The Dark Lord's Handbook: Conquest Read online

  His father’s state of shock had increased as the report had been given. Morden could see deep-rooted fear in his eyes.

  “They are the ancient enemy, long thought gone from the world. They have not been seen since before I was born. They were the stuff of legend, mentioned only in stories told to young children. The Fae came before our kind and we were made to combat them, winning more by strength of numbers than strength of arms. Morden, we must have the entire Black Dragon Flight here. Now.”

  Morden did not need to doubt his father’s concerns. He’d been won over at ‘ancient enemy’. “Send out a recall, Stonearm. Get them back here by tomorrow. We attack as soon as they are gathered, before these Fae arrive. Father, tell me everything you know. Lady Deathwing, attend your offspring.”

  The tent cleared. Morden was left alone with his father, who had sat himself down in a chair, his shoulders sagging. Morden poured him a flagon of wine, which he downed in a single draught.

  “This changes everything,” said Lord Deathwing. “You might even consider retreating.”

  “You jest, Father. We’ve not come all this way to run away with our tails between our legs. We will defeat Griselda tomorrow and then deal with these Fae.”

  “Easier said than done, son. These Fae have bad habits, and one is that they turn up when least expected, or wanted. And that army with them can only be elves. It may be small but they will make offcuts of an orc army. They do not tire. They will not rest. They will hack away as long as it takes. They were only ever defeated by sheer numbers or misfortune.”

  “Elves? Like the stories with the fairies?”

  “Fairies is what we called the Fae to diminish them. Instead of homicidal angelic forces of light, in the stories they were reduced to pretty, small, mischievous scamps. They were less frightening that way. As for elves, effete has-beens.”

  “But they can be beaten?”

  “If you’re lucky. But with a heroine on hand as well?”

  “Don’t worry about her. I’ll deal with Griselda. Your good wife can lead the flight. Save yourself in case the Fae make an appearance. I want you with the cannon. Go and see to their deployment. I have much to think on.”

  With his father gone, Morden was alone. He sat on his throne and brooded. It seemed inconceivable he could come so far to be undone at the last, and yet history was against him. No Dark Lord had ever succeeded in what he was trying to accomplish. But then there had never been a Dark Lord like him. Just because some ancient foe had come skulking out of history was no reason to assume the worst. He could defeat Griselda and her army and then deal with these Fae and the elves. If he didn’t believe he could do this then his father was right, he may as well run off back to his fortress and sulk. But his sulking days were behind him. Tomorrow would be the day he would succeed where all others had failed. Tomorrow, he would triumph.

  Chapter 49 Late Arrival

  Beware the late arrivals. They are often loud and spoil the party.

  The Dark Lord’s Handbook

  Edwin had taken to meditating twice a day to keep his temper in check. Progress was painfully slow. What was even more annoying was the apparent lack of concern shown by the Fae and elves. Every time Edwin pressed the need for urgency Ga’brel would shrug. ‘We’ll get there in time,’ he’d say. ‘We always do.’ Edwin was less convinced. Nuriel had returned two days previously with news of Griselda and the army she had assembled. Edwin was impatient to see her and take control. That his sister would take the field of battle with his sword against a Dark Lord was sheer fancy. They had to get there before the battle started, not during it, to save the day.

  The day after Nuriel had returned, they had once more been scouted by dragons and this time the dragons had escaped. Surely now, it was time to march day and night as Morden would surely be warned. But no. There still seemed plenty of time to settle down each evening and sit around campfires and sing of ages past, glorious victories they had enjoyed, or the way in which moonlight reflected off a still lake high in the mountains. Of that and lost love, tragic affairs, and couples torn apart by fate to live thinking their love lost only to discover their error, but in vain as their love had thought the same and moved on, settled down, raised three bright, young children and was enjoying a happy enough life. But the songs that angered Edwin more than anything were those about how terrible it was to be so perfect and immortal. Edwin spent much of his meditation suppressing the urge to spoil those perfect features with his fist, or choke their pathos-laden immortality from their bodies.

  He could not sleep and so he rose early, before sunrise, to walk the picket line. They were close to Firena now, up in the hills that stretched in an arc to the northwest of the city. It could only be a day or two to the city. So far, no news of battle had come to them; they had scouts out and Edwin was expecting the worst as each hour passed. The sky was clear in all but the east, where dawn’s first light was struggling against dark clouds.

  Edwin had stopped to exchange forced pleasantries with some elves on watch around the camp when the sound of horses drew their attention. Galloping up the hill, through the sparse, stunted trees of the region, came an elven patrol.

  “What news?” called out Edwin, as they slowed to a trot passing the line.

  “The Dark Lord has shown his hand. He attacks Firena.”

  This was the news Edwin had both been wanting and fearing. Were they, despite all assurances, going to arrive in time to affect the battle? Would he once more be too late to rescue his sister from the Dark Lord Morden? These thoughts and more raced through his head as he ran to the tent where the Fae rested. He was joined by Namu and Ga’brel at the tent’s entrance.

  Inside, Edwin found the Fae having breakfast. Though Mashhit and Af had been wounded in the last fight with the dragons, they had healed quickly and the six Fae (now that Nuriel had returned) looked well. Af, in particular, was beaming even more than he normally did, and Edwin had never known him not to have a smile on his face. It was hard to reconcile this rotund, jocular old man with the winged creature he had seen take to the skies and battle dragons. Nevertheless, these Fae were the best hope they had when it came to dealing with the Black Dragon Flight. The elves would do their best with the orc horde, and then it was down to Edwin to deal with Morden. The plan was clear and now the time had come to execute it, but rather than urgency there was time enough for a bite first.

  “Edwin, have you had breakfast?” asked Kezef.

  “Have you not heard? Morden attacks Firena. We must break camp and go now or we will be too late.”

  From the looks he got from the Fae, there was plenty of time for breakfast and the Dark Lord could wait.

  “Ga’brel, Namu, tell them. There’s not a moment to waste.”

  “Come, Edwin,” said Namu, taking him gently by the elbow. “The Fae make ready as they will. We’d best go and do the same.”

  In a daze, Edwin let himself be led out by Namu and Ga’brel. It was all getting to be too much. He could hear familiar whispers at the edge of his mind. They urged him to jump on a horse and gallop until it died to get to his sister’s side so he was there when Morden came forth. Together they would face and defeat him.

  “Edwin?”

  Namu’s voice was distant to him. He took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

  All around, camp was being broken as the elvish army readied itself for battle. Units formed up, split between sword, bow, and pole-arm. It helped ease his mood to see the elves did not share the Fae’s relaxed attitude. As fast as he could, he donned his elvish armour and mounted up to join Namu and Ga’brel. Seeing them, and the elvish army around him, he felt a tremendous surge of hope. They shone in their silver armour. Namu was painfully beautiful, her raven-black hair falling down, perfectly straight, over her shoulders, reins in one hand, a spear in the other. At her side, Ga’brel had lost the soft smile often on his delicate lips. His weapon, a staff, was made of the silver wood that had been so common in Solitude. A red gem was clasped at i
ts tip. The sight of his new friends ready for war made Edwin happy to be riding to battle with them.

  Around them, the army started to move.

  “Shall we?” asked Namu, with a smile.

  *****

  As the army moved, Edwin’s anxiety lessened. He realised, until now, they had moved at a leisurely pace as they made their way toward the confrontation with Morden. Now they moved more swiftly and sang as they rode, which further raised his spirits.

  “What are they singing about?”

  He had to shout at Namu to be heard above the dull thunder of thousands of hooves and the song itself.

  “Death,” shouted Namu.

  “Death? But it’s so beautiful!”

  “Death is beautiful,” laughed Namu, “when you’re immortal.”

  Edwin would never understand these strange people. How could they sing so joyfully about the death that awaited them? He had memories of battle lust, of his body shaking with excitement, and the overwhelming feeling of being so alive as he cut through his foe, but it had never been joyous like this. Then again, he was only a man. He didn’t know what it was like to live as they had. They were not long woken from a deep sleep, one they had entered when the world had become wearisome. Perhaps through death they would be set free and this was what they celebrated. Edwin, in his darkest hours, had thought how death would be a release from his torment. That was all it was, though, a dark thought in the midst of his despair. He couldn’t welcome his own death unless if by sacrificing his life he could save Griselda.

  They made good progress as dawn became day. The hills rolled on and there was no sight of any armies, friend or foe, ahead. The only indication of anything untoward was the ever-thickening cloud in the east that hid the sun, turning the morning light into gloom. Not that Edwin had any difficulty seeing his way, as the light of the elvish host lit his path. The songs had stopped now and, apart from the sound of the horses, the elves were silent. A grim determination settled on them as the hills started to flatten and a plain came into view as they rode over each hilltop. The distant clouds had become black, and lightning split them. The rumble of thunder could be heard above the sound of their approach.

  They crested one last hill and drew themselves up. Before them stretched a wide plain. Off to the right, they could see a river hook its way out of the hills and snake to the coast where Firena sat on its western bank. On the east bank, an army was deployed with the river at its back and was creeping eastward. Edwin was no military strategist, but this was a terrible mistake. It should be deployed on the western side to force the enemy to attack across water and up a defensible bank. He wondered what genius had thought it a better idea to march out and face a Dark Lord’s host, then it occurred to him the genius was probably his sister.

  Farther to the east, a dark shadow stretched across the full width of the plain. He could not begin to guess how big an army it must be. He could not see clearly but he could tell it was not moving. It sat in place as the much smaller army from Firena approached. Edwin could not see this ending well. The pathetically small Firena army would be swamped. Looking left and right at the elvish host lining the hilltop, it too would make little difference, and certainly none unless they could get down and join his sister’s army. But even if they rode at a gallop, they would never reach her in time. They were miles from where the armies would clash. Even if it took them only an hour to arrive, Edwin wasn’t sure the army his sister led would last even that long. As he watched, the Firena army continued on its death march into the jaws of Morden’s horde.

  “What do you see?” he asked Namu, who had brought her horse up to his left side.

  “The good news is, I don’t see dragons. The bad news is, I see an army marching to its doom.”

  From the centre of the Firena army, a spark of light detached itself and rode alone toward the darkness to the east, stopping mid-way between the two armies.

  “Are we going to ride?” asked Edwin. “Or sit and watch?”

  “It’s too late now,” said Ga’brel. “Whoever that is, they’ve dug their own grave, gone to lie down in it, and left a shovel by the side. We may as well watch while we gather our strength, then ride.”

  For a few minutes, nothing happened. The spark of light sat between the armies alone. Then Namu pointed.

  “Can you see that, Edwin? There’s someone on a black horse coming from the enemy army. Wait. Yes! It’s him. It’s Morden! Maybe they do have a chance. Morden comes forth!”

  “What an unbelievable dumb arse,” said Ga’brel. “We might not have much to do after all.”

  Unable to see as clearly as them at this distance, Edwin had to rely on their elvish eyes and imagine what was happening. Out there, alone, his sister was about to face the Dark Lord Morden. He hoped for the best and that, somehow, she would prevail. But he feared the worst and it knotted his stomach. The only thing he could do was watch, and if she fell, avenge her.

  “The light be with you, my sister,” he whispered.

  Chapter 50 Handbook: Jibes, Threats, and Curses

  To scorn, to mock, to taunt, to disdain, to deride, and hold in contempt.

  This is how a hero should be treated.

  The Dark Lord’s Handbook

  There will come a time, Morden, when you are faced with someone who will seek to defeat you with not just force of arms but with words. Your immediate reaction may well be to scoff, but do not underestimate the power of the spoken word. Jibes, threats, curses, slanders, taunts, mocking, teasing, lies, insults, and even name-calling, all have their place when it comes to rivalry. There will be occasions when you use these techniques and others when you will be on the receiving end. You should be prepared for both. Your foe will say hurtful things, and you need to understand that they mean nothing and are said to undermine you. Their sole purpose is to distract, to anger, to wound, such that you deviate from your plan and leave yourself vulnerable. It is best to be prepared for the things that will be hurled at you.

  A common line of attack is that of your plans and achievements. Your goals as a Dark Lord are clear; you seek domination over all things. Your attacker will say your plans are laid bare to them and you are doomed to fail. They will say you are working under false assumptions and all the facts are not known to you (‘little do you know’). They will say you cannot possibly win because if you beat them, you cannot defeat love/freedom/the human spirit/those who follow them. These are the words of a desperate foe. Your plans have almost certainly succeeded and they are trying to sow doubt. They are trying to save their skins with the promise that you will lose anyway, and therefore you may as well let them live. Altogether, this is the least of the ways they can hurt you and these words are simply ignored.

  Your one area of true vulnerability, Morden, is your self-esteem. Don’t confuse this with lack of confidence. It sounds contrary but it is normal to have plenty of confidence when it comes to those things that are Dark Lord related, like conquest and bending others to your will, and yet have low self-esteem when it comes to things like attractiveness to the opposite sex and being the life and soul of a party. Fundamentally, you lack social skills and don’t fit in. You never have. All your life you have been a pariah, been unloved, and it is this emotional vulnerability that needs to be protected the most.

  Your enemies will say that you may be a Dark Lord, and hold dominion over all you see, but you’re still a pleb. You don’t belong. You’ll never get to go to the best parties and mix with the beautiful people. This is fine. Cheese and wine shouldn’t be your thing anyway. You’re a Dark Lord, not a peacocking socialite.

  They’ll say that everyone hates you. That you are unloved and uncared for. So, what’s new? You’re not in the Dark Lord business to win popularity contests. Besides, they don’t know the real you. If they got to know you properly, over a period of time, they would see a completely different Dark Lord. It’s not that you don’t care—you don’t—or that you have a deep, sensitive side to yourself—you don’t—b
ut rather you have a deep sense of belonging, in that you belong in charge. You’re also funnier than many people think.

  One of the reasons you wear a black robe, which covers you from ankle to the crown of your skull, is to deflect personal attacks against how you look. Dark Lords are not known for their sartorial elegance, nor should they be. If it ever got to the point you were concerned more about what shirt to wear than which province to conquer next, things would be going terribly wrong. The black robe works on so many levels. It’s instantly recognisable and makes a strong statement. There’s no doubt about the intent of a person in black robe. They mean business. And, as you have become aware in recent years, it is good at hiding the fact you’re not a good-looking Dark Lord, and that your flesh is literally dropping off you. While some Dark Lords do have stunning good looks, and use them effectively to convince people they are not so bad, you, Morden, are not one of them. It’s a bitter truth I know you are not happy with, especially given your relationship with Griselda and her beauty, but that’s the truth and you need to deal with it. Your days of youthful charm were few and are well behind you. Move on.

  It’s better you hear this now rather than fall foul of some cheap insult or jibe thrown your way, having it cause a momentary distraction that could lead to your downfall. You are on the cusp of your greatest victory. Don’t let simple words get in the way.

  Chapter 51 Divorce

  There’s no pleasing some people.

  The Dark Lord’s Handbook

  The day had come at last. Today was the day when he, Morden Deathwing, Dark Lord, would cement his victories and crush the last resistance to his rule. Behind him he had the largest army the world had ever seen, blotting the landscape, comprised of an orc nation thirsty for revenge, dragons that had emerged from the mists of time to make legend real, and an assortment of odd creatures he had picked up along the way: half a dozen giants down from the high mountains, one or two trolls who’d given up their lives of bridge loitering, troglodytes who had come out of their caves, and a Cyclops who was fed up with one-eyed jokes. It was an unstoppable horde that had the latest in battlefield weapons in the form of a dozen cannon.