Defeat of the Dark Lord- Story

 

Nuquerna en' i' mori heru

(Defeat of the Dark Lord)

He was Amor, son of Anthor, son of Sedridor. His village lay in the east of the great plains of the kingdom of Hathlor with his father. His mother died when he was but a child.  His village is small, its villagers tough. The forsaken land was riddled by robbers and cutthroats, searching for prey. They searched for gold like magpies, and fought for it like eagles, tearing down their prey.

It was after the month after the starting of his 16^th year, that strangers had started entering their lands. Most passed by, but some would stop at Amor’s house. Have a tense word with his father, and then gallop away on their steeds.

It was on a cold winter morning, that he visited for the first time. Tall, lean, travelling, on a jet-black horse. Amor sat watching from the upstairs window.  Little did he know at that time what a role the man was going to play in coming time. His father went outside. ”Ie' tella (at last), Zoldúr. Sut ier lle? (How are you?)”He asked. “N’uma coiasira, (no time) Anthor.  Where is the boy?” the man called Zoldúr replied.

 “Must he go, Zoldúr? Must it be like this? I ask you to consider again. Surely it can’t be Amor in the prophecy.”

“The High Council has spoken, Anthor.  i' mori re ier sinome ( the Dark Days are here), and so I have come to take him, before it is too late. Now where is he?”

“Upstairs, in his room. Zoldúr…”

“What Anthor”?

“Be gentle with him”.

“Don’t worry.”

Amor sat on my bed, waiting. His heart beat frantically against my chest, in anticipation for what was to come. His father’s talk had confused me. Take him where? Who was that man? What was the High Council?  He heard footsteps outside his door. The door opened.

“Hello Amor”. His voice was deep, soothing, but at the same time rough, as if conveying the experience of its speaker.

“Who are you? Where are you going to take me?” All the questions that had formed in Amor’s mind in the past minutes came pouring out.

Zoldur’s eyebrows furrowed in thought. His deep, blue eyes stared out of the window, with a lost look in them. Suddenly he snapped back. “Sit”, he said, “and you shall be told why I am here and what you are destined for.”

“Years ago, far before you were born, there ruled a king called Urúvion, who ruled the far east of the plains of Hathlor. He ruled with unwavering strength, judged with unrelenting cruelty. He never forgave, he never forgot. He crushed his enemies mercilessly. All who stood up against him met their deaths. If they were lucky enough, they died quickly. Mad with a lust for power, Urúvion razed all of Hathlor, until only the ancient city of Thorontur was left. Here the last of the Caunwaithon made their stand. However they knew of their impending doom, and decided to make the ultimate sacrifice, trapping Urúvion in a barrier made of their soul’s very own essence, thus saving the world from the sure-to-come disaster.

However, there is a prophecy, that on the 1000^th anniversary of the sacrifice of the Last, Urúvion will break out again, and only a pure-blood descendant of the Caunwaithon can save the world from the death he will cause on this earth.

You are that descendant, Amur. It is you who must defeat the Dark Lord, and send him back to eternal prison.”

Amor’s mind reeled, overwhelmed. He rushed downstairs to his father, who sat smoking a pipe by the fire. Amor ran to him stuttering, “Father, Urúvion…the Caunwaithons…And he broke down.

Zoldúr came down.

“I told you to be gentle! Ho na` e' gorga (he is afraid) Zoldúr!” Anthor shouted.

“He would have known soon, Anthor. It doesn’t make any difference. Whether he likes it or not, he will have to face the Dark Lord.”

“Don’t utter that name in my house! Cursed I was, that such a fate has befallen my family! First they took her away, and now you take away my son.”

He turned to Amor, lifted up his head and said,” Go my son, chil en' i' ra (heir of the great) Caunwaithons. Go forth and remove the darkness called Urúvion from this land, ten'oio (forever)!

Thus, with his father’s blessings, Amor set out with Zoldúr.

They rode for days after days, stopping hither tither to rest and replenish supplies.  And with each passing day, Amor felt the days going darker and gloomier. The animals seemed to have disappeared, and so had the birds. The people they met seemed haggard.  There was the stench of evil in the air, and it grew stronger every day.

Zoldúr would give him lessons on swords and bows, axes and lances. He told him stories of old, of kings long gone, of heroes long dead. And Amor listened to the tales with wonder, and thought if one day his story would also be told in tales like these.

“What was that language you were talking in my father , Zoldúr, when we first met?” Amor asked one day while they were riding.

“I' lammen en' i' heru? (The language of the lords?).” Zoldúr asked. “That Amor, is the language that your great ancestors spoke while they roamed on the earth. It is usually unheard of by the inhabitants of east Hathlor, but some people in the far west, like me, speak it still. It is the language of the High Council, who reside in the capital of Hathlor.

He listened to stories about the Dark Lord himself, of his legends when he was yet a mortal, and a young king. But that was long ago. As the Dark Lord had grown more powerful, he had delved deep into forgotten magic, and had unearthed such power.

He had become immortal, made his armies vast. And he had conquered city after city.

Amor shuddered to think that he would have to face this terrible foe, but steeled himself, thinking of his warm home, and his father.

For a month they travelled; an old hardened warrior, and a young boy. On an impossible task, with the hope of the world resting on their shoulders.

For a month they travelled, anticipating what lay before them. Hardening themselves for the fight to come.

They neared the ruins of Thorontur, the great city of the Elder Kings. And from the hill above it, they saw massive armies of creatures, servants of the Dark Lord that eagerly awaited his arrival. Still, slowly, stealthily, they pressed deeper into the heart of the city. The creatures grew more numerous, their narrow escapes even narrower.

“This isn’t going to work.” Zoldúr muttered, exhausted from the hiding and running. “We can’t hide forever, or we will never get you into Urúvion’s chamber.”

“What do you plan? “Asked Amor. ”We can’t just jump into the midst and fight our way to the entrance!”

“Actually, that is just what we are going to do.” Zoldúr grinned.

“Wha…” Amor managed.

“Trust me,” was all Zoldúr said and was gone.

Gingerly Amor stood up, weighing his sword. Lessons on straw dummies were the only experience he had had. He remembered his teacher’s words: Trust me.

Giving himself courage, he held his blade high and jumped over the wall, straight into the horde. He found Zoldúr there.

“Having all the fun alone?” Amor said, and joined him. Hacking and slashing at everything that he could get his sword on, he advanced. A new power took over him, something he had never felt before. His body didn’t feel his own; his strength seemed to be borrowed.

At last they reached the entrance to the Dark Lords chamber. Amor could feel energy pulsating from the dungeon below. He glanced at Zoldúr, his newly found strength already waning.

“Don’t be afraid. This is your destiny.” A tear twinkled in the eye of Zoldúr. Now go and end this for once and for all, go before more of those Ulundo (creature) come again.

Without another word, Zoldúr turned and ran back into the ruins.

Amor turned, gazing into the darkness below. He took one last look at the figure of Zoldúr in the distance, and stepped into the shadows.

Deeper and deeper he travelled, the air growing thicker. He walked and he walked till he could walk no more, and stopped at last, meeting a dead end.

“Creoso” (Welcome), a voice echoed, and suddenly, Amor was face to face with I’ 'ksh heru (the evil lord), Urúvion. All was oblivion. Nothing mattered but his dark foe. The world did not exist. Only Amor and Urúvion, Urúvion and Amor.”

Gorga amin, lle amada” (fear me, you fool), the Dark Lord’s voice chilled Amor’s heart. He felt an overwhelming power behind those words, something that did not belong to this earth.

“If it isn’t the heir of the Caunwaithons. The hero of the prophecy, come to his doom at last.

”To have thought you could defeat me. Such blind faith.  Amin feuya ten' lle. That is what freedom comes unto. Never mind. After I have killed you, puny mortal, I will unleash my wrath upon this land. And people shall curse the day their ancestors thought to snare me forever.”

“You think the people are your slaves, but you are wrong. They deserve to be free. You have no right over them, and never shall have!

“You amuse me with your pretty words, mortal. But I’ve had enough. You shall die”.

And the Dark Lord struck. Amor was knocked of his feet. His foe had otherworldly powers, and Amor knew that this fight would be tougher than any fought on earth.

He struck again, but Amor was ready this time. He dodged. Amor was a skilled fighter, but all of his training had not prepared him for the viciousness with which Urúvion fought. He attacked with his sword and mind at the same time. While in the physical word Amor struggled with Urúvion, he was fighting a much tougher fight in his mind.  Darkness came over him. Suddenly he felt afraid. He felt a fear that he had never experienced in his whole journey. A fear that burned his heart, gnawed at his thoughts. All hope seemed lost; nothing was left to fight for. It was all for none.

“Can you feel my power, human? Feel as I sow the seeds of doubt in your mind. Erase all faith. Hope is what drives this world, and only I have the power to take it away. That is why I am undefeatable.”

“You are blinded by power, Urúvion! You are defeat-able. As my ancestors vanquished you, so shall I! The only difference is that this time, you shall die!”

“How dare you! Not another word. I shall crush you like an insect.” And the Dark Lord’s sword came rushing down on Amor’s head. But this time, Amor didn’t dodge the strike. He faced it, he deflected it. Urúvions pride had fuelled a great fire in his soul. And so he fought. He fought for all those who had died under evil’s hand. He fought for the injustices that had been done unto them. He fought to free the land from this darkness.

“How?!” Ulúvion stammered, surprised by the sudden change in Amor. He tried to feed on the fear in Amor’s mind, but couldn’t find any. Groping with his mind, he tried to harness the smallest ray of doubt in his foe to help him, but Amor had no doubt now. He knew what he had been born to do, and was determined to finish what fate had written for him.

“Fear me! I am the destroyer, the ravisher of worlds!” Urúvion raged.

“You are nothing, but a dark shadow.” Amor replied, “Flitting from mind to mind, corrupting all thought. You don’t deserve to walk on this world.”

And with this, Amor raised his sword. An aura seemed to envelope him. A blinding flash came down upon Urúvion, and it was done. There was no sign of the Dark Lord. But neither was Amor to be found. The godly power that it took to vanquish the Dark Lord had exhausted his very soul, sapped his life’s spirit, and shattered his body.

Out of the ruins, Zoldúr saw the light. The Dark Lords’ armies had gone with him. Alone on his horse, he said,” aa' seere be deno' lle, Aratoamin. Lissenen ar' maska'lalaith tenna' lye omentuva. (May peace be upon you, my champion. Sweet water and light laughter till next we meet) I shall come back for you, soon. But for now rest your soul”. And he turned his horse and rode into the sun.