He turned his head to the side. “Indeed, Your Highness. My throat feels raw from all the fire I was breathing.”

“Can that happen for a half-dragon?” She dropped the begrimed cloth into the water basin as she faced him.

“No. I’m exaggerating.” He turned on the cot and regarded her through half-lidded eyes. “We lost a lot of men closing that last portal.”

Adora closed her eyes and bowed her head. “I know. I hate that we don’t have the materials to resurrect them.”

Angriz sat up. “I wish we’d discovered shutting the portals would send the demons back sooner.”

“Maybe if I’d spent more time studying and less time fighting, we’d have learned it sooner.”

He rose to his feet and crossed over to her, laying his hand on her shoulder. “Studying the scrolls and tomes we found two days ago? After we’d already run out of crushed hypersthene?”

She opened her mouth to object, paused and then sighed.

He nodded. “It’s tempting to blame yourself, but it’s even more ridiculous than usual.”

“You’re right.” She interlocked her fingers and raised them above her head as she yawned. After rubbing her eyes, she said, “Any idea where Sir Alistair Germorié is?”

With a flash of evening sunlight, the large man in question stepped past the tent flap and entered.

Adora smiled. “Perfect timing, Sir Alistair.”

“Your Majesty.” The knight bowed. “I come with the casualty report.”

“How many?”

“Seven hundred permanently dead, six hundred sixty-eight maimed, and two hundred thirty-four wounded.” He glanced over to Angriz who took a deep breath and back to his queen.

A couple tears rolled down her cheeks. “H-how—?” She cleared her throat. “How many can be restored to normal?”

The Avalanche ran his left hand over his cheek. The rasp of stubble seemed loud in the tent. “About three hundred.”

“The healers are out of clear quartz and tourmaline,” Angriz said. “It’s like their commander knew our precise supply.”

Adora wiped her face and eyes, clearing away the tears. “Gentlemen, I’d like input for our next moves.”

Angriz leaned back against the map table, dislodging a few of the figurines which indicated troop locations. “We should send out small bands to raid Drago’s encampment. Let’s make them uncomfortable for once.”

The Avalanche stayed quiet.

“Sir Alistair?” Adora turned her focus to her First. “Do you have any ideas?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes. One. But, you’re not going to like it.”

She raised her left hand to forestall his next words. “I’m not going to retreat. Those soldiers didn’t die for nothing.”

The knight stood at attention. “Summon the King.”

Adora dropped her hand. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“He’s one man, Alistair.” Angriz straightened. “As formidable as he is, there’s not much more he can do.”

“His Highness has more experience fighting demons than anyone I’ve met.” Alistair had his right index finger on his left pinky. “He is a symbol the army can rally around, especially reunited with Adora.” His index moved up to his ring finger. “He has abilities no one else does.” His finger ticked to his middle one. “He’s the Walker of Worlds.” Index fingers touched.

Both men looked to the queen.

She nodded. “Alright.”

Adora gathered the components for the tracking spell. After carefully assembling them, she concentrated, searching for her heartbeat. The steady soft drumming filled her being and she then cast her focus outward, seeking her blood’s call outside her body. Her eyes popped open when she felt it about thirty feet from where she stood.

“He’s here!” She jumped into the air and then hugged herself. “He’s not far away.

She raced out of the tent, ducking under the flap. She ran around a cluster of men slumped around a fire.

“What’s wrong Your Highness?” One called.

The men leaped to their feet, drawing their weapons.

“Carter’s here.” Her voice trailed behind her.

She skidded to a stop near a signpost. Her gaze darted around. No Carter. Her chest felt tight. “What the hells?”

The group of men stopped behind her. Angriz stepped forward.

“Your Majesty?”

She raised her hand and closed her eyes again, once more seeking out her blood. A pulse came from the weathered post before her. She opened her eyes and moved closer to it.

An arrow pointed to the right and had “Dunskillen – 18 wheels” carved on it. Another pointed to the right and had “Rivorei – 15 wheels.” The final one pointed straight ahead and had “Dragon Keep – 30 wheels.”

The beat had come from the vial dangling between the arrows to Dragon Keep and Dunskillen.

She scowled and pulled it off the post. She then pulled out the phial she wore.

A piercing white column shot down from the heavens and faded, revealing her guardian, Azriel.

“Do not, Adora.”