Jewels of Darkness - Novella-ENG.pdf - Jewels of Darkness - Manual-ENG - Skamielina

Jewels of Darkness Novella

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Back of the Game Box

Manual Cover front

Manual Cover back

THE DARKNESS RISES by Peter McBride

As he struggled to raise himself, a searing shaft of pain stabbed through his skull and set a deep throbbing

thrumming in his temples. He was blinded by an angry vivid light though his eyes were closed, lids weighed

down by a weariness that reached from the depths of his tortured body.

He tried to lift an arm, and the pain redoubled, sweeping in a rush, a floodtide of great waves of crashing

agony that crashed on the shores of his innermost self. A cry escaped his lips, bitten back almost as soon as it

was sounded. Even in the tormenting tires of his pain, the treacherous cry was accursed. He must show no

weakness.

Once more he fought to sit up and to look about him. A heavy hand rested on his shoulder and held him

down.

"Be still. Be still. You have suffered much. You must rest."

The deep voice rumbled softly, easing through the agony and from the heavy hand flowed a gentle strength

that reached into his soul and pressed back the tide of pain. The glaring agony dimmed and he sank once more

into the darkness.

He slept the deep sleep of exhaustion, but in the early dawn he woke again, drenched in sweat yet icy cold,

haunted by the hideous faces of the nightmare. Nightmare? Nightmare? No, for it had been!

He opened his eyes and looked at the firelight flickering on the rough-hewn walls, but he saw only the light of

his camp fire and the dancing points of light reflected off the vicious curved blades and in the vicious animal

eyes of the shrieking, leaping, hacking devils that had burst upon them from the blackness of the night, from

the blackness of the caverns of evil, bursting into their circle of light and life and sweeping through it in a

ravaging torrent of death.

He saw again that evil face, eyes afire with the lust of destruction, mouth agape and great crooked fangs

poised to plunge into his throat. The howl of triumph. Then the sudden jerk, and the howl of death and the

black tongue lolling and the choking cough and the black blood welling and the blackness covered him.

He recoiled from the vision and with the movement the pain returned, but the voice and the hand were there.

"Be still."

And he was still and slept once more.

Brandon the dwarf jutted out his chin and stared at the dragon, waiting for it to make its move. Slowly the

dragon reached out a horny claw towards him, then suddenly it snatched at his beard and lifted it.

"Keep your beard off the board. I can't see the pieces" it hissed. "And I know you cheat behind it!" It lifted

the beard higher, pulling Brandon's chin up until all he could see was the cavern roof high above. With its

other claw, the dragon rearranged the red and blue gems on the chequered board.

"Your move, master dwarf!" It let go of Brandon and gave him a leering grin. The dwarf looked at the board

and knew he had been had again. The dragon was a terrible cheat. It was probably a rotten loser too, but until

they got to the end of a game without it cheating, Brandon would never know.

"Looks like you win again, Oh Great One." said Brandon. "Another game? Double or quits?"

"Why not? I do enjoy our little games." The dragon picked up a long golden sword encrusted with jewels and

bit a nick out of the blade. "How much do you owe me now?" it asked, counting along the nicks. "1, 2, 3,

8,16, ... er ... 22, ... um 40 bags of gold. One of these days, master dwarf, you are going to have to pay your

debts."

"One of these days I might win!" said Brandon brightly. The dragon belched smoke as it laughed.

Brandon coughed and wiped the smoke from his eyes as he set up the board again. This time he was going to

watch the dragon like a hawk and make sure it didn't cheat.

In the days that followed he was aware of waking time and again into pain and the presence of the big man.

The pain eased, but the big man was always there. He remembered bowls of a hot sweet infusion, and the

taste was there still, redolent of forest herbs and wild mountain honey. Its warmth and fragrance had done

much to dispel the cold nightmare of suffering.

He heard a movement on the other side of the room, and turned to the noise. He saw a broad back bent by the

tire, thick coarse hair merging into the thick coarse fur of a dark wolfskin jacket. He heard the sound of a pot

being stirred and the rich smells of thick broth wafted across to him.

Fully awake now, he realised that the one who tended him must also be the one who had saved him from a

savage death. There could have been no other, for he had seen all his comrades fall around him, hacked and

torn. He should have died too.

"Mayhaps. Now it's time to eat. " He brought a bowl of broth over to his patient and propped him up in the

pallet bed. "Eat."

The food was good, and as he ate, he took in his surroundings. It was a cottage in the old style, with low walls

and a steep pitched roof of hewn logs. In the centre of the room a hearth of stone held a fire now burning low.

In its orange red light he could see the skins of bears and wolves on the floor around it. Beside the fire lay a

dog almost as huge and shaggy-haired as the man who squatted on a stool by the bed.

"Who are you that tend me?"

"Peasants call me the Woodman. You shall too."

"I am no peasant!" He spoke sharply, stung into life and for a moment forgetting his blood debt. "I am sorry,

I owe you my life. I should not speak so."

"Ha!" the Woodman cut him off with a brief laugh. "There's fire in you yet. That's good. And as for your life -

when I killed that orc I didn't know it was still there to be saved."

"Orcs! So that's what they were. I had heard of them, but I thought they were the stuff of old men's tales and

children's nightmares." In his mind's eye, he saw them again. Smaller than men, and wiry, clad in coarse leather

with breastplates of steel, and helmets of steel low over the coarse leather of their skull-like faces. Most of all

he remembered the gleaming eyes of red, and the yellowed ivory of the glistening fangs.

"What were you doing in the Old Forest?" The Woodman's question cut through his vision. "It's a dark place

for a young prince." His eyes glittered with amusement as he watched the reaction.

"How do you know who I am?"

"I could see it in your pride, even if your clothes and the uniforms of your men hadn't made it clear. Prince

Tobiah isn't it? I have heard of you - and heard well."

"Thank you. Yes, I am he. Would that I had heard of you before we set out. You would have been a good man

to have had on our expedition."

"You were hunting wolves." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes. They terrorise our people, those few that still try to scratch a crop from the dried up lands in the

valleys below. We sought to rid the forest of wolves, but there are so many! We had killed four score or more

in a se'nnight, yet still we heard their howls from all quarters of the forest. And then chance brought the orcs

upon us."

"Not chance! The orcs hunted you as you hunted the wolves." The Woodman turned and spat into the fire in

disgust. The sharp sizzle woke the great hound. It turned its head and looked at his master. He caught the

mood and bared his teeth in a snarl. The Woodman nodded. "Yes Dog, orcs. He picked up their trail at sunset

four days ago. I saw then that they were on the track of men. Would that we had caught up with them sooner.

There was little to do by the time we reached your camp."

"My men did well," Tobiah recalled with pride. Though taken unaware, they had fought back and wreaked a

heavy toll on their attackers. "Would that there had been more of us... Woodman," he asked after a moment's

silence," what brought those orc bandits to the forest?"

"They were no bandits, Tobiah, and they were not the only orcs in these parts. The forest has been infested

with them throughout this last year. At first they came in twos and threes - spies! Though few returned to

tell of what they found." He nodded towards a great longbow of yew that stood in a corner beyond. "This last

month they came in greater numbers - the vanguard of an encroaching army, if I'm right. They seek to seal off

the forest, to mass in its cover ready for an assault on your country."

"Why did we know nothing of this?"

"The Kingdom of Valaii has grown soft in the long years of peace." He snorted his contempt. "When did your

father last send a patrol beyond the borders?"

"It's true," Tobiah replied, "my party was the first in many a year to venture into the Forest."

"And that only at your insistence?"

The Woodman expected no answer. He could see in the face of the prince the strength of the ancient kings and

perhaps some little hope for the future.

Tobiah lay silent. There was much to do, if he but knew where to begin.

"Lutist, stop!" cried Queen Gwendalan, catching a noise from beyond the window. The musician laid a hand

on the strings so that they could hear the street sounds more clearly. "The people shout. Does it mean that

Tobi has returned at last?"

"By the Gods, it's time he did." King Astuin wrung his hands. "I should never have let the boy go on that

foolishness."

The hubbub grew closer, bursting into the courtyard below. A wailing of grief foretold ill tidings. Soon

footsteps were pounding towards the Royal chambers. The guard outside tapped briefly on the door, then

opened it in haste.

"My son! What news of my son?" asked the king desperately.

"None, my Lord" replied the guard. "Two merchants bring ill news from the northern road."

Dusty, dishevelled, nearly dropping with exhaustion, the two staggered into the room and fell at the king's

feet. "Orcs!" they cried.

"Where? Out with it!"

"My Lord," panted the leader of the merchants, "our caravan was passing through the valley by the edge of

the great forest. Of a sudden one of the outriders cried 'eres. Flee for your lives.' We turned, and the valley

sides were black with orcs rushing down upon us. My companion and I were at the head of the caravan and

our horses are swift, else none would have returned to tell the tale."

"Orcs!" cried the king in horror. "Oh ye Gods, truly the darkness rises around us and will swallow us up!"

"Our son! He said they came from the forest!" cried the Queen. "What of our son? Is he too slain? Do you

have news?" she implored.

The merchants shook their heads slowly and dolefully.

"Hush, woman." The king spoke harshly to hide his fears. "We know nothing yet. Guard!" he called, "Call the

High Council together immediately."

The king's command was scarcely needed, for the councillors, hearing the cries of 'eres' spreading through the

city, were already hurrying to the Great Hall.

It was a sombre and despairing meeting of the High Council. Too many of its members had grown old and

softened by the years of ease and peace. Even the great drought and the plague of wolves that afflicted the

northern provinces had done little to stir them. Food was never short for the rich in the city, but the loss of

the caravan to the orcs had shaken them to their souls, and to their pockets.

"I am ruined!" cried Kerrinan of the Merchant's Guild. "I had ten thousand ducats invested in that caravan."

"And I," moaned Verdin, the Royal Wizard. "I had sent money with the traders too on your advice!" He

turned on Kerrinan.

"It's the army's job to protect those roads and keep them safe for honest travellers." replied the merchant,

looking at Eliglas, the Chief Marshall. "All the taxes I have paid these many years, and what is the army doing

now?"

"The army is short of men and short of arms." retorted Eliglas. "Those taxes you complain of were never

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