A World Beyond the Dark

  A WORLD BEYOND THE DARK

  Andrei Navala

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

  Copyright © 2019 by Andrei Navala

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations.

  Book illustration by Bruno Barros

  I would like to thank all my friends and family for their undivided support and wish all my readers a great time on the journey that this book presents.

  For more content consider supporting the author:

  patreon.com/andrei_navala

  Contents

  Chapter 1 - Following destiny

  Chapter 2 - War rages on

  Chapter 3 - Epitaph to damnation

  Chapter 4 - Respite from life

  Chapter 5 - Chance encounter

  Chapter 6 - What love is

  Chapter 7 - Blind justice

  Chapter 8 - Unsightly arrival

  Chapter 9 - Complicated developments

  Chapter 10 - Sinister allies

  Chapter 11 - Revival of soul

  Chapter 1 - Following destiny

  T he troops were told by their superiors that the war would soon come to a conclusion. It was dark at night when they were celebrating their close victory, laughing everything off… the pain, the injuries and the losses. Every single one of them was excited by the thought of seeing their loved ones again, and Anvalth was no exception. The only difference between him and the rest was that he preferred to spend his time alone. The young man was standing right outside the camp, admiring the moon from atop the hill. He was sitting on the ground, covered in his cloak to warm him up on the windy night. It was clear on his visage that he was tired, but he refused to close an eye. Just the thought of the past battles gave him nightmares, and images as vivid as they could be, flashed before his eyes forcing him to feel all those emotions again.

  He was in the midst of battle, fighting alongside his comrades against overwhelming forces. What they were fighting was beyond description, corpses risen from the dead and all sorts of demons brought to existence by one called the Demon Queen. That name alone was enough to instill fear in the heart of anyone who heard it. And even as frightened as he was, he kept on fighting for his life, and for his beloved back at home. If he knew she was safe through his actions that made the whole difference. An arrow flew by his ear and blood splattered across the right side of his face. Everywhere he turned, the ringing sound of metal echoed and with it sparks flashed brightly. He was running forward with his sword gripped tightly but one of his comrades fell right before him. Over the body was standing a towering fiend, with red glinting eyes staring at him. He raised the blade above his head and swung it down with might, yelling from the bottom of his lungs. The creature wavered on its feet before collapsing over his companion and he continued forward, trying to keep himself together. As he hurried to advance with his company, he tripped and fell on one knee, leaning against his sword. He wiped away the sweat and blood which were blinding him and looked ahead. Their leader was rallying everyone to gather under his glorious banner, he was like a beacon of hope throughout those fields of misery and despair. And not far behind their leader was Anvalth’s best friend, Tarna.

  Tarna was unlike anyone he’s ever met, cold and calculated on the exterior, but caring and devoted to his friends if need be. He was the only one with which he had felt such a strong bond ever since joining the army in the war against the demons. But perhaps what intrigued Anvalth most about this man was that he was a half-elf, a race usually shun by both humans and elves alike. He had learned from him that the battlefield was the only place where he was respected and so he swore to live his life by the sword. He was a brilliant man on the battlefield, able to take quick witted decisions and come up with great strategies, as for his swordsmanship, there was no doubt he was well above everyone in their company. With his rapier, he was able to swiftly slash his enemies before they even had a chance to perceive the attack. All that Anvalth could do was follow in his tracks and stare in awe at his feats.

  The man still leaning on his sword stood up and was about to leave, before he felt a cold grasp around his ankle. His terrified gaze looked at another one of his comrades, who was now disfigured and missing the other arm.

  “H-Help… me…” cried out the man on the ground, with blood flowing in waves from a deep wound in his head. It was a miracle how he was still alive, struggling. Anvalth looked around worriedly, in the hope of seeing either a priest or a druid that could heal him but the only druid he saw was being surrounded by demons as spears and claws pierced his abdomen. He shook his head in dismay and kneeled down next to the gravely injured man.

  “Don’t worry, Falas.” He let go of his sword and grabbed his hand, holding it firmly.

  “I-I… don’t w-want to… die…” He said, through grunts of pain and choking screams as he began to drown in his own blood. Anvalth raised the man’s head higher and took off his metal glove, wiping away Falas’ mouth with the back of his hand.

  “It will all end soon, just bear it with me. The pain will subside. Have faith in me and your brothers and sisters.” His voice was shaking as he tried to hold back his tears. His breathing was heavy and he was nervous, for he did not want to go through this experience again. He feared to not be the one standing in someone else’s lap, in his dying moments.

  “D-Don’t leave… me. It’s getting… dark-” As he finished his sentence, the light in his eyes faded and his head fell limp to the side. Two streams of tears ran down Anvalth’s cheeks as he carefully placed his lifeless body on the ground and he wiped his eyes with his bloodied hand. He swiftly put his glove back on, but before he had the time to lean and grab the sword’s hilt, he heard heavy steps behind him and a large shadow was cast over him. When he turned around, a large fiend pushed him to the ground and jumped over him, gnawing at his chestplate and reaching all the way to the mail shirt he had underneath. He tried to move his hands, struggling to push the fiend away but his arms were pressed against the ground by the creature’s claws. The creature’s partially dislocated jaw was getting closer and closer to his neck and he continued to struggle, but in vain. He thought his time had come, but then he heard another set of steps and the clinging of metal. He heard a blade slash through the air and the fiend’s head was cut clean off, falling to the side. He pushed the rest of the body aside and above him was the visage of Tarna, extending his hand. He gripped the hand and stood up, still shaking from that experience.

  “Let’s continue together! Once we clear a path through their horde, victory will be ours.” He said, with his calm, powerful voice. Even despite of the massacre that surrounded them, the half-elf had the strength to smile, just to encourage his friend.

  Anvalth leaned down and picked his short sword, but suddenly the ground trembled and a gust of wind almost pushed him back down. He stood up swiftly with the sword at the ready and his eyes widened. The sight which he beheld was truly one of horrible nightmares. A large demon leapt right next to them and pierced Tarna’s chest right through, raising his body into the air slowly. The rapier fell from his lifeless hand onto the ground, but Anvalth was still watching, frozen by fear. The massive horned demon dragged the body up to his mouth and took a large bite, chopping the head off, along with part of the shoulders. Feelings of anger and disgust took hold of Anvalth as he picked up the rapier of his friend in his left hand and stabbed the knees of the demon in one swing. The fiend roared in pain and threw the
body towards him, but he ducked out of the way and passed right beneath its feet, slashing the sides and forcing the demon to fall to the ground. He implanted his short sword right into the back of the monster and thrust it all the way down to the guard, and slashed left and right with the rapier in a blind rage, empowered by the surge of adrenaline.

  The beast roared again and stood up in one swift movement, pushing Anvalth onto the ground. The fiend’s eyes glared at him, and a cold chill ran down his spine as it swept the ground beneath with its feet and impaled him on one of the horns, throwing him away. His vision was getting darker, and yet he clenched the hilt even tighter until his palm went numb and he tried to stand up. He coughed blood and his legs were shaking, but there was no time to waste for the beast was coming for him again. As he was leaning on the sword with its tip pointed in the ground, with a large movement, he raised the sword in an arching motion and managed to get a clean cut from head to toe on the beast before being thrashed again by it. The last sight was of the fiend collapsing to the ground and a knight in shining, golden armor kneeling next to him as warm light emanated from his palms.

  He shuddered, remembering his last battle. How he was so lucky as to have escaped alive was unbelievable, but the partially healed wound still disturbed his appetite and thirst. He slightly removed his cloak, looking down at the bandages covering his abdomen and tried to chase away the thought of the beast impaling any vital organs. If what they had to fight were mere pawns of the One-Not-To-Be-Named, he feared to think what the heroes faced. He pulled his cloak around him and, leaned down with his back on the soft grass.

  “To me, heroes are people like you, my friend.” He said, reaching out for the moon and closing his eyes, trying to remember his brave smile. But the only thing he saw was gore, flying around from his pierced chest, and he retracted his fingers slowly. “I wish I could meet the one who saved my life at the end of the fight… I’d give anything to thank him for giving me the chance to meet my beloved when all is over. That knight in shining armor…” His voice gradually got lower as he heard steps in his direction. He lowered his hand beneath the cloak and closed his eyes. “How long have you been standing there?” asked Anvalth slightly disturbed of the presence.

  “I’m sorry. I did not mean to interrupt you.” The voice was that of a woman, suave and soft. He opened his eyes, only to see the visage of a beautiful woman who looked like an angel depicted in paintings, with a halo of light around her head. His heart skipped a beat, but he came to realize the halo was in fact the moon. He looked again, inspecting her features carefully but he did not recognize her visage.

  “You are from another company, right?”

  “I am in fact a commanding paladin in Élerion’s army. My squad and I rescued what was left of your troops on the battlefield. You all fought valiantly and I wish we would’ve come sooner to ensure such a massacre would not happen.” As she spoke, she stood straight and looked to the side, with a somewhat disappointed look in her face.

  “Do you know by any chance who the person in your squad that saved me was? I’d wish to thank them.” He slightly stood up leaning on one arm, silently panting. The look in his eyes was that of hope.

  “I’ll introduce you later. I was wondering, how come you are not drinking with the rest? Do you not enjoy being around them?” She turned back to him and stood on the ground with her hands behind her, leaning on them. He looked in the direction of his camp and even then he could hear their cheers and laughter, their shadowy silhouettes moving through the dimly lit tents or outside, feasting on meat or enjoying a good drink.

  “I lost a good friend in that last battle, but I’d rather not talk about it. The deed was over when I managed to avenge him.” He raised the cloak just enough for the light of the moon to shine upon the long, narrow blade of a fine rapier. He let down his cloak and sighed, shaking his head.

  “Your prowess in battle was indeed admirable. Come with me, I want to show you something.” The two stood up and it was only then that Anvalth noticed she wasn’t wearing anything but thin, common clothes. He took the cloak from around him and held it towards her.

  “You must be cold, dressed like that out on a windy night.”

  “Don’t worry about me. The Light keeps me warm.” When he heard her words, he had a slight suspicion but he fastened the cloak around himself and followed her down the hill. Through the dense forest, he could see farther ahead lights coming from another camp, probably hers. “What is your name?” She asked, turning towards him as they walked. He seemed rather reserved and did not display much emotion when he talked, unlike her vibrant attitude.

  “Anvalth, son of Geralt. May I know yours in return, commander?” She smiled at the sound of his words.

  “Rilwen, meaning maiden of glittering light in elvish.” As much as he could perceive through the dark, she had beautiful features indeed, but her ears were that of a human, so she wasn’t even a half-elf. Anvalth shrugged his shoulders and continued to follow her. “What is it, why did you do that?”

  “I find it strange for humans to be given elven names, even if your features are as fair as those of an elf.” Her smile widened and she shook her head.

  “Thanks, but I’d like to be complimented on my fighting capabilities instead of my beauty just because I’m a woman. Would you like to spar with me?” He wasn’t really in the mood for her energetic attitude and so he just continued to walk forward. She sighed, seeing how depressed he was but as they got closer to the camp, he whispered to her.

  “I’d assume you didn’t reach the rank of commander on beauty alone.” He forced himself to smile back at her, but she looked distraught by his statement.

  “It wasn’t skill either. Just because I was born with such affinity for the Light thanks to my Telaar, it was easy to become a high ranking paladin, recruited by the mighty knight Élerion.”

  “At least your Telaar did not cause you grief…” He whispered, clenching his fists in anger. The woman seemed to not pay attention. Ahead of them, a light waved around and the two heard shouting.

  “Hey Ril? Did you come back?” Anvalth peered through the dark and could see the figure of a knight in silver armor, waving a torch. “Who is that besides you?”

  “Stop yelling so loudly and I’ll tell you.” She shouted in response, waving her hand. The two approached the patrolling guard and Rilwen pulled the man aside, whispering something to him. She patted him on the back of his steel armor and continued ahead into the camp, waving for Anvalth to follow her. Although reticent at first, he passed by the guard and entered the camp grounds with her. He was astounded seeing the difference between what he was used to and what was right before his eyes. Not only was it large, but it was brimming with imposing, extravagant tents and campfires scattered throughout. It was way livelier, perhaps even more so than a small town, and all the people he looked at wore either silk common clothes or shining breastplates and helmets. He continued to accompany her, but everywhere they went people would glare coldly at him. He felt uneasy and unwelcome and soon came to realize he was dirty and full of bruises, unlike them. He lowered his gaze into the ground and kept on silently following her. Anvalth became lost in thought, wandering why she did bring him with her and snapped out of his dreaming when his left foot stepped on something sticky, and thick. It was only then he first smelled the stench of stables and he looked around surprised. He worriedly raised his foot and scrubbed it against the ground, embarrassed. Rilwen continued to move forward until she reached a certain compartment. She reached inside one of her pockets and pulled out a red apple, extending her hand. A beautiful white stallion approached the gate and took a large bite out of the apple, fretting and neighing. She reached with her other hand and patted him gently on the head, scratching him between the ears.

  “Are you excited to see me? I love you too, Alabaster.” The horse named Alabaster took another bite, finishing the apple that she had brought him. Anvalth approached but continued to keep some distance, being con
tent with watching from afar in silence. She slowly lowered her arms and stood there in silence for a few moments before picking up a brush from a chair and stroking the horse’s hair. “Do you have someone you love, Anvalth?” He was like in a trance until hearing his name.

  “What? Ugh…” He stuttered, trying to find his words. “I do, and I’m glad the war is finally going to end, after so long.”

  “I never got to feel love, not even for my parents. I was fostered since I was little, and while I wasn’t treated poorly I simply couldn’t get attached to my guardian.” She let out a hiccup and while still with the back to him, she moved her right hand to her visage and back. “Sometimes I just talk too much, pardon me.”

  “You don’t need to excuse yourself, it’s better to let some things out.” He said as he approached her, reaching for her shoulder. Suddenly, she threw the brush onto the chair and darted towards the entrance. He bit his lip in frustration but turned to face the entrance, only to see her bowing before someone. Standing there was a tall imposing man, clad in all golden armor, carrying a helmet underneath one arm. His long dark hair was flowing up to his shoulders and his eager eyes were staring him down. Anvalth felt overwhelmed by that man’s gaze and proceeded to kneel down. It was as if his very soul radiated an aura of warmness and calm, which reached out to him. Tears uncontrollably flowed from Anvalth’s eyes as he remembered his trusted friend Tarna, as he remembered how much suffering he had to deal with ever since joining the army in the war against the rise of the demons. A powerful yet gentle voice spoke out to him.

  “Stand up, brave soldier. What is your name?”

  “Anvalth, son of Geralt, sir…” He muttered, trying to recover from the emotional shock he had. He stood up but his gaze was still fixed in the ground.