Dark Vengeance

By Buster La France

In the aftermath of the Gods-War, Myngor the Dark One, the evil god of hatred and murder, is banished to a small island and stripped of his powers. After 2500 years, his powers are restored, and he immediately sends out his minions to wreak havoc on the temples of his enemies, the Pantheon of the Gods on High. Joined by the followers of the fire god, Torkahl, the carnage begins. Four survivors of this bloody rampage set out to stop the bloodshed before it goes too far. Though joined by others in their great quest, these four hold the key to defeating the evil that threatens spread throughout the world, engulfing all in its fiery shadow. Take a seat and ride along with heroes as they battle to save the magical world of Darithye!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Buster La France
• Release date: May 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458039385

Buster La France

Born and raised in and around Austin, Texas, Buster was inspired at a young age by the writing of fellow Texan Robert E. Howard, of Conan fame. An aspiring writer since his teen years, true inspiration was born through Dungeons & Dragons, when he and a friend began creating the world of Darithye for their role-playing. Deciding that Darithye deserved to be shared with the world, Buster began writing his first novel, DARK VENGEANCE, in 2000, finally getting it published in 2011. DARK VENGEANCE is the first part of a planned trilogy, and Buster is currently working on the sequel, as well as the current slate of short stories featuring the diminutive gnomish warrior, Olikus Trevaluskas. Buster currently resides in Round Rock, Texas, where he has lived since 1996. In his spare time, he enjoys billiards and studying Tae Kwon Do, in which he is a Red Belt.

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Dark Vengeance

By Buster La France

Copyright 2011 Buster La France

Smashwords Edition

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011902525

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter21

Chapter 22

Chapter23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue

PROLOGUE

At long last, it was over. For five hundred years, it raged across the landscape like a flood, destroying everything in its path. Trees, plants, animals, and people all perished in the inferno that engulfed them. The victors had tried mightily to win with few casualties, but it was not to be. Very few of anything survived, and even those who did survive, did not do so unscathed. They were scattered across the land, unable to make sense of what was happening, or why it happened. In that regard, the losers were, in fact, the victors. Though they did not defeat those who opposed them, their damage scarred the land and the lives of their conquerors’ devoted minions. That which had been marred and destroyed could only be salvaged by the Creators.

Myngor, the evil god of murder and hatred, stood before the Pantheon of the Gods on High. With him stood his ally, Torkahl, the fire god. They were the vanquished, along with Ymgon the Reaper, the god of death and disease, in the long Gods-War. The gods that had defeated them now stood as their judges.

It seemed strange to Myngor and Torkahl that Ymgon, their coconspirator, stood alongside the Pantheon. His sentence had already been dealt by Kandok, the god of justice, and his punishment had been extremely light. He remained a member of the Pantheon, a necessary member as the god of death, Kandok had stated. The two who now stood to receive judgment figured Ymgon had made a deal in exchange for the light sentence. After all, his only real punishment was that he was hereafter forbidden from conspiring plots with his two former allies. Myngor and Torkahl would have liked to think that Ymgon’s punishment would set a precedent for their own judgment, but they knew all too well the anger that the other gods felt for them. Now they stood together, bracing themselves for the worst.

As for the gods that glared down at the two defeated deities, the ire welling up inside them was almost too much for even a god to bear. They were weary, and many still bled from the wounds of their struggle. Though weakened, they still had strength enough to glare with dagger eyes that burned like hot coals. If most had had their way, Myngor, Torkahl, and even Ymgon, would have been reduced to ash by now. Fortunately for the three instigators, it was not their place. That decision belonged solely to Kandok.

Kynirith, the god of life and light, seemed most agitated. He had been dragged into this war by his own twin brother, Myngor’s father, the evil god Kanaryth. In a mighty battle that started it all, Kynirith slew his evil brother. The war that ensued as Myngor sought revenge wiped out much of the life that existed in the world. Kynirith drew his power from the life in the world, and he stood weakened, even now, his energy spent in the hard-fought victory. It would take several centuries to regain his full strength, but he smiled nonetheless, as Myngor’s misery would last much longer.

Salynin, the god of magic and knowledge, also expressed his anger through a glaring left eye. Myngor had gouged out his right eye in the final battle of the war, and he had almost been destroyed. Kynirith saved Salynin in that fight, delivering the blow that ultimately defeated the murder god. The wizard god did manage a slight smirk as he recalled Myngor’s gloating after inflicting the serious wound. As Salynin lay vulnerable on the ground at Myngor’s feet, the dark god prematurely celebrated his victory, giving a badly wounded Kynirith time to reach his enemy to rescue his fallen comrade. Though grateful to Kynirith for saving his life, his hatred of Myngor had boiled to the point of explosion. He wanted badly to strike Myngor dead where he stood. It was too bad, he thought, that the Pantheon did not allow the death penalty against another god.

Myenna looked down upon the two with a combination of anger and sadness. She was the goddess of nature and fertility, and mother to the four elemental deities: Umthar, the earth god; Eryn, goddess of air; Chyrennah, the water goddess; and Torkahl. It was now time for her youngest and most wild child, Torkahl the fire god, to receive judgment. He had taken Myngor’s side in the war, an act Myenna believed at first to be of rebellion against his mother. It was only later that she discovered how serious he was in his part. He had been the one to release the molten lava from the center of the world. The volcanoes did his bidding, and the lava covered the land, destroying everything it came into contact with. Torkahl had, in fact, done more to destroy the world than Myngor. That, Myenna knew, was not Myngor’s mission. She knew the Dark One’s intention was to destroy the Pantheon that had denied him a seat, to kill all the gods, including Torkahl and Ymgon, and rule over Darithye himself. He wanted power, nothing more, and had used her son to achieve his ends. Although she was angry with Torkahl for what he had done, she thought him to be misguided, brainwashed by the evil and cruel god of murder.

Kandok sat upon the center chair of the Pantheon bench, a chair reserved for whichever deity had a case to present. In this case, the chair belonged to Kandok, for he was the god of justice, and the one responsible for passing judgment upon the three gods that had rebelled against the Pantheon. He had passed a light sentence to Ymgon because he considered death to be a natural part of life, and therefore it was imperative that the Reaper, even after all that had happened, remain an important member of the Pantheon. He had been admonished for his deeds, nothing more, mainly because there were currently none who could take his place. Should Ymgon commit any future transgressions, Kandok promised, the punishment would be far more severe.

Torkahl, Kandok mused, was the god of fire, and therefore, very important in the everyday lives of the mortals. However, his part in this war was far more destructive than anything Ymgon did, and he deserved a harsher punishment. It was now time to impose that punishment.

Torkahl, god of fire, Kandok said after long thought, step forward.

Torkahl did as he was told, and stood before the Pantheon, avoiding eye contact with his mother and siblings. Although he appeared remorseful and ashamed, he was neither. In fact, the only thing he was truly sorry for was the fact that he had lost, though he would not make his true feelings known. He did not fear Kandok physically, but his judgments were final, and Torkahl would act as pathetic as possible for the chance at a lighter sentence.

Kandok, god of justice, Torkahl said boldly, I stand, awaiting your judgment.

The Judge glared down at the condemned deity. I will not hold back any words, Torkahl. Of the three, I am most surprised and disappointed with the actions you took in this destructive conflict. What Ymgon and Myngor did was despicable enough, but you, striking out against your mother and your siblings, were even more disgraceful. We have heard testimony from all three of you, and your two comrades have explained their actions in detail. We still have not seen one reason why you chose to side with them. That has been the one question you have dodged most skillfully. I would love nothing more than to banish you away from the world of men, never to threaten them again. But I cannot. As deplorable as your actions have been, you do provide a service to the mortals that look to us for guidance. Without you, they would not have warmth in the winter, light in the dark of night, or heat with which to cook their food.

Torkahl breathed a sigh of relief. This could only mean that he would receive a similar punishment to Ymgon’s, and maintain his seat on the Pantheon. He stood up straight, a future plot already forming in his mind. Gods were eternal, he knew, and there would be another time. He now gleefully awaited his final judgment.

Kandok, seeing Torkahl’s elated gesture, continued. I have determined that you will be allowed to keep the powers you now possess. You will, however, impose your might at our discretion. You may cause mighty fires to rise up across the land, but mortals, with nothing more than access to water, will find themselves able to control them. You may call upon your precious volcanoes to ravage the sky, but mortals, priests of the gods that you have risen against, may join together in magic to weaken their clout. Your powers, from henceforth, will, for the most part, only serve to aid those who toil below.

Torkahl fumed. To be thwarted by mere mortals would be worse than this loss could ever be. His siblings, who had always been more powerful than he, were certain to make sure his future attempts at destruction would fail. He couldn’t imagine a punishment worse than this. To Torkahl’s dismay, Kandok continued.

You are hereby barred from a seat on the Pantheon. While you are allowed to keep your powers, you will be forced to express them from the center of the world. There will your throne be, forever, amid the molten lava that you love so much. Your sentence begins immediately.

Kandok had, indeed, made the punishment worse than before, and, finally, Torkahl lost his temper. He began to shout at the Pantheon, smoke and flames spewing forth from his ears and nostrils. He threatened the gods that had convicted him by name, and vowed that this matter was by no means over. There would be another time, he shouted, just before he disappeared with a violent explosion. Torkahl now resided at the center of the world, and, although immune to the heat and destructive nature of the core, was none too happy with recent events. It may take many thousands of years, he thought, but his day would come, and the gods would be his.

Myngor watched in horror as Torkahl vanished, banished forever from the Pantheon’s sight. A cold sweat came over him, for he was sure Kandok’s worst punishment would be reserved for him. Why else would he wait to sentence Myngor last, after Ymgon and Torkahl? He was the one they had joined, the one who had thrown down the gauntlet, and challenged the other gods. Surely Kandok would be more forgiving to them, and punish Myngor, the true instigator, most harshly. At first, he felt the most ungodlike emotion; fear. After a few moments, that fear quickly turned to anger, and he stood proudly, awaiting Kandok to summon him forward.

Kandok gazed down upon the god of murder in disgust. In his opinion, Myngor was the most useless of all the gods, and he despised Kanaryth for bringing this abomination into the world. He considered fire and death to be necessary to the natural order of things, but there was no place in the world for bloodlust. He had, indeed, saved the harshest penalty for the Dark One.

Myngor, god of hatred and murder, step forward. Kandok flashed an almost evil smile as Myngor did as commanded.

Myngor stepped forward, no longer afraid of whatever punishment Kandok had in store for him. Let’s get this over with, Kandok, he said in mock boredom.

The god of justice figured as much respect from the murder god. He chose not to dwell on the Dark One’s insubordination, opting instead to address the matter at hand. Myngor was cocky, Kandok admitted to himself. It was now time to wipe the smirk off his face.

Myngor, he began, of all the gods of Darithye, I consider you most despicable and evil. You, and your father before you, provide evidence of how closely related we really are to the mortals below us. Kanaryth sought more power than was granted him, and he died for it. There are those of us on the Pantheon who would love nothing more than to send you to Ymgon’s realm, to be with your father. Fortunately for you, I cannot impose the death penalty against another god. The law forbids it.

Myngor’s smirk grew larger as he took in what Kandok had said. They could not kill him. That could only mean that, though his punishment was sure to be worse than those wrought on Ymgon and Torkahl, it wouldn’t be as bad as he first thought. Kandok was sure to banish him to a place more forbidding than Darithye’s core, where he had sent Torkahl, but he would not be powerless. He would figure out a way to impose his will on the world. His priests would still be able to wreak havoc among the world of men, feeding the Dark One’s hunger for blood. Myngor was ready for anything Kandok was willing to dole out. He stood tall, unafraid of whatever judgment awaited him.

There is a small island, located among jagged rocks, in the middle of the Trontylian Sea. There will you reside for all eternity. Build a temple if you can, but best of luck filling it with followers. You will not, for twenty-five centuries from this day, have the ability to grant your priests the powers for which they pray. Your clerics will not be able to cast spells, nor will they be granted any special abilities by you. Over the next two and a half millennia, you will watch helplessly as those once faithful to you leave your presence, seeking other gods who can provide for them a reason to believe their doctrine. You stand before us now as mortals do, the only difference being your immortality. Your sentence begins immediately.

Myngor became incensed as his sentence soaked in. Twenty-five hundred years! With all his power gone, mortals would find it impossible to believe him to even be a god. They would leave in search of other deities, and when they were all gone, it wouldn’t matter that his powers would eventually be restored. He would have no priests praying for those powers. Even then, with his power restored, he would remain powerless. Kandok’s judgment had, in essence, been a death sentence.

Unlike Torkahl, Myngor did not lose his temper. It was no use, he thought. Kandok’s judgment was final, and only Kandok had the power to reverse his decision. Clearly, Myngor mused, that was never going to happen. Before disappearing in a cloud of crimson smoke, he made eye contact with each of the Pantheon gods. It would be a difficult task, but, he vowed, he would somehow maintain a priesthood, and those most faithful to him would reap the benefits when his sentence ended. Those priests, with newfound powers as their allies, would continue the havoc Myngor had started all these years earlier. Myngor smiled as he thought of that glorious day in the distant future. Gods never forgot, but they would let down their guard, he thought, and when they did, he would make them pay most egregiously. Vengeance would be his.

The gods of the Pantheon sat quietly as the smoke cleared, pondering a future time, when Myngor and Torkahl would exact their revenge. Torkahl had sworn vengeance, but Myngor was the one most likely to lash out against his enemies. Torkahl was more volatile than evil, as his destructive ways did not distinguish between good and evil. Myngor, on the other hand, was the very definition of evil, and would stop at nothing to spread his will throughout the world.

Mortals, of course, would be the deciding factor in the extent of Myngor’s future power. Twenty-five hundred years was a long time, and mortals, with their short lives, were not known for their patience. They were interested only in results, and, after generations of empty promises from Myngor without anything to show for it, they would leave. They would cling to other gods, and leave the Dark One alone on his island, forever suffering in self-pity. Myngor would be dead to the world of men, and therefore, powerless to carry out any future plots.

The Gods-War had been won, and Myngor forever neutralized. Torkahl wouldn’t dare defy the Pantheon without Myngor, and Ymgon, after witnessing their fate, surely feared the retribution that would come for a second offense. The gods of the Pantheon eyed each other with great satisfaction. Darithye had been saved, and never again would evil, except that which men do, darken the land and seas with its cold shadow.

CHAPTER 1

The silence was maddening. For hours, they just stood there, waiting for him to say something, anything, to ease the tension. Yet there he sat, as if trying to think of something to say, but mulling over a way to say it. If one could look deep into his eyes, he may have looked as if he wanted to whisper and scream at the same time; an impossibility, even for a god. Instead, he just sat there, with nary a sound escaping from his black lips. His followers, afraid to do anything to anger the source of their religion, stood silent, with beads of a cold sweat upon their foreheads.

He was Myngor, the banished god of hatred and murder. He was an awesome figure, even sitting upon his massive throne of black onyx. When standing, he was as tall as three good-sized men. His skin was the color of the ash left when a fire has burned out. Black as night were the razor-sharp claws that jutted forth from his fingers and toes, and the ram-like horns protruding from his terrifying head. The horrible sight of this monstrosity was made even more fierce by his piercing eyes, which were as red as hot coals. Gazing into those eyes for too long had long been rumored to cause mortals to go blind, or mad, for the extremely unfortunate.

The Dark One looked over his congregation with pride. It was the one thing allowed him in his punishment by the Pantheon, however unintentional. This was the source of his anger. Here before him stood a thousand priests of his order, patiently waiting to do his bidding. In the past, he had never been able to give them anything but commands, evil deeds to be done just to let the other gods, as well as mortals, know that Myngor still existed as a power in the world. Today, though, was different. Today he would be able to give his faithful something much more special.

Myng Kavykus, Myngor finally said in a low, raspy voice, come forward.

Myng Kavykus, the high priest of the Myngorian church, ascended the steps leading up to the throne. He was soon standing nervously before the awesome figure of the dark god. He feared Myngor, but respected him as well. He understood completely the rage that was consuming his master’s inner being. Knowing better than any mortal the anguish of Myngor’s suffering, he wanted more than any mortal to do something to ease it.

What do you wish of me, my lord? Kavykus asked, dropping to one knee.

Myngor looked down, a slight smirk upon his lips. It has been two thousand five hundred years today since I was banished to this forsaken rock. Today, though I remain bound to this accursed island, I am free to grant powers to members of my church.

Kavykus’ eyes lit up. At first he was not sure if he had heard right. He never dared to hope that this day would come during his lifetime. Many times, he lay awake at night, wondering if he had been wasting his life in service to Myngor, whose lack of power had caused many to leave throughout the centuries. How thankful he was now, his faith, finally, bearing fruit.

This is wonderful news, my lord! he finally exclaimed.

It is, Myngor retorted. No longer are we bound to carry out our deeds as mere warriors do, with conventional weapons, and countless losses. From this day forth, my priests will be able to go out into the world armed with spells as well as swords. Finally will I be allowed to communicate with my followers abroad without relying on messengers, who may or may not be trustworthy.

This is a glorious occasion, my lord, said Kavykus, rising to his feet. We must do something historic to mark the day for all time when the Myngorians rose to power!

Myngor let out a slight chuckle, the closest he had come to laughing for two and a half millennia. I am way ahead of you, my faithful vassal. My revenge against the Gods on High has been in planning since before the time of your ancestors. At last, the time has come.

Kavykus’ face paled slightly. Gods, my lord?

Myngor stared at his high priest, as if surprised by the question. Of course, gods! he boomed angrily. Do you forget that it was they who imprisoned me on this tiny island? They declared war on me! Only Ymgon and Torkahl stood with me against the self-righteous dregs of the clouds. They took everything away from me, and then mocked me by declaring me ruler of this worthless piece of earth! Myngor paused, taking a deep breath. Now, he said, his voice now a low growl, vengeance will be mine!

Kavykus regained his composure and stood up straight. All will be as you wish, my lord, he said, his voice firm. What is the first order of business?

Cyrennius and Trontyl, Myngor spat. In Cyrennius, you will find Salynin’s Temple of Knowledge. In Trontyl sits Kynirith’s Temple of the Holy Light. I want them destroyed!

Kavykus’ face held a look of concern. My lord, this will not be an easy task. Just getting into Cyrennius will prove more than difficult. Myngorians have never been allowed to enter that city. Even if disguised, the city watch mysteriously find them out, and promptly executes them.

Upon hearing this, Myngor lowered his head and furrowed his brow. This would definitely be a setback. Apparently, the gods had not forgotten Myngor after all. He had been counting on his followers simply marching into Cyrennius, entering Salynin’s temple, and killing everyone in it. Now, matters were more difficult. That being said, he was not going to allow this situation to thwart his plans. They had been put on hold for far too long.

Myngor raised his head to face his high priest. What of Trontyl?

Trontyl poses no such problem, my lord, Kavykus said bluntly. Myngorians freely walk the streets there. The Kynirithians have never seen us as a threat, so we have managed to build an underground temple within the city.

Myngor was intrigued. How many priests have I in Trontyl?

I am not completely sure, my lord, but I believe the number to be somewhere around two hundred Myngorian faithful.

The evil god flashed a broad grin, much to the surprise of the clerics who stood silently in the chapel. Never in their short lives had they even imagined their god with a smile on his face, much less actually seen it. Myngor, on the other hand, could not possibly have imagined having such a large garrison in the city which held the main temple of his greatest nemesis. While he saw a setback in Cyrennius, he actually saw an advantage in Trontyl. The Kynirithian temple was most likely guarded against a Myngorian attack, but they were not likely to expect the dark priests to attack with spells as well as weapons. Two hundred faithful Myngorians would be more than enough to lay waste to Kynirith’s pride and joy. As for Salynin’s temple in Cyrennius, Myngor came to a seemingly easy solution.

You will attack Cyrennius itself, then! he declared boldly. As for my Trontylian priests, I command that they lay siege to the temple of Kynirith. Myngor smirked, satisfied with his decision.

Kavykus’ concern did not fade. My lord, Cyrennius is a powerful city. We would need quite an army to accomplish our goal.

Myngor was clearly becoming irritated by the protests of his high priest. The dark god’s patience was reserved only for Myng Kavykus, who had achieved his status in the church by proving his undying devotion. Myngor knew that, despite any doubts crossing his mind, Kavykus would carry out anything requested of him, even if it meant his own death. That fact alone was enough to stop Myngor from striking dead his most loyal minion.

You have an army one thousand strong at your disposal, Myngor said with supreme confidence. You also will have on hand a great number of spells with which to accomplish your goal. They will not expect spells from the Myngorians. Surprise will be your ally, even if they see you coming.

Kavykus felt a weight lift off his shoulders as his concern faded. As you wish, my lord. He then dropped to one knee, as he had done before.

Rise then, and leave me, Myngor ordered. You will leave for the northern mainland in three days.

Yes, my lord, Kavykus said, rising to his feet. He then turned and left the throne room, the other priests following close behind.

As soon as the doors to the chapel were closed, Myngor rose from his mighty throne and stretched. The excitement he felt was almost too much to absorb. At last, his moment of truth had arrived! At last, there would be blood!

It had been a long time coming, this day. He hated the gods who had killed his father, the murderous and evil Kanaryth. However, it was not his father for whom he wanted revenge. For that, he couldn’t care less. Kanaryth’s demise had simply allowed Myngor’s rise to power. He could not fault his enemies for that. The vengeance he sought was for his own revenge, for what the bastards had done to him.

These were the memories of humiliation that constantly preyed on Myngor’s psyche. The bitter defeat at the end of the Gods-War, the miserable sentence handed down by Kandok, and the eternal exile to the small island now known as Myngoria, were always at the forefront of his mind.

Myngor kept a following, though, and it was no small feat. It was perhaps his greatest victory against the other gods, who had hoped his sentence would be the end of his influence in the world. Truth be told, Kandok’s ploy did work at first. With his powers gone, his congregation dwindled with each passing generation, until finally, the dark god stood alone on his island.

It was by chance that a shipwrecked sailor happened upon these