Chapter 15: Morgai

“And so, the Sunblade fell, tempted to darkness and drawn from the light,

And the Order would crumble in the wake of his betrayal.”

Excerpt from “Light and Shadow,” by Maigan Ezra.

***A THOUSAND YEARS AGO***

Frantic shouts and clashing steel echoed down the gleaming halls of polished stone as Palavus cut down yet another brother taken by the Darkening. The fighting had been going on for hours and the whole Temple was a scene from a nightmare; brothers and sisters of the Order of Aros murdering each other in their sacred home.

Tears streamed down Palavus’ cheeks as he watched the robed Paladin fall to the ground, eyes already glazing over. His name was Emry, and they had fought side by side countless times over the past five hundred years.

Palavus felt nothing but intense sadness and despair, only heightened as yet another Paladin engaged him, this one a woman, carelessly stepping over Emry’s corpse with her sword raised threateningly.

She had been truly beautiful, Delya, before the madness of the Darkening corrupted her. Now, her pretty, slender face was twisted with a dark rage, and she screamed wordlessly as she struck at him again, and again. Delya was garbed as Emry was, in the traditional transparent robe all arohim and Servants wore, and so too was Palavus; the fighting had begun in the night, and he’d only had time to snatch up Eternal before joining the fray.

Palavus had been wielding a blade more than thrice as long as Delya had been alive, and she was no match for his skill. His chest was gripped with sorrow for what felt like the hundredth time that day as Eternal found her heart. He made it quick, as he had with Emry; there was no need for them to suffer.

Delya’s corpse crumpled onto Emry’s, a pool of blood quickly spreading around them in a grim halo.

Damn the Sunblade for this! It was bad enough, the man falling to darkness, let alone taking the whole Order down with him!

Palavus prayed to Aros that he found Darius before the Priests did. His former apprentice had much to answer for. Very much.

Leaving the two corpses behind him, Palavus trotted down the hall, following the sounds of the fighting, his bare feet slapping the smooth stone floor.

The chaos had come so quickly. First, news of Sunblade’s disappearance, along with a woman soldier he’d rescued from the battlefield. Soon after, all of Sunblade’s numerous meldin – arohim, Servant, or otherwise – had begun to change, their hearts becoming dark, angry, and violent.

In turn, those melded to any of Sunblade’s women felt the same shadow fall over them, which then fell over their own meldin, and so on, spreading through the Order like an infectious disease.

By a miracle of Aros, Palavus and Darius did not share any meldin, which was remarkable considering the sheer number of women Palavus had melded over the years. He could feel all four-hundred and seventy of them, even now, scattered across the world, going about their lives.

Some members of the Order had considered it ridiculous to meld so many women, but Palavus had never cared to place limits on himself. If the woman was willing and true of heart, why should he not share his vala with her?

Rounding a corner, he came across High Priestess Amina – thankfully untouched by the Darkening – stark naked and defending herself against three attackers, all men. She glided smoothly among them, her blade finding it’s mark with each elegant swing.

Even before Palavus could move to aid her, the men were dead, and Amina turned to regard him, not a scratch on her flawless pale skin. She was possibly the most gorgeous woman Aros had ever created, her beauty shining despite the sorrowful expression on her perfect face.

About a hundred years ago, Amina and Palavus had spent a night together, one that he would never forget even if he lived another milennia.

She ran to him as soon as she recognized him, throwing her arms around his neck and weeping into his shoulder.

He caressed her silky golden hair as he held her, knowing exactly how much pain she must be feeling, for he too was already far past heartbreak.

“We can’t save the Temple, can we?” Amina sobbed, stepping back to wipe her eyes with one hand, her slightly curved blade still clutched in the other.

Palavus had already accepted this truth. “I don’t believe we can, beautiful,” he said gently. There were already too many fallen, too many corrupted. He had no idea what state the other Temples were in, but this one was lost.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded, some of her composure returning. “I will go into hiding, Palavus. I would suggest you do the same. If the Darkening has spread this fast, we need to be as far away from it as we can.”

The last thing Palavus wanted to do was abandon what was left of his beloved Order, but the High Priestess spoke true. She always did.

Nodding, Palavus took Amina’s hand and led her through the halls, keeping an eye out for any brothers or sisters in need, but sadly, they found none, only corpses, or more Darkened souls they had no choice but to kill.

***RODRIC EAMES – Lord Captain Commander of the Heralds of Dawn, Maralon, Ekistair***

“So, you begin to realise why this city needs us,” Eames said patiently as he stood before the five members of the Council of Maralon.

They had resisted his requests for further powers previously, until he’d brought them the news that three of his men were dead; killed by two seemingly harmless women that had been in Herald custody.

Now, finally, the Council had begun to see the importance and urgency of the matter. Eames had been visiting with them weekly in attempts to convince them that the Order of Aros could rise again, and right under their noses, but they had not listened until now.

“As I have spoken of before,” Eames continued with disciplined patience. “The first Heralds were the folk who rose up to quell the Order when the Paladins turned rabid, finally showing their true colours. Without the Heralds, the world would surely have been plunged into darkness.”

The Council exchanged concerned glances with one another before Marrin spoke. She was the oldest and most astute member of the Council, with austere features, grey hair up in a bun, and hard blue eyes. Marrin had been the most difficult to deal with, and while all members of the Council were equals in power and authority, the others usually followed her lead.

“It would seem,” Marrin began, her voice hard. “That we are left with little choice, Captain Eames.”

A rare smile threatened to touch Eames’ lips, but he suppressed it.

“Under normal circumstances, murders would be investigated by the City Watch, but as this particular crime affects your jurisdiction, you will be granted temporary martial powers,” Marrin continued. “Including command of the City Watch, until you find your fugitives. While we are loath to go to this extent, we also cannot abide murder in Maralon, of Herald or otherwise.”

“Maralon also remembers the Herald’s sacrifice, Captain Eames,” added Aegin, a portly, grey-bearded fellow on Marrin’s left.

Maralon had once held an enormous Grand Temple of Aros, which had been the first one to be razed to the ground. The first Heralds – Eames’ ancestors – had built Maralon atop the ruins of the Temple, as a statement to the world that the Paladins no longer held sway.

Aegin was one of the few who had always remained true to the Heralds; much of the world, in the past three hundred years, had forgotten about the Heralds, and Herald numbers – at least until recently – had dwindled, but Eames would make sure they remembered. They would all remember.

Eames inclined his head respectfully. “Thank you. You will not regret this.”

“See that we don’t, Captain Eames.” This from dark-haired, bearded Willem, who sat on Marrin’s right. “We will expect daily reports of your activities within our city, including details of your use of the Watch.”

Eames wanted to grimace, but kept his face smooth. He had expected this condition, and could work around it, and maybe even use it. “Of course. Is there anything else you require, your Honours?”

They shook their heads as one. “Not at this point, Captain,” Marrin said. “You are dismissed. We hope you find these killers quickly.”

Eames bowed, then turned on his heel and left, his red-lined yellow robe billowing behind him. Now that he had control of the City Watch, as well as the growing support of the people, the Council would soon have no choice but to bend knee to him, and Maralon would once again become a bastion of the Dawn, a place of sanctuary and hope against the Order of Aros, which was clearly rising from the ashes of history.

But first, he would find these two harlots that had taken the lives of his devoted men, and make a very public example of them.

Smythe sat bolt upright in bed, disturbing the two women that had been sleeping with their heads on either side of his chest.

Dark-haired Bella and fire-haired Rayna woke up, groggily asking if he was alright.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to stop and appreciate the sight of the two naked beauties in his bed. Muttering something to appease them, he jumped up and began to dress hurriedly. Elaina had visited him tonight on the Plane with dire news; the Druids had reappeared, attacking Elaina and capturing her in order to find Aran, who had apparently killed one of them.

Thank Aros she had escaped. The news alone was bad enough, but to make matters worse, one of Aran’s meldin, Jeira – and her husband – were now likely in danger.

Smythe had tried to reach Aran in his dreams, but had had no luck, which meant he would have to look for this woman without help. According to Elaina, Jeira was probably somewhere in Ironshire, if she hadn’t left already.

Snatching Lightbringer from where it was leaning in the corner, Smythe strapped the weapon onto his back and left the room, heading for the stables.

Berenor, King of the Mor’elda, grasped his concubine’s slim hips from behind as he thrust deeply into her lithe, supple body, his pelvis slapping up against her tight, ebony rear again and again. He usually fucked his playthings at least once a day, but since Lady Shenla had visited him and showed him what pleasure really was, he’d been insatiable, taking his two twin servants – and whomever else was nearby – several times a day for the past few months, but no matter who he fucked, and how hard he fucked them, none of it came close to what he’d felt with Shenla.

Sweat beaded on his dark brow as he pistoned relentlessly into the girl’s hot velvet channel, her pink inner lips contrasting sharply with the midnight complexion of the rest of her body. She had long since stopped pushing back against him, exhausted from his furious onslaught, her head and shoulders on the bed, her hips in the air, supported mostly by Berenor’s grip.

The beauty he was fucking was called Evalys, and her identical twin sister, Avalys, was lying unconscious, face up on the bed beside them, her midnight thighs still spread wide, Berenor’s seed still leaking from her hairless sex.

With a gasping roar, he reached his peak once again, jetting what small amount of come was left in his overworked balls into the slim girl before collapsing onto her back, pressing her into the plush bed.

No sooner had an exhausted Berenor rolled onto his back between the girls than the bedchamber door opened, admitting his Guard Captain, Edonys.

Edonys had replaced Peldin, the former Captain, who had accompanied Lady Shenla back to her home at her request. Strangely, Berenor did not remember agreeing to let Peldin go, but it was a small favour to grant for a goddess like Lady Shenla.

“Highness,” the well-muscled elf said in his bass voice as he saluted.

“Speak, Edonys,” Berenor commanded wearily, propping himself up on his elbows before sitting forward to listen. Edonys – one of the few Elves who could enter his chambers unannounced – would not have done so unless it was important.

The Guard Captain was nude – as was the way of Mor’elda when underground – except for a light cloak denoting his station and a sword buckled round his waist. He proffered an envelope that he’d been holding. “This was received moments ago, Highness,” he said as Berenor waved him forward.

Edonys stood patiently as Berenor took the letter, turning it over in his hands. The wax seal was stamped with a sigil he didn’t recognise; looking much like the shape of a nude, voluptuous woman in a provocative pose.

Tearing the letter open, Berenor read the contents quickly. It was written in perfect elvish, so he had no need for a translator. A delicious smell wafted from the paper, a heady, feminine aroma that clouded his senses and sent a lightning bolt to his loins, hardening him instantly, despite his sexually draining afternoon with his concubines.

The scent of Lady Shenla was one he would never forget. The memory of his brief time with her came crashing home, that impossibly curved body, that soft, red skin, those lips that had sucked him so lovingly, so adoringly.

A smile broke out on his face as he read through a second time. “Prepare our forces, Edonys,” he told his Captain, who was interestedly eyeing the sleeping women on the bed. “The time has come for us to surface!”

Edonys looked surprised to say the least. “Highness?” He asked quizzically, probably wondering why Berenor now sported a full erection.

“We march for Amindaer Fortress immediately!” Berenor snapped impatiently.

“Amindaer Fortress?” Edonys blurted. “But, Highness, with respect, no force has successfully assaulted Amindaer in three hundred years!”

Berenor met the other Elf’s gaze levelly. “Do you question me, Edonys?” He asked quietly.

“No, Highness!” The Captain said quickly. “I will prepare our forces at once, and send word to you when we are ready to march.”

Nodding, Berenor dismissed Edonys with a wave of his hand before tucking the letter into the chest he kept at the foot of the bed and turning to regard the two sleeping beauties. Just one whiff of Lady Shenla and he felt like he could fuck for days; his cock throbbed with anticipation as he raked his eyes over their lithe forms.

With nothing else to do until he received word from Edonys, Berenor eagerly climbed between Avalys’ silky black thighs, not bothering to wake her before burying himself inside her with one powerful thrust.

Two more weeks had passed in the Hidden Temple beneath Maralon, and Aran was growing more concerned by the day for two major reasons. Firstly, it was now too dangerous to risk going up to the city, as not only were Heralds patrolling at all hours, but it appeared the City Watch had now joined the search, working alongside the Heralds, of all things.

Secondly, Elaina had not yet appeared, and Aran had been unable to contact her on the Plane. With the Heralds the way they were, it was dangerous for Elaina to come to Maralon, and he desperately wanted her to know this before she walked right into them.

The Servants had also been unable to receive new information – which was previously being collected by Sylvia in the form of cryptic messages from various locations around Maralon – and so they remained largely in the dark about happenings above, and in the rest of the world.

To make matters worse, Aran had not only been unable to contact Elaina, but had also had no luck reaching Smythe or Amina.

Nevertheless, the small group remained positive, their faith in Aros outweighing their uncertainty.

Much of Aran’s now idle time was spent with Sara, teaching her as much as she could absorb – which was everything, so far – and filling her spare time with chores, as Elaina and Smythe had done with him.

At first, the Servants had been mortified to see a arohim doing their cleaning and whatnot, but Aran had firmly instructed them not to help Sara, as it was an important part of her training.

Keeping the girl busy with menial tasks also helped distract her from her increasingly prominent sexual appetites, and kept her away from the Servants, who continued to freely express their desire for one another – Aran included – out in the open, more often than not.

Several times he had spotted Sara watching the frequent lovemaking when she thought he wasn’t looking, her sparkling sapphire eyes glazed with hot lust. Aran’s training had installed in him firm control over his own desires, yet Sara’s intense sexual aura was not lost on him.

Her body had also continued to change; her breasts were now a solid handful and sat proudly on her chest, and her hips flared beautifully from her slim waist into long, creamy thighs that went on for days. She would be nothing short of a golden-haired goddess when she reached her peak, so different to the dirty, malnourished girl he had found weeks ago.

Poor Erik didn’t know what to do with himself; the older fellow’s robe was constantly tented by his impressive manhood whenever Sara so much as glanced at him, and the female Servants were working hard – quite happily – to relieve him of his tension whenever required.

Naturally, Aran was forming close ties with all the Servants as time went on, sexually and otherwise. He had had time to better acquaint himself with all four of them, and their individual pasts were interesting and varied.

Erik was from a long line of scholars, and had taken up after his forebears in studying history. Aran had learned much from the dark-eyed fellow, who seemed to love nothing more than discussing the subject.

Lynelle was one-hundred and sixty-seven years old, and was born a high-Elf, which was the upper echelon of elvish society. While Servants among Elves was a rarity, Lynelle’s mother – who had once been melded to a Paladin – had raised Lynelle as such, and in turn, Lynelle had raised Sylvia in the same way.

Sylvia and Aran had continued to grow closer, spending time together as often as they could. Aran had given more thought to melding with the young half-Elf, but had decided to refrain from asking her, for now.

Liddea and Aran had made love for the first time several days ago, after Aran had walked into his room to find the dwarf and Sorla naked and playing kissing games on his bed. Seeing Aran come in, Sorla had playfully wrestled with the immensely busty, fire-haired dwarf, until the half-Orc was lying back against the pillows, restraining Liddea’s arms and pinning her back against her own very considerable chest.

Liddea had not put up much of a fight, willingly opening her plump thighs so that Aran could climb between them. Sorla’s hands had quickly found the mountainous orbs on Liddea’s chest, firmly squeezing and holding them up for Aran’s eager lips.

It had been a fun afternoon, no doubt. Afterwards, Aran and Liddea talked for a long time, and Aran learned that Liddea had come from a poor family in the east, and her father had taught her the ways of the Servants after her mother died many years ago. Liddea was nearly fifty years old, which for dwarves meant she was roughly a quarter-way through her life.

All in all, the Hidden Temple was not a bad place to be holed up, by any measure, but Aran couldn’t help but wish the circumstances were less dire. He also wished he knew why he couldn’t reach the other Paladins and Amina; all that should be required is that they be asleep, but no matter what time of day or night he tried, there was no response from any of them.

Conversely, he’d been successfully able to begin teaching Sara of the Plane of Aros, as he’d had no problem reaching her while they slept, which perplexed him no end. Why could he reach Sara, and not the others?

Additionally, the fleeting signals that they’d all been sensing from the surface – which they assumed were from young arohim – had ceased some days ago, which boded ill for Aran’s hopes to find them before the Heralds did.

When the Herald’s still had not withdrawn their search after two weeks of tense waiting, Aran called a meeting.

Standing at the head of the long darkwood table, Aran regarded his family. Liddea, Sorla and Lynelle sat at the table on his left, while Sylvia, Sara and Erik lined the right.

They waited patiently for him to begin, probably wondering what he had to say.

“Well, my friends,” he began, eyeing each of them in turn. “Our circumstances dictate that the time has come for us to move from the Hidden Temple.”

Sad looks crossed faces, but they nodded in agreement, offering no argument. Aran felt moved by their loyalty, both to him, and to each other.

“The Heralds have a stranglehold on Maralon, and have somehow gained the City Watch’s help. It’s only a matter of time before they figure out there’s a network of unmapped tunnels down here.”

More nods.

“The signals of the arohim we’ve been sensing have vanished, as you know. I hope the best for them, but fear the worst. As we are, we are not ready to confront a small army, and I would not chance your lives in the hope of rescuing two arohim that may or may not be alive.”

Erik spoke up. “If I know you, Aran, you’ve got a plan. Tell us what to do, and we’ll see it done.”

It’s a shame Erik was not arohim; he would make a fine Paladin. “Sylvia recently discovered a tunnel that exits Maralon. It runs for a mile or so, and will put us out south of the city. From there, we head further south into the Karvani Mountains, where I know of another Temple.”

“Another Temple?” Liddea asked, surprised. “In the Karvanis?”

Aran nodded. “Yes, I’ve been there. I believe our best option is to travel there as quickly as possible. It will be a long trek, but worth it. A Priestess called Amina lives there, and she will be glad to meet you all, I think.”

All the Servants, excluding Sorla – who already knew about Amina – looked amazed.

“A Priestess still lives?” Lynelle exclaimed, her perfect eyebrows raised high.

Smiling, Aran nodded. “We should leave tonight, as soon as we’re prepared. Bring enough food for a fortnight’s travel; it’s a long way on foot, and we have no horses.”

The others all glanced at each other for long moments, as if something had gone unsaid.

Sylvia broke the silence. “What about Elaina, Aran? Isn’t she on her way?”

Aran kept his features smooth, though he wanted to furrow his brow with worry. “She was meant to be, Sylvia,” he said gently. “But as she’s not here by now, and I’m unable to contact her through the usual means, I can only work with the information I have. Elaina is tough, and capable, and I have full confidence in her. All will be well.”

At that, the others rose and began busying themselves with packing. A grave silence had settled over them; perhaps Aran had not masked his concern for Elaina as well as he’d thought.

Elaina returned to her body after briefly visiting Smythe on the Plane. Rather than going back to normal sleep – something that was getting harder to do due to her concerns over Jeira’s safety, as well as Aran’s – she got up, crossing the smooth wooden floor of the room the Eryn’elda had given her and stepped out onto the small balcony which overlooked the beautiful Elven city of Ildernass.

The houses were all high in the massive trees, looking as if they had grown there naturally, with their rounded walls and roofs of thick green branches that even the heaviest rains couldn’t penetrate. It was late, but Elves slept little, and many circular windows were illuminated by candlelight, shadows playing on walls as they moved about their homes.

Living bridges woven of vines and branches spanned between the thick trees, some wide enough for one person, others wide enough for three abreast. The Eryn’elda were skilled gardeners, and could coax trees and plants to grow into many different forms.

Lanterns hung everywhere in preparation for the end of spring – an event the Elves celebrated with abandon – lit by a luminescent sap harvested from a special tree, bathing the village in a warm, golden glow. According to Induin and Liaren, tomorrow night Ildernass would be alive with feasting and wine and dancing as the Elves rejoiced in the changing of the season from spring to summer.

Elaina hadn’t bothered to dress – the Elves were not a shy or even particularly modest people – and the cool spring breeze felt good on her exposed skin; it took her mind temporarily away from Aran, who she should have been able to reach on the Plane by now, but each time she’d tried over the past weeks, she’d had no success.

Ildernass was truly a beautiful place, but Elaina felt guilty staying here while Aran, Smythe and Amina were out there, possibly putting themselves in danger. It had been a relief to finally reach Smythe, who said he too had been unable to contact Aran, but would start searching for Jeira and her husband immediately.

Elaina would try once more to reach Amina tonight, and if that didn’t work, she would leave Ildernass and seek Aran herself.

Why hadn’t she melded with him when she had the chance? At least she would know if he was well; it was the not-knowing that bothered her the most.

A distant wolf’s howl floated on the chill breeze, and Elaina suppressed a shiver. The howls had been fairly regular, most nights, coming from the Emerin Forest across the river. To her mind, the howls bore a note of triumph, as if the Druids were celebrating something, but what? They had failed in capturing her, and one of them – the wolf – had been taking it’s last breaths on the forest floor, it’s hide peppered with arrows, the last she’d seen it.

And yet, a wolf’s howls continued to disturb the otherwise peaceful forest every night she’d been in Ildnernass. There had to be more than one wolf. Either that, or the same one had somehow miraculously recovered.

Shivering – and not just from the cold – she moved back inside and climbed into bed, preparing to try and contact Amina one last time.

Braith let his howl echo once more through the forest before turning and padding back into the forest, away from the riverbank. Every few nights, when the forest was clear of elvish scouts, he’d returned, howling across the river to let the Elves and that Paladin bitch know that he was still alive, and hadn’t forgotten them.

Back at the glen, the rest of the clan were preparing for the arrival of Lyrra’s cubs, which were only a few weeks away, at Braith’s guess. It had been a long time since a Druid had given birth, and the anticipation was high. Fionn had been in a mating frenzy since hearing Lyrra’s news, fucking Braith, Leif, and Fergin at every opportunity in the renewed hope of bearing children of her own. Suffice it to say, none of the men had complained; dark and sleek and beautiful, Fionn was not a woman to ignore.

Whether Fionn produced cubs or not, Lyrra still would, and the clan would grow. Druid children grew quickly – faster than any other race – and though Braith was hesitant to grow too hopeful, he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps the Druids were not fated to die out, after all.

Elaina could have jumped for joy when Amina finally appeared before her on the Plane of Aros, standing on the soft grass of the sunlit meadow Elaina had created upon arriving. The tall, perfectly-shaped Priestess regarded her warmly before embracing her, pressing her lush, naked body up against her and capturing her lips in a tender kiss.

Elaina moaned softly into Amina’s mouth, temporarily losing herself in the embrace of a goddess. She preferred men, to be truthful, but there was something about Amina that sent her mind into a spin, and her body into a tempest of aching desire.

“We need to talk, Priestess,” Elaina whispered into Amina’s lips.

“I know, child,” Amina said, lightly tracing her fingers down Elaina’s spine, which sent tingles directly to her breasts and belly. “Come,” she said, gently ending the embrace and sitting cross-legged on the grass. “Let us talk.”

How the woman managed to appear regal and dignified while sitting naked on the ground escaped Elaina. Folding herself down opposite Amina, Elaina began to share her concerns. “I am worried for Aran, Priestess. I have been unable to reach him on the Plane, as has Henley.”

Amina looked thoughtful for a moment. “He was last known to be in Maralon, yes?”

Elaina nodded.

“It’s possible that he’s beneath the Planeward,” Amina continued. “Which would make him unreachable to anyone on the outside of it.”

“Planeward?” Elaina asked, unfamiliar with the term.

“It’s a device that was constructed during the Darkening to protect arohim from being found by their Darkened brothers and sisters.” The note of sadness was clear in Amina’s voice, and her eyes took on a faraway look.

Elaina couldn’t imagine how it must have been, to see so many loved ones taken away so quickly. She respected Amina’s strength immensely.

The Priestess’s sapphire eyes focused back on Elaina. “As you know, Maralon sits atop the remains of a Grand Temple. During the Darkening, a small group of survivors fortified the tunnels beneath the Temple, and created the Planeward; a shield preventing connections to the Plane of Aros between people within the Planeward and those without. It also prevents other arohim from sensing the vala of whomever is inside the Planeward. Conversely, those inside it can still sense arohim on the outside.