The Dark Covenant: Mage Wars

PROLOGUE

He stumbled over a fallen knight guard, then another, as he made his way through the shattered city. Royal Republic, a standing jewel of gold and marble, had burned into a twisted hellscape— ash, and bone. He felt a faint pulse of power from the weaving, seeping through his pores— but it paled in comparison to what he had once wielded. Two days and two nights of battle had drained him.

They followed the winter winds to the high North, the vurhans, swarming the city walls like a plaque. He held them back for as long as he could, but they overwhelmed his power through sheer numbers alone—throwing themselves at his mercy until he could fight no longer. It only worked because the mindless creatures cared not for their lives— only victory, or death, could fulfill their purpose.

He dragged his battered and bleeding body through the flames, each step a torment. A faint blue halo looped over his head and shoulders, shimmering like a candlelight in a foggy night. He could hear the vurhans gorging on the flesh of the fallen, their howls ringing through the burning streets.

Under Arekin's Watchful Eye—he muttered to himself, pushing through the carnage, his eyes fixed on the citadel in the distance. The ground was slick with blood and guts, and it clung to his leather boots as he paced his steps— too fast, and he would bleed out from the gashing wound on his side, too slow and he might risk being spotted by the creatures. He tightened his stomach, blinding his nose to the stench of death. Screams of pain sent a rush, a feeling that seemed to grab at his feet and slow his step—yet he ignored it, as he did his mortal wounds. With one good leg, he managed a limp that pushed him into the gates of the citadel. Soldiers, armed out of necessity, stood guard.

Among them were young boys, eyes reflecting innocence shattered by the horrors that came of war. Too young to bear the burden of grief that would mark them for life. Beside them were elder men, faces etched with hard lines of experience. 

And yet in every crowd, there were also those whose hearts burned with reckless courage. They charged into the jaws of Vurhans, embracing legends of heroism with a fervor that defied reason. Theirs was a noble, albeit dangerous, path—a willingness to become legends or footnotes in the annals of time.

He was the Dark Bender, and he had bound himself by an unbreakable oath to the King of the Independent States that he would protect him, even at the cost of his own life. That alone kept him alive, fueling him to reach the citadel and force whatever was left of his broken body to fulfill his oath.

He pushed further, through the city ablaze, smoke choking him as he finally reached the citadel. He could see the King, through the smoke, standing on a balcony, unleashing a torrent of Radiance at a horde of vurhans that advanced toward the gates with reckless abandon. The spell took shape, like a swarm of embers from a bonfire—only green in glow. It rode air like a wave and crashed onto the horde, scorching the scales off their skins with lights so intense that the ground set fire— the gathering sand hardening to glass under its intensity.

As he reached the balcony, he could feel the dark power of the Weaving enveloping the king's form. He raised his hands, his voice echoing through smoke-filled air.

"Higo!"

The king, donning a torn and bloodstained coat over his once-fine shirt, spun toward the voice. A shard of metal had sliced through his beard, streaking a silver scar in its wake. He ignored the wound— as he had ignored so many others.

"Hashi!" he exclaimed, reaching down to help him up. "You're alive! I thought you'd fallen with the rest."

Hashi looked into the king's eyes, a shiver tingled his spine. They were like black holes, devouring all light. 

The king's touch felt cold as Hashi reached for his hand—the shadow's embrace was growing tighter. His skin, though under the night's strangled light, still looked pale as if drained of life. And shadows clung to the king's clothes, interlacing patterns that changed with his every step.