Bringer of Darkness (The Bringan Saga Book 1)

Chapter 3

His limbs ached, and he could barely walk and hold his sword; he could no longer lift it. His mind dictated it, but his arm wouldn’t respond, so all he could do was drag it to the ground.

The tip left furrows on the ground, still wet from the rain. His blond hair had stuck to his sweat-soaked forehead. The blood had dried, encrusting with the blond strands.

He had blood on his hands and arms, probably his face too, but he knew that blood wasn’t his. It belonged to someone else, maybe more than one person.

He kept walking, but he didn’t know exactly where he was going, maybe he was trying to escape the horrible view in front of him. Around were severed bodies’ parts. A hand, an arm, a leg, a head, a body cut in half, a body without a head. The further he went, the more he saw them.

In that camp, he was the only living being, around there was only death. The sky was a vivid red, like all that blood surrounding him. He did not remember what had happened, he did not know why he was there, and he just wanted to rest, he felt so tired.

In front of him, there was the begging of the great wood. From the heights, he could see the city.

My city, he said.

From there, he could see everything.

The village outside the walls was destroyed, but his people could find refuge inside the walls. He saw these tall structures that protected the city, the closed gates, and the fortress. He could see even beyond: the ravine with the great waterfall, the majestic bridge over it, and the great library Bochus.

At that moment, he wished he’d gone in at least one. Maybe he could do it when he comes back home. Home, that world had never seemed so sweet to him. He never thought of that place as home, but it was the only place he wanted to be.

While he was looking at that wonderful landscape, a huge shadow passed over his head and overpassed him, creating a gust of wind that stirred the grass, and the bodies below him, that shadow was going to his home.

NO!, he tried to scream, but no sound came from his lips.

Silently, the shadow approached the city, his huge black wings reached the branches of the trees that caught fire in its passage, and his body was covered with shiny black flakes.

He flies over the trees, the sudden, he rose to the sky, flying over the city walls. He kept still, and then he swooped down.

From where he was, he could hear the people screaming who was trying to run away, but it was useless: there wasn’t a place where to hide. The beast swung open his mouth, and a rain of fire spilled out, hitting the fortress-like lava from a volcano. The stones started melting under the fire, while the fortress fell like sand.

Everything was burning.

The creature continued to burn everything around the fortress. The walls were falling down, creating an open hole for everyone. The beat flew over the city, and his huge black wings opened while dark smoke raised from the city to the sky.

The beast turned and disappeared between the smokescreens, appearing after a while beyond the city, over the ravine, while he headed towards the Bochus. He opened his mouth, purging fire over the structure, destroying it. He looked at the devastation while he heard the desperate screams. He turned his head to where the screams were coming from and saw a group of men and women, wailing and terrified: one of them had fallen on his knees and was screaming, punching the ground, praying to stop that m******e.

Under his feet, the ground shook as if thousands of men were marching.

His blue eyes shifted again in front of him, pointing towards the woods from which a man came out frightened. He was wearing leather armor and was running from something or someone, eyes wide open. He had no emblem, didn’t belong to any of the five kingdoms, and wasn’t sure how he knew, but he was convinced.

Suddenly the man groaned, strangled, and spat blood before collapsing to the ground lifeless. A sword sprouted from his shoulders, which had been planted with such force that it instantly killed him.

Behind him appeared a woman, a warrior, still in a launching position, before she stood up and approached the corpse, pulling the blade from the shoulders of her victim.

She moved her raven hair, the tips of which were completely white, over her shoulders and smiled, satisfied as her eyes shone, each iris of a different color. She looked behind her, toward the woods, from which a horde of soldiers marched towards him.

There was a man at the head of the horde.

He was wearing a black suit of armor with a fire-engraved emblem on his chest that Nathan had never seen before: it was like a flame that spread as it came to life.

The man tied a red band on his forearm, distinguishing him from the other soldiers.

The man advanced and then stopped and raised his fist closed in the air, a gesture that immediately stopped the army behind him.

The king looked at the man, his black hair on his sweaty forehead, his face completely stained with blood, and his eyes pointing at the group of screaming people.

Looking at him, Nathan’s stomach closed, while a pain radiated into his chest: he could not believe that he was in front of him as if nothing had happened. He knew him better than anyone. Traitor!

He knew who that man was, but he did not have time to speak because the beast that, in the meantime, had perched on the rubble of the fortress shouting joyfully rose up, preparing to attack again, burning the city.

He was there helpless, watching his house go up in flames: he could do nothing to save it, to save his people. He collapsed on his knees. Now everything was destroyed.

A guttural scream came out of his mouth.

***

He opened his eyes with a quick breath and a hot body, taking a while to recognize where he was. He got up and sat on the bed, still a little groggy and scared. His body did not stop shaking, though he was completely wet with sweat; the sheets of the bed were now a tangle heaped at his feet; His heart was pounding wildly, and he could hear his heartbeats rumbling on his head as his ears pulsated and a flash of heat enveloped his face. His breathing was heavy as if he had run around the walls at least ten times.

He passed his hands over his face, trying to remove the drops of sweat that impelled him, while he took deep breaths and closed his eyes, trying to calm his heart that seemed to want to come out of his chest.

It’s just a dream, he said to himself to convince him that all those trembling sensations still shook his body. The terror felt seemed so real. It’s just a dream.

Why do I keep shaking like a scared woman if it’s just a dream?

He was still shaking like a leaf, his heart was beating furiously in his chest as if he was going to throw him out, and he couldn’t breathe. On the shaking hands, he still felt the sensation of fresh blood, even if looking at them, there was absolutely nothing. It was so real.

The loud knocking at the door shook him from his thoughts and the feeling of terror that had nestled throughout his body.

“It is time to rise, Your Grace, the duties await us.” He recognized that voice, the same that accompanied him all his life.

Always in a great mood. Probably he spent the night basking between someone’s legs.

He looked out of the large window of his bedroom, the sun had just risen, and the sky was pink and blue with light purple shades. He got up immediately and went to wash his face.

“Come on, sunshine... a good beginning bodes well,” Doreon said as he entered the room.

The man was so cheerful that he jumped instead of walking while the leather boots resounded on the stone floor.

Nathan rested on the wooden tub and looked at its reflection in the water. Some strands of blond hair were wet, and drops fell into the water, causing a constant rhythm, blue eyes were reddened due to fatigue, and around them, there were light black circles, a sign that he had not slept well.

He took a deep breath and shook his head, a few drops fell on his chest, causing him some chills on the still boiling skin.

He turned and began to get dressed as Doreon threw himself on the bed with his arms crossed behind his head. He wore a white tunic with black pants and boots up to his calf. He had attached the ancient sword that belonged to his family to the belt, accompanied by a dagger decorated with black gems and red rubies: the blade with black streaks was hidden in the sheath.

That dagger was a particular gift, he had found it in his brother’s room, and it had been there for a long time before they decided to remove his stuff. He knew it would make him happy, and it did. That dagger had become like an amulet to him, and he was no longer apart from it.

For Nathan, it was comfort, as if a part of his half-brother was still there, among them, just like when they were children and, playing, Doreon and Nathan found themselves fighting. Damien always came as a peacemaker, bringing serenity between the two. The memory of his older brother made him smile. If he was still here, things would have been different.

He fastened his belt and turned to face Doreon, who was looking at the ceiling thoughtfully; his golden eyes were dark and serious, his black hair a messy mess that surrounded his face, tense and worried.

“Is happiness already over?” Nathan looked at him as he put his sword in his sheath.

“You don’t need a sword; they won’t hurt you in the city” he kept looking at the ceiling.

“You never know what mood people are in. It’s always better to take precautions.”

Doreon got up and then sat down, shaking his head, some curly locks of hair fell back on his forehead while the prince was pointing at him with his eyes.

“It seems to hear the old king speak, not my dear and old Nathan.” His tone had become more serious, far from the playful one with which he had awakened him.

“Is something bothering you?” Nathan asked as they left his quarter and walked towards the council room. Doreon was one step behind him, obviously as a formality.

“You know you shouldn’t have scruples with me,” Nathan continued, looking out of the corner of his eye.

“The king is old and little appreciated, and I almost have the impression that you are becoming like your father,” the man admitted without fear. Doreon stopped and looked him right in the eye.

“Try to be different... better, or you won’t have the support you need,” he continued, placing his hand on the hilt of the sword lined.

Nathan did not have time to answer Doreon went again, passing him, while Nathan remained to stare at the silhouette of his friend, who was moving away with great strides.

In recent times the mood of the court was gloomy, and Nathan had bad feelings, perhaps the time was coming when he would ascend the throne and take his father’s place, but even that could not justify the mood of the council.

No. It was something darker, something bad was about to befall Sierra, and it wasn’t just his premonitory dream that made him think it, but something more visceral. It looked like some electrical discharge was all over his body.

His whole being seemed on alert, and, within himself, something was moving, as if within him some force had been freed that until that moment had remained sealed: a force that soaked all its fiber.

He set off again as several thoughts crowded into his mind.

Doreon had a point, Nathan had changed, he felt it too, and he was probably much more like his father than he wanted to admit. His father, King Urian, was not a bad man, but he was an extremely strict man, he had become even more so after Myra, whom all called his mistress, had mysteriously disappeared, leaving an unbridgeable void in everyone’s hearts. But mostly his father’s and his brother’s.

For the king, Myra was a very important figure, she was the reason why his heart was beating and his eyes filled with sweetness at the thought of her. A look that Nathan hadn’t seen since she left, not even when he was looking at Damien, the fruit of that clandestine love and his firstborn.

Damien had never understood the reason for that decision, Myra had disappeared from day to night, leaving no trace, it was as if she had never existed.

Damien had been searching for the reason for his mother’s disappearance for a long time.

It wasn’t an act in Myra’s style, not after she stood by the king all those years, even after King Urian had married Nathan’s mother, Queen Ella.

Damien had tormented himself with that mystery for a long time until he decided to leave. According to him, he had found a clue that would lead him back to his mother, so he had taken his horse and left four years earlier, and he, too, had not returned, leaving Nathan alone.

The truth was that Nathan, like his father, had an empty heart. All the people he loved had left him. First his mother, then Myra, and finally his brother.

Perhaps that was the punishment the Gods had given him for having broken her heart, for having deceived and abandoned her without protecting her from that fate that had struck her.

He entered the throne room; Doreon was waiting for him beyond the old stone bench.

“Did you fall asleep again?” His tone was playful again, black curls falling on his golden eyes; he tried to send them back with his hand, but his hair was too rebellious to be tamed.

Nathan passed him and entered another corridor. The fortress was strangely silent, usually, at that time, there was a bustle of servants and commoners asking for an audience with the king.

“You’re too quiet,” Doreon told him as he looked at him with golden eyes.

“I was thinking about Myra, Damien, and...” The name died on his lips, then her face came to mind as she smiled and looked at him, the way her green eyes shone.

“Aislin,” Doreon said for him. “Dredging up the past is useless, Nathan, as it is to blame oneself now. Two have disappeared, and one is dead. The past remains so impossible to change.”

Doreon never wanted to talk about Damien suffering from his loss. He was probably as grieved as Nathan was for Aislin.

“If I hadn’t betrayed or left her, maybe I could have helped her. Maybe I could have saved her,” Nathan said, shaking his head and closing his eyes. That was the thought that disturbed him most of all: regret.

“Or maybe she would have died anyway. No one can change the past or predict the future.”

Nathan wasn’t sure about that.