The Great Darkening (Epic of Haven Trilogy) by R.G. Triplett Page A

scouting party would ride in and announce that they had just lit the Herald Tower ablaze, signaling the arrival of the King and the discovery of a new light. Few still remembered that they ever had a King to begin with, and fewer still would dare to recall what it was that drove him to leave the walls of the kingdom.
    But Cal remained one of the hopeful, and he always seemed to bet horses. Though he knew that common sense and practical knowledge left little room for a legitimate belief that the King would physically return with a new light, he chose to hope, regardless of the facts.
    “Maybe it’s blind faith, or maybe I just have a thing for horses,” he half-joked amidst the taunts of his fellow groomsmen. “But my bet is on the scouts!”
    Like most nights, the streets came alive with the steady clomp of ox hooves, the creak of the tired timber wagons, and the cheers and celebration of the winning gamblers. Remised handshakes were made and insults were loudly hurled as the carts of the woodcutters made their bulky way into the borough’s square.
    “Ha! We win again!” Cal’s fellow apprentices bragged and taunted. “I hope those horses plan on helping you muck the stables tonight, or you might just as well wager on not sleeping much, brother!”
    “That’s a bet I’m sure not even the horses would take!” jeered another.
    As the crowds of people began filing into their ration lines, Cal noticed something odd and out of place out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t say for sure what it was, but the dark flash of feathers sent a cold chill down his spine.
    The rest of the apprentices carried on in their victorious banter, but Cal grew nervous. He turned his head this way and that, desperately trying to find the strange presence that had caught his eye.
    At that same moment, the horns of the gatekeepers rang out bright and hurried as the guardsmen called for the gate to be opened. The noisy creak and clank of metal on metal added to the chorus of ration seekers and wager winners, and the din grew to a crescendo as the portcullis was raised at the Western Gate.
    The scouting party, atop their swift mounts, came rushing through the gates in a frenzy of silver armor and green cloaks. One of the cavalrymen lay astride his steed, a growing red spreading from his chest and coloring the dun coat of his horse. Black, raven-fletched arrows stuck out from the soldier’s back and his pale face betrayed the agonized grimace he was trying to keep hidden.
    The whole of the square quieted with a kind of fear they had not known before.
    The lieutenant barked orders to the gate sentries, demanding that a healer be brought on the quick and that the gate be closed immediately. The rest of the scouting party dismounted and led their horses onto the cobblestone street as the square burst into a tumult of fearful noises. Archers filed nervously onto the wall while women and children cried out in desperate pleas, still clamoring for their rations. The pained groans of the fallen rider got louder with each labored breath.
    Cal, Michael, and the other apprentices dashed for the horses, clutching their reins and hoping to keep at least one part of this chaos in some form of order. Cal grabbed the reins of Dreamer, the very horse that carried the bleeding and screaming cavalryman. The rider clung tight to her neck with the last bits of energy that he could muster. His blood colored her once tan coat a dark red as it bubbled and flowed from his chest.
    “Come on girl, easy,” Cal said to the mare as he tried to sooth her worried spirit. “Easy, you did good there, girl.”
    The lieutenant, who had now climbed atop the wall, was scanning the horizon for the threat of a second wave of whatever it was that had waylaid the scouting party in the dusky outlands beyond the walled city. Two more of his cavalrymen lay dead and bloodied not half a league from the Western Gate, though there was no sign of outliers or pursuing enemies anywhere