Darklands by M. L. Spencer

Author:M. L. Spencer [Spencer, M. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy
Publisher: Stoneguard Publications
Published: 2018-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Darien woke to the sound of footsteps approaching in the night. Quiet. Stalking. He rolled over to free up his sword arm, lying still for a moment and listening, hoping the noises would retreat.

Of course, they didn’t. He was never that lucky.

“Go home, Fareen,” he grumbled into the night. He was exhausted; all he wanted was sleep. But his ears told him that Fareen wasn’t alone. Azár’s cousin had brought company. Which was problematic; Darien didn’t want to kill even one man. He certainly didn’t want to kill four. He pried his body up off the ground with an elbow, peering into the darkness beyond the rocks.

“It’s late. Go back to bed,” he called at the approaching figures. The glint of light reflecting off a drawn blade commanded his attention.

“We’ll sleep when you’re dead.”

Darien recognized Fareen’s accented Rhenic. He sighed, reluctantly scooping his sword up in his hand as he rose to his feet. He didn’t bare the blade. Instead, he held it down at his side, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible. The shadows in front of him stopped, still paces away. He couldn’t make out the men’s faces in the darkness.

Darien reached out with his mind and tugged at the magic field. He summoned a glowing pool of magelight at his feet, feeding it with a trickle of power until the groping mist grew and spread.

Calmly, he uttered, “You’ve heard what I did to Malikar’s legions. What do you suppose I could do to the four of you?”

One of the shadows in front of him took a step backward. Another wavered, shifting uncertainly. Fareen’s face was revealed in the blue glow of the magelight. He didn’t look intimidated. If anything, Darien’s display of power seemed to only solidify the man’s resolve. He nodded once, lifting his chin.

“You won’t use your magic on us,” Fareen announced. “There is no sharaq in such killing.”

Sharaq. An ancient word for honor, or honor code. Darien understood the concept; he’d learned about it in his training, though he had no idea how the system actually worked in practice. Besides, the knowledge Darien had was a thousand years outdated.

Much had changed.

But he knew enough to guess he’d have to gain sharaq of his own if he hoped to stand a chance with these people. He couldn’t risk losing even a drop of it. Reluctantly, Darien released his hold on the magic field, letting the glowing mist dissipate around his feet. He felt a sensation of loss as the energies drained away, diffusing into the air. The shadows returned to settle in around him, seeming thicker now than they had moments before. Slowly, he drew the scabbard down the length of his blade and flung it aside. He kept the tip of his sword lowered, swept back.

He said, “There’s four of you and only one of me. How much sharaq’s in those odds?”

Fareen scoffed as he raised his own blade, a long scimitar. “You are a Sentinel of Aerysius. Whoever spills your blood will receive great reward.

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