Dansal Peak

By David Fairley

When all the world is covered in darkness, the fate of one will change the world forever' It has been many years since the fall of Dansal Peak to the Necromancer and his armies. Dispelled from the world during its fall, the Necromancer is slowly recovering and grows in strength, and prepares an assault to cover the world in shadow once and for all. Elarin was only a small child when he saw his mother murdered before his eyes during the pillaging of his homeland that night. Now, the Necromancer comes forward again, and events are set in motion that will lead Elarin on an unknown path, facing him with the very evil that killed his mother. Nothing is as it seems in this world, and the most unlikely of heroes must forge his destiny as he confronts the darkness that stretches out to consume the world, and the darkness within himself. . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456798291

David Fairley

David Fairley is 19 years old from Halifax, England. His passion for literature was apparent at an early age. His first book, Dansal Peak, came from an idea for a chapter when he was 14 years old. He is now living in Sunderland, studying Sports Coaching at the University.

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© 2011 by David Fairley. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 09/14/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-9828-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-9829-1 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

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

To all those who inspired me during the writing of this book, and to all those are inspired by it and escape in its pages.

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Chapter 1

Elarin woke with a start. Breathing heavily, he looked around him. Nothing. There was no sense of disturbance in the grimness of the cave. Wiping the droplet of sweat trickling nervily down his forehead, he arose from his bed; a collection of leaves and grass, piled into a small rivet in the rock to provide what comfort was possible.

So many lives

Almost in a whisper, Elarin muttered the words like some ancient curse as his voice softly echoed around the cave then disappeared.

The cave consisted of three levels. At the top, there was a crack in the ceiling which in the day gave little light to the cave, but at night it was possible to see the stars, and the moon illuminated the cave with a soft glow. To one side was a cavern, impassable for even a small child, but a spring came through it into the cave from somewhere deep below the mountains, and trickled down the steep drop to form a waterfall and pool on the second level. From there it flowed down onto the bottom level, bisecting the cave in half before traversing the narrow crag and concealed cave entrance to join the stream that flowed through the woods from Elarin’s front door, before joining the great river beyond.

Elarin climbed slowly down the precarious drop from the top level, then plunged into the depths of the pool filled by the freshwater spring, and allowed the water to fall on his face and wash away the nightmares of the past that ever consumed him; then inhaled the crispness of the air. After washing himself down, he wrapped himself in his tunic and put on his trousers and boots before buckling a tatty leather belt around his waist. He sat beside the pool as wisps of steam danced around him. Staring into the pool he dipped his hand and rippled the surface, and watched the disturbance fade like a distant memory.

* * *

Elarin sloshed and waded through the stream and bent down to avoid the branches that fell across and concealed the cave entrance, then jumped out of the knee deep water onto the bank before the water slid down into a stream; the start of the river that flowed to the sea at the southern edge of the world. It was a beautiful day; the birds had just started their morning song, and as they soared overhead they heeded the gentle breeze as it fluttered the leaves, before they disappeared into the sanctuary of the trees.

Strolling by the stream, Elarin looked up and felt the warmth of the sun beat down upon him, and the wind softly caress his face before passing into the quiet shade of the wood. Elarin slumped underneath a tree, deliberately facing away from the mountains of Dansal, as to not look upon the desolation of the kingdom of Dansal Peak.

Dansal was the northernmost region of the world, and once the proudest and greatest. Elarin lived here in secret and solitude, hidden under the shadow of the old civilisation of Dansal Peak. Dansal Peak was the frontier against evil and home of the Errail, the name given to the people who opposed the forces of the shadow. They were named after the great King Errail, the bringer of peace and unity who lived hundreds of years ago. Legend tells how he rallied his people against the overwhelming forces of darkness, and led them to peace before sacrificing himself by leading his willing warriors in an attack into an unwinnable battle in order to protect his people.

All that he had sacrificed himself for was now almost gone, scorched and burnt into the past by the ancient evil that endured even after defeat at the hands of the great Errail. Still weak, its oppression didn’t have a strong enough hold on the world to consume it, and still it was resisted by the few noble Errail who lay scattered around the land.

Slowly, the Necromancer was regaining its power, and it was only a matter of time before it assaulted the lands once more. When Elarin was a small child, he had seen Him in a weakened form; but even then he was a terrifying and destructive force.

Elarin was a fair boy. He was sixteen years of age, six feet tall with deep brown eyes and brown hair that was just short of his shoulders, pushed back behind his ears at the sides. He was well built and stern. Living in exile had weathered him and his smooth skin contained hints of hard winters, apart from a small scar on his right cheek reflected an encounter when he was a small child. Exile had also left an internal fire within him. He was hardened, with a strange look that seemed to conceal a deep fear; a pain that tormented him even now.

From the top of a tree, Elarin watched as an eagle glided gracefully overhead, circled twice, soared down and then flapped briefly to slow itself down before perching on Elarin’s arm. He smiled and ran his fingers over its feathers and stroked its neck.

Nerlith, he whispered softly, and it harked in reply. Smiling, he released it into the air as it twirled, flapped and flew upwards, carving through the sky as it flew towards the horizon. Ever since he was in exile, the fair bird had always guided him and watched over him.

In an instant, the ground began to tremor. The sky began to darken and the clouds crept in, slowly swallowing the sun. Distant thuds could be heard; the very tips of the leaves curled in fear and crisped like the coming of autumn, and the trees shimmered and wavered in terror.

The thud repeated, and echoed through the valley. Again. Louder. Louder still. Thunder boomed, and an unnatural icy rain began to drizzle and fall upon the forests and rivers. It had all happened so suddenly and seemed too strange to be natural, which scared Elarin as he helplessly watched as a threatening red tint began to fade into the sky, and it transfixed him as he stared.

As the weather spread from the north, dark, unnatural and mysterious clouds seeped in from behind Dansal peak. Gazing into the blackness, Elarin’s mind raced and wondered to what might have caused this, until he came to a horrific and terrifying conclusion.

Elarin realised now that the shadow was advancing once again to assault the land. He was no longer safe; nobody would be safe any longer. He stood petrified. A shrill hark echoed above, and Elarin gazed upwards upon an eagle flying down the path of the stream. Elarin looked, registered and ran, following the path of the bird.

The time had come. The storm was coming.

A strange pattering sound came rolling down the hills towards where he stood, a constant noise that grew louder and louder. It was the banging of a drum; its slow rhythmic beat seemed to quake the air and it thudded to the beat of Elarin’s heart. He could feel it getting quicker, feel it getting closer; and he could imagine all the foul things of the world that followed its summons.

The rain was now hammering down, and it stung Elarin as he fled emphatically. The clouds were choking the day, bringing the black of night to the world without the grace of the stars. His feet ached as they pounded on the uneven ground; behind him the thunder cracked, the tint grew brighter and the pounding of the drums echoed louder. To Elarin, it never seemed to end. Exhausted, he stopped, panting, before his legs crumpled beneath him and he fell clumsily to the floor. His heart raced and his mind throbbed. Helplessly, he looked up at the sky and watched as the last light of the morning vanished, replaced by the chill of this nameless curse that defied the will of the world.

Suddenly, the world seemed to stop. Nothing could be heard. Elarin could hear the throbbing of his ears and the eeriness in the air as it began to waver. It clung to him like a deathly chill. A single droplet of sweat beaded and slithered down his brow as he got to his feet and stood motionless. Another tremor seemed to vibrate the air and Elarin’s eyes widened, feeling scared and uneasy. Then it happened.

The faint glow that rose from Dansal Peak became a sky of fire. Elarin turned and watched as it grew brighter until a flash lit the sky, and a colossal rupture and explosion could be heard and felt throughout. Flocks of birds fled in terror above. Elarin’s body wanted to run, to get away! But it wouldn’t move. His senses had frozen, the fire in his eyes glimmered from the flare.

From behind him, he heard the screech again of the eagle. Coming round, he ran. The drums behind had started again, and were rapidly pounding and rattling the earth. Something was coming, something was following; and it was gaining. He raced away, so quickly he no longer took heed to the screaming of his heart. On and on he went until he physically could go no further.

Slumping to the ground, Elarin looked behind him and watched the flare approach him. From the blackness, he saw the malice of two piercing eyes seem to rip through him. As the air warmed, it began to sap all life from him, and he felt that he would succumb to its powers. As he stared, paralysed, watching those dark, red eyes; memories of his mother falling before his feet came into his mind, and his stomach knotted in fear.

A faint whisper could be heard from where the red eyes were, and a strange mixture of green and black air danced in a ball in the thicket. His legs wouldn’t move; all he did was stare at the creature that had stalked him since it had all began that very morning. Suddenly, the green and black intertwined and shot towards him in a great terrifying mass of colour before striking him square in the chest.

His body convulsed, twisted and turned, like a drowning man desperately trying to reach the surface. His hands went to his neck, then down to the floor in fists clenched as tight as possible. Falling backwards, he felt as if he had fallen through the ice of a freezing lake in winter and sunk to the bottom. Expelling a last desperate gasp, he was finally still. His body floated lifeless downstream; like the driftwood from a terrible rainstorm.

Chapter 2

Riding fiercely, Wirnerm sped through the woods upon her steed. The echo of the drums and the screech of the Necromancer rang in her ears. She was tiring, but she kept charging on. She had heedless determination, and quelled the fear inside that was beginning to take hold of her. She couldn’t stop now; the vision she had seen was unmistakable. The flares, the screams, the trees stammering in fear as lightning bolts hurled down and the thunder cracked its whip of vengeance upon the earth. Birds fleeing south with a single, lone cry of an eagle. It was too strong to be ignored. It had all come true, but what was its meaning?

Suddenly, the bird she had envisioned shot out of the trees, and it cried as if calling out to her. Wirnerm stared. Unlike the rest of the birds, it flew north up the river. Rearing her horse, she rode after it as fast as she could will her steed to go. Something was going on which had sent her here. Traversing and navigating the woods, she expertly avoided the debris caused by the storm; jumping over felled trees and weaving around ground that had been torn asunder. Riding on, she came to the river bank and saw a single corpse floating on the water.

* * *

Elarin opened his eyes. He found himself staring into an abyss of total darkness. Feeling his muscles, he found himself floating in the river he had fallen into. Although this was different; instead of a warm gentle feel it was icy cold, and it seemed to wash over him and contain him. He attempted to move his muscles, but they were frozen and wouldn’t move when he tried. The river was a total black, and it seemed to ensnare him as it carried him wherever it willed.

Looking upwards, his eyes gazed upon a near total darkness of sky. There were no stars, no moon; not even a whit of cloud. There were no sounds of wind, rain or anything living like a bird or a rustling leaf. Everything lay still, as if it had lost the will to continue existing.

Elarin attempted to observe what little he could make out of his surroundings, and found himself in the forest; though it wasn’t the way he had remembered it when he fell. The ground was scorched and charred, and many of the trees appeared to be ash. There were considerably fewer trees now, and the branches were twisted, gnarled and burnt; others were still burning with a brilliant orange flame.

Above him there were strange figures. Silhouettes of creatures not unlike birds, although they appeared much different. They had long wings with a terrible span, though they were not covered by beautiful feathers, but were thick leather skinned and jagged round the edges. Instead of beaks, they had teeth as sharp as daggers and their claws were as long as knives. Elarin tried to scream in terror, but no sound came out. No syllable left his jaw, and he lay there helpless and open-mouthed.

It didn’t take him long to realise where he was; the land of the living dead. It was a place reserved for those who had not yet passed through to the next world, and it appeared differently to how they had died. It could imitate their death or their worst nightmare, or appear as their dreams and greatest desires. Elarin struggled against the current, but it was no use. Once a person was lain down in the river, they couldn’t escape its ensnarement.

He could feel himself moving closer and closer to the final gate upon which he would pass over; but it never came. Instead, he felt his body burn with a strange light and energy, as if life was rushing through his veins. An invisible hand seemed to touch his shoulder, and he felt himself drifting away as he lost all consciousness and recollection of what was happening.

Opening his eyes, Elarin found himself gazing at a figure. But it wasn’t a daemon. It was a woman. She was clad in a long white robe, and her face was concealed except for a few golden locks of hair that escaped its secrecy. She stared at him, and seemed to fill him with the warmth of life. He could feel himself drifting away, as if the pull of the black river still had a hold on him. She seemed to be concentrating heavily on him, transferring life into him.

It made his blood surge. He felt it move throughout him and replenish him. Slowly, the chill of death was leaving his body even as he felt it striving at him; to reclaim him, to pull him backwards into those icy bonds. He felt it call to him; he felt the gate open for him to pass.

All he had to do was shut his eyes and drift away. Escape the torment which consumed his mind and soul. The daemons were beckoning him, and another voice seemed to call him home; but the power of the woman refused to let him heed their calls. Finally, the last of the summons faded, and he felt the chill of death drift away fully from his body.

Staring up, Elarin felt the breeze on his face once more. The woman spoke to him softly, but he couldn’t hear what she said. All he could hear was the smooth comforting of her voice. He was hoisted onto her horse, and he felt his eyes close as he drifted into an exhausted sleep.

Wirnerm took the reins of her steed, kicked her heels into its side, and it raced off to the south. Feeling the force of what was behind, coming to claim the boy’s life once and for all, she galloped on. Swerving round the trees and ducking under low branches she rode on, desperate to escape to the sanctuary of the havens of Strom.

Fording the river, the horse sloshed through the water which sprayed a grateful cool upon her, and she wiped a droplet of sweat from her brow. Her heart raced and the hooves pulsed beneath her. She was riding with all her might, but a strange fear and doubt planted in her mind, telling her that it may not be enough.

Clinging to the boy, she looked back. Something was gaining, but something was ahead too. Shouting words of encouragement to her horse, it whinnied and sped faster, eager to carry its mistress to safety. Dashing along the river it passed into a pathway of trees that lined to her right and moved away from the waters which trapped her to the left.

Suddenly, she realised what was ahead. It was following in the trees. Unable to escape, she strove on, and the horse picked up a quicker speed. Wirnerm’s heart raced. The horse’s muscles bulged and its mouth foamed under the strain and desperate effort. Her fear began to take a hold of her, but she kept her resolve, and she refused to give in.

Relieved, Wirnerm saw the clearing was in sight where she could fork off the road and be free. She smiled and screamed in triumph and went faster and faster, until a strange shape walked in front of her. Her horse reared in shock and it took all her skill to keep it under control and stay mounted. What had been ahead had successfully blocked her path, and Wirnerm stared at all its might.

A dark figure, tall, broad and clad in black robes sat atop a stallion that was as twisted as its master. Its hooves burnt the ground that they trod on, its eyes looked straight at Wirnerm with menace and it snorted angrily. The figure raised its head towards Wirnerm, laughed deeply and stared at her with unnatural, terrifying eyes.

As it laughed, it drew an orb of flame. It whispered a nameless curse to it, and it evaporated into its hand before whipping out and encircling itself around Wirnerm, blocking her pathway of escape.

Wirnerm’s horse reared violently, and the creature threw a bolt of fire, which passed by a whiskers edge away from her. Having no choice, she took control of her horse and jumped into the woods. Feeling the running of feet, the stomping of hooves and turning of wheels behind her, she galloped off. Behind her, she could see the shapes of marshants, men from the north and all manner of creatures she couldn’t name that had been following.

The marshants were a breed of terrible, fearsome warriors. They lived to the west, towards Lake Marshant. They were able to survive above and beneath water. They were about six feet tall, incredibly broad and strong. They were turquoise skinned and had spines that formed an armour down their back. They were brutal, and they marked this by slashing their warriors and tears of ripped skin could be seen at the front of their torsos. The marshants had always been a servant to the Necromancer and they were merciless, slaughtering any who opposed them.

From above, the sky seemed to rain a terrible storm of fire, and it landed all around Wirnerm. Choosing her path carefully, she ducked and weaved in an attempt to avoid the deathly hail that spewed forth as she fled.

It was hopeless. She could survive without the boy easily but she couldn’t protect the two of them. However, as luck would have it, he seemed to be coming round. Eventually, he sat up on the saddle wearily and looked around him, from the woman’s face to the pursuers behind and above at the shards hurtling down. Wirnerm saw this, and pulled the horse aside down into the canyon that was to the east and quickly darted into an alcove to shelter from the attackers. They would be safe, if only for a few brief moments.

Elarin fell off the horse. He stood up, and observed the woman who had rescued him from the clutches of death itself. She stood next to her horse and soothed it, whispering words in a strange language unknown to Elarin.

Who are you?

In due course, you will know replied Wirnerm. All I know is that right now you should be dead, and so should I. I don’t know why I was brought here. But I’m sure there was a better reason than to save the life of someone insignificant

Thanks, I guess Elarin said, confused by her words. But why did you come?

If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. I don’t yet know, either. But I’m sure I will in due course. Whatever you say, this meeting was not by chance

That’s still explaining nothing! Elarin said sternly. Wirnerm looked at him blankly. Elarin calmed himself down and began again.

Thanks, I guess I am being a bit harsh right now. Thank you for saving me. My name is Elarin

Looking at him strangely, as if somehow affected by this name, she told her name to him.

Thank you, Wirnerm Elarin said, and bowed in gratitude.

Suddenly the conversation was interrupted, as a screech from outside brought them both back to what was happening. Wirnerm once again steadied her horse. After swiftly mounting it she tossed him a knife, and he caught it by the hilt. Looking down at it, it shone and glimmered as it caught the edge of the light that crept into the alcove. Looking back at her, he waited for