Chapter 1: Darkness and Chaos

Chapter 1

Darkness and Chaos

 

“Ready the archers!” bellowed Derúlus. The bloodcurdling screams of fallen soldiers from both sides resounded from all over the battlefield of Mirachkahn and the crashes of metal and metal rang around Derúlus and his men. 
                The battle of the Northern Chac Army and the Warriors of Camazotz had ripped apart the land for over two weeks. The valley of Mirachkahn was now a death-filled bog; its pools filled with blood and mud. This was the last phase of battle. Soldiers were now scattered randomly throughout the wide valley. Ahead of Derúlus’ company stretched four-hundred yards of this flat, churned-up marsh until the land came to the       of the River Béacht. Smoke issued from random areas of the battlefield, and here and there crumbled ruins of towers of wood lay burning. A further seven hundred yards or more and one came to the black foot of Camazmonte: a great extinct volcano which reached over a thousand feet towards the darkening, angry purple sky and upon it stood the City of Camazotz. A black place, people said in Chac. Filled with choked air and where the grass grew black upon the ground.
                For fifty dark winters the wizard Camazotz had bore his manically oppressive grin over the city of Chac, covering it in shadowy depression. The only way anyone could get into the city was by taking the steep sweeping road around the Eastern side of Camazmonte and, in these dark times, those who did never returned.
                “The Black City” (as the Chacs called it) “never sleeps.”
                It was towards the point where the Eastern Path disappeared around the corner of Camazmonte that Derúlus now looked to as his archers assembled into the classic arrow head of the Chac archers; each kneeling on one knee. What archers they were! Great helmets, fashioned skilfully by the blacksmiths of Chac, sat upon their heads, topped with golden feathers with the metal reaching down to their set jaws.
                “Strain!” cried Derúlus; wrenching his gaze from the corner of the path. Each of the twenty or so men remaining pulled back their arrows; bending their bows, and taking aim on a group of around eighteen Camazotz men who were charging on one of the tiny scattered groups of Chac soldiers two hundred and twenty yards away.
                “Fire!” Twenty green feathered arrows were released. The Camazotz soldiers fell: every single one. The archers ran forward with great pace - considering the gloopiness of the mud - parallel to the river. Derúlus followed swiftly after until he heard a dull thud. He looked around. Barundin and Amruin lay on the ground at the spot where they had just left, but they had been killed a few moments before. He looked back towards his advancing men. None had fallen so far. He looked down, and protruding out of his great armoured chest, stuck fast, was a black arrow tipped with red feathers. Derúlus swayed. The whole of Mirachkahn swam before his eyes. It was only now, after two weeks of battle, that he registered the putrid smell of death that hung in the air. He fell to his knees.
                ‘So close to home’, he thought looking back toward the pointed log walls of Chac. ‘But never so far away’. His son was there; as was his wife. Both awaiting the return of their valiant husband and father. He breathed a final prayer to Eclipto before darkness covered him. He fell on to his front and Sir Derúlus, son of Polyandrous, knight of Chac, departed from this world.

                High above, (around the corner to which Derúlus had been staring) crouched Druidin: General of the Northern Chac Army, by the gates of the City of Camazotz. Like Chac, Camazotz was surrounded by a great circle of pointed logs. The carriers of the battering ram were taking heavy losses due to the rally of arrows being sent down from behind the great walls. Druidin was a fair looking man. He had blonde, shoulder-length hair, a very straight pointed nose, set jaw and brilliantly green eyes. In his hand he grasped his greatsword, Latafortis. Its long blade - uncommonly narrow for a man of his position (Druidin preferred swift graceful craft to great weapons) joined to a hilt with rubies set on either side of the cross guard. Its grip was made of black twisting leather and fused into the pommel was a beautiful sapphire; the jewel of his ancestors. On his left wrist, he bore a single black bracer, covered in beautiful and intricate symbols that protected half of his forearm. Across his shoulders - ripped and torn by battle - hung a flowing white cape. His face was flecked with blood, and a helmet was nowhere to be seen.      
                “Heave!” he shouted to the wearying men, urging them to keep going. He was not going to be beaten right outside the enemy’s walls. As the men continued to beat the gates of Camazotz, Druidin gazed to the East and South. All that could be seen was wide marsh completely surrounded by snow-capped mountains. They were wholly isolated.
                Crash! went the battering ram against the split in the gates. One, two, three - four strikes until the gates showed any sign of defeat against the continuous pounds of the ram. By now, a third of the men who had been holding the battering ram now lay dead on the path; red feathered arrows sticking out of their bodies. After three more crashes the gates finally split apart.
                Druidin dived from his cover through the gap between the loosely hanging gates. Behind him flooded a further four hundred men, all wielding axes, spiked clubs, great swords, maces, tridents, and bright shields. They poured through the city like locusts; killing and destroying as they went whilst screaming great war cries.
                The grass, Druidin noted, was not black as the tales told, but it was certainly an unnatural dark green. Upon entering the city Druidin also looked with disbelief at the walls. They were two walls thick! Between them lay a long platform for the archers to stand on and overlook the entrance. As Druidin stood in the clearing at the entrance of the city, watching his men pour down the side streets, he knew where he had to go: he knew what he had to do. Looking North to the hillock in the centre of the city he saw a flawlessly cylindrical black tower; Camazotz tower.
                He ran, with as much haste as his heavy armour would allow, down one of the dark side streets. Screams, roaring fire, and clangs of swordfight filled the tiny mud track streets. Druidin counted at least eighteen men to fall before Latafortis; its beautiful blade slicing through armour and flesh with as much ease as if it were air.
                He came to a wider street that looked almost like a square some six hundred yards from The Tower. Here he came across a great struggle between the wave of Chac soldiers and the intensely skilled Camazotz warriors. Archers were positioned on some of the roofs, sending rallies of arrows into the fray. A great crumbling well stood in the centre and its broken roof was scattered across the ground. As Druidin watched a dozen or more small blades were thrown by the Camazotz soldiers into the advancing allies. He had to find a way around the blockage.

                Camazotz gazed from the top most window of the South-facing wall of his tower. He could see the hundreds of green clad soldiers pouring into the city but there was no need to run. Things were falling into place exactly the way he always knew they would. He stroked his pointed black beard and watched as the white caped soldier cut through his forces with as much ease as if he were a farmer scything his crop. Camazotz sighed. He’d expected things would come to this.
               

                “Aaaargh!” yelled Druidin as he wrenched Latafortis from the chest of a Camazotz soldier. He was less than three hundred yards from the base of the tower.

                He could see the white caped soldier was now less than three hundred yards from the tower. Camazotz turned and began to descend the spiral staircase that would lead to his throne room. As he walked, his black bear-fur gown flowed behind him; so soft that, as he passed the many fiery brackets on the walls, a rainbow seemed to dance across its fibres.

                The resistance was not as intense as he came within over two hundred yards from the great wooden doors at the foot of the tower.

                Camazotz busied himself with getting comfortable upon his throne.

                Time to end this! Druidin thought to himself.

                Not long now…not long now.

                Druidin cut through the neck of the soldier in front of him; instantly beheading him.

                Camazotz stared intently at the wooden doors.

                Druidin raced up the stone steps towards the wooden doors, which stood like the black gates of the Dead Lands in front of him. Bearing down on him menacingly, behind which, he knew, lay victory.

                Camazotz showed no sign of surprise or alarm as the great wooden doors burst open to reveal Druidin, General of Chac, standing on the threshold.

Druidin entered slowly. As if by some magical power the great doors closed behind him with a dull boom, leaving a ringing silence in the entrance hall. The only sound was of his high leather boots on the black marble floor. The entrance hall was flanked by large black marble columns, upon which were flaming torches which seemed to provide no form of light or warmth to the room. Black sculptures sat on white marble plinths; each one depicting pain, suffering, anguish, or domination. At the far end of the hall sat Camazotz. On either side of him stood two towering statues of great knights; both with their heads turned to face Druidin, great swords of black sat in their belts, and upon their heads lay black crowns set with blood read rubies. Their faces bore down on him.
                Camazotz lifted himself from his white marble throne and spread his arms in welcome, the sleeves of his robe hanging luxuriously from his wrists. Druidin continued to walk forward, his jaw set and his eyes ever fixed upon Camazotz. When they were only about ten meters apart, Druidin came to a halt, his hand gripping the handle of Latafortis. Camazotz scanned Druidin’s profile with lazy dark green eyes before saying: “so, brother, you have certainly upheld my expectations of you. But yet, from your face, I highly doubt that you are merely here for my city.”
                Druidin’s eyes flashed menacingly and his usually black metal bracer glowed red. Camazotz noticed and with a sad expression, almost close to pity, he looked at the bracer upon his own wrist, identical to Druidin’s. As black as volcanic rock, the bracer he had named Darkness had allowed him to be where he sat today.
                “It would destroy you”, he said, looking back into his twin brother’s face. “Bearing two of the bracers of Édrias holds unknown conse-”
                “Spare me your idle cautions, brother. I am here for my vengeance!” spat Druidin.
                “What wrong have I done you to cause you to seek vengeance upon me?”
                Druidin pointed his blade at his brother’s throat and bellowed, “you toyed with me! You used your trickery and lies so as you could be the one to sit atop Camazmonte and I left to live in you and its shadow.” He took deep breaths. “Now I am here to take the second black bracer forged by Édrias and use it to conquer this world.”
                Camazotz looked again into the eyes of his brother, which so mirrored his own. He could remember the day when they had discovered the two black bracers �" known in the Common Tongue as Darkness and Chaos. Oh, how long ago that seemed now. Though he felt in no way older than he had when he first wore Darkness, he could still remember all the long dark years he’d spent with the thing and thinking about it made his life force seem to stretch making him feel like all of those years were crushing down upon him. He could remember Druidin before the fateful encounter with the Black Dragon of the gods, Yorzagstar. He had been so pure. Though the two of them were twins they were never entirely the same. Camazotz had always had a desire to control and a talent for manipulating others to do his bidding. Without it, he would never have built so much. His brother had always been the opposite - heroic to the point of nauseating, handsome and powerfully built �" he had everything Camazotz wanted. However, for all his good deeds and natural ability to charm any lady who fell under his green-gaze, Camazotz had always sensed something in his brother: a desire to be more. Had it been Chaos which had shown Druidin his true self over the ages? Or had Druidin always been corrupted and merely used his heroics as a mask to his future intentions? Or �" Camazotz felt an uncomfortable twinge of what felt like guilt in his stomach �" had it really been his doing that had caused Druidin to turn into a power hungry beast?
                Camazotz wrenched himself back to the present; he had to do something, even if it was futile.
                “I cannot allow you to take Darkness, Druidin”, he croaked. All welcome he might have displayed before was gone. His throat was dry from the fear he now felt. The warrior’s laughter boomed throughout the cavernous throne room before looking back into his twin’s face with an expression of amusement.
                “And what exactly do you plan to do?” mocked Druidin. “Your words are nothing now. I have had enough of your lies. You can use them no longer to deceive me.
                “And”, he added, spreading his arms so that Latafortis pointed upwards at his side. “Since when could you wield any weapon apart from your tongue? Ha!”
                “I need no sword to fight!” yelled Camazotz. In a split second, Darkness was blazing red as though it had just been removed from a blacksmiths forge; his arm was raised in front of him and his palm facing Druidin.
                “Morskvuul!” he bellowed. The spell exploded from his hand.
                But Druidin, quick as a flash, raised the arm upon which sat Chaos as though he were holding an invisible shield. Camazotz’ spell broke and bent around Druidin. Camazotz was paralysed by shock �" Druidin had never been able to conjure a ward before. But Camazotz was too astonished to react as Druidin, grinning broadly, leaped forward, and grabbed the front of Camazotz’ gown in his gigantic left hand.
                “You lose, brother”, he hissed into Camazotz’ face. Druidin drove Latafortis straight into his twin’s chest, piercing his heart and ripping out of his back. Camazotz took one last look into the green eyes of his brother as he felt the last energies of life within him seep out. Darkness enveloped him; leaving him only with an image of the man he had once called a brother’s manic grin and the knowledge that…

…he had failed.
               
Druidin watched the last ebbs of life leave his brother before sliding Latafortis from his body. Camazotz crumpled to the floor and lay curled upon the steps beneath his throne. Druidin tilted his head and felt no remorse.
                It was necessary, he thought.
                He knelt down, leaning on his blade, and turned over his brother’s wrist. Darkness lay open upon it, as though it had finally released its grip on its old master. Druidin took it and put his right wrist between its open jaws. He closed the bracer. Suddenly there was an enormous sound of an explosion and fire coursed through Druidin’s veins. He was lifted from the black throne room and hurled through galaxies and past stars and through time as well; everything was whirling around him, filled with noise and colour and then he knew no more.

Author's Note

I am now close to my final draft with this chapter.

Reviews

[s y e]

Hey there!
This was a great start to what will be a great book! I really enjoyed it.
It is very intriguing and interesting. Hope you write and post more soon. :-)