Prologue

The Fall of Valleyfall

Unknown to its many inhabitants milling busily about in the midday hours, the tranquil village of Valleyfall was mere moments away from oblivion. Everywhere, families were settling down to enjoy a hearty lunch together, merchants were busy shouting their wares at passers-by, and the local cattle were happily wandering about, free as you like to graze upon any tufts of grass they could find. Nothing in the air that day carried any such hint of disaster, not even a chill of foreboding dread. There wasn’t a dark cloud in the spotless sky, no carrion or other harbingers of doom or demise.

He had planned his attack precisely, bringing his horde, terrible in number, in from the north through the ravines of the Brask Gorge, against the wind so that their scent was masked on their approach from any lookouts, human or animal.

They stood now, just back from the edge of the rocky slope, the village some hundred feet below. Ten-score strong under their lengthy canopy of darkest black, which was carried, atop poles, by numerous Grawls; each hunchbacked and bow-legged, their sallow skin peeling in the light of the noon sun, the green blood that seeped from the cracks underneath sizzling gently under the warm heat. But under the cover of the canopy, the horde were perfectly shaded, not an inch of sunlight touching their bodies.

Which is exactly how the vampires preferred it.

Still, they didn’t take any chances; clad from head-to-toe in black, with matching cloaks that twisted and whipped around their legs as the cool summer breeze passed under the canopy, their dark, tri-corned hats pulled low over their hooded brows, their cold, yellow eyes glowing faintly with anticipation of the carnage they were about to unleash.

At the forefront of this formidable assembly he stood, adorned in a similar fashion as his army, and yet with small, distinctive differences that set him apart. His black robes were gilded in gold and studded with minute blood-red rubies, his own hat tailored from the deepest crimson, his eyes burning underneath, not with the sickly yellow of his underlings, but a red that burned with a terrifying fire.

He stood alone out from under the protective canopy of his horde, closer to the edge of the slope than any other, his eyes glowering down at the tranquil mass of humanity that scurried away below him, oblivious to his presence, let alone his dark intentions. Only he alone could stand out in the unforgiving rays of the sun for short periods of time, as was his birthright. But even now, that time was drawing to a close; thin tendrils of smoke weaved their way through the folds of his robes in their desperate bid to climb to the sky, accompanied by the unpleasant aroma of scorched rotten flesh. He couldn’t afford to put his attack off any longer.

Behind him, his horde was beginning to grow restless at the sight of their lord burning, collectively knowing that his order was only moments away. The canopy dipped halfway along where one particularly impatient vampire kicked out at a Grawl, causing it to drop its pole and fall a short distance away in the dust. There, it wailed and writhed in the sunlight, and the vampire laughed as he watched its plight, quick to lash out at the diminutive creature, to keep it away from the canopy – the only shade as far as the eye could see in all directions – and watch as it slowly caught fire.

Snarling disdainfully, the Vampire Lord didn’t even grace this diversion with a glance, his eyes kept firmly on the village below with a cold, calculating purpose. When he could bare the sun’s stinging assault no longer, he took a deep breath through his pinched-nostrils, revelling in the mass of bloodscents that drifted up from the humans below, and raised a leather-gloved hand.

He despised the human race, so quick to assume dominance over a world they knew nothing about, those who took pride in being the hunter, and never the hunted. Today, all that would change. Today, he would show them what it meant to be hunted.

His malevolent gaze was disrupted by a hesitant tug of his robes. Blinking slowly, he looked down at the Grawl now by his side with a face devoid of all emotion. The runt-like creature cowered under his baleful glare, took one step backward and then remembered its purpose, the reason it had been summoned. Reaching under the flea-bitten rags that made up its clothing, the Grawl tried to get a grip on a rowan wood chest just larger than its stubby head, its clammy hands fumbling around the edges. Finally, it managed to pull it out and presented it to him on bended-knee, the box held aloft above its bowed head.

The Vampire Lord sneered with disgust at the wretched thing before him and brought his right hand up to grasp the small box, lifting it up level with his eyes, which reduced to slits as he murmured a single incantation. “Grazh.”

The word had barely left his cracked lips when the box opened a crack, stale air hissing out. With his free hand, he slid his index finger in the opening and widened it with care. When the box was completely splayed open he looked down at what it contained with dark adoration; sat on plush, padded crimson lining was an antique gauntlet of burnished gold. It lay upon its palm, and he could see the large, round transparent crystal that was set into the back, square in the centre. It didn’t shine or sparkle, but he knew that would all come in time.

He picked the gauntlet out of the box, tossing the latter aside to be fetched by the Grawl, who knew what the next part of its duties were. Stepping around the back of its master, it stopped at his other side, taking its lord’s free hand in both of its hands, with such care and delicacy it were almost as if it thought his hand might shatter within the thick leather glove.

Slowly, tentatively, the Grawl slipped the glove off, quickly sidestepping the Vampire Lord as he jerked it in towards him, cradling it against his chest where it could be hidden from the merciless sun by the shade of his hat, the skin on his hand already blistering and burning. Jagged teeth gritted, he took the gauntlet and placed it slowly on his free hand, taking relief at the cool, healing properties that enchanted it. Once completely on, it felt as if his hand had never been scorched, and he could move it painlessly, flexing the fingers before his face as a small smile crept up one side.

“Prepare for the attack,” he ordered his men with a hiss that carried effortlessly over the winds and commotion. And then he lifted his gauntleted hand to the sky.

At first, it seemed as if nothing happened, the skies remaining cloudless and bright. Then – as if from nowhere – dark clouds roiled into sight, seemingly oozing from the blue to stretch across the entire sky. These clouds grew darker the more they grew in number, thunderheads rumbling ominously as they continued to spread out like a cursed blot of ink, engulfing every inch of the heavens until no light was visible through the gloom.

No light, that was, except the sun. That was always the last to go, the strongest light to be extinguished. But extinguished it would be.

Such was the power of the legendary Gauntlet of Night, the power it granted its wielder, the power of absolute darkness. Even though he couldn’t stare directly at the sun as the magical artefact wove its sinister enchantments, the Vampire Lord took delight in watching the crystal, once so pale and plain, now begin to glow with a mystical light that grew slowly, almost as if matching the rate at which it made the darkness consume the land. When the terrible, unnatural clouds had finally blotted out the sun, he found the crystal almost too painful to look at, such was the fierceness of its glow now.

Already he could hear the screams of panic and fear from the villagers below over that of his horde throwing off the canopy and their protective cloaks with jubilant roars and frenzied howls, the bloodlust taking them all for wild animals. In this state, he knew he could barely control them, so his orders were swift.

“Kill them,” he muttered softly, his hand not moving from its outstretched position (as the magic dictated), “Satisfy your hunger and let them know what it means to fear. But be quick, be merciless, and return to me within the hour with the finest selection of women and children with which to rejuvenate my body. Now go!”

With those commands implanted in their minds, the vampire horde leapt as one over their master and down the slope that led to the homes of their prey, their unnatural lightness carrying their bodies through the air with ease. By the time any of their feet touched solid ground again, all rational thought had been banished by the bloodlust, and they were nothing more than wild monstrosities, fearsome and malicious hunters.

As they reached the outskirts of the village and quickly set upon any unlucky stragglers who hadn’t managed to reach shelter, the Vampire Lord watched from his high point with grim satisfaction. The screams of the frightened and the dying were music to his ears, the smell of fear and freshly-spilt blood a welcoming aroma to him. He stood with his hand held aloft, its gauntlet continuing to drain the noon sky of all light and protection for the human vermin that now fled to their houses in the vainest hope of barricading themselves in from his minions; and he smiled thinly – the powers of the Gauntlet of Night were terrible indeed but, even now, he felt its price begin to take effect.

He couldn’t wield the artefact for longer than an hour at a time, for the gauntlet not only drew upon the light of the sun, but of the life-force of those who used it. An average human, no matter how dark his heart, would be consumed by it within seconds, reduced to a dry husk, the very essence of his life sucked into the crystal. But, being forever dead, the Vampire Lord had a greater advantage over the gauntlet, and could wield it for an hour at a time, his body slowly suffering from the use. A full hour’s use left him weak, his skin taut over his bones, his thirst almost fatal. This was why he required a veritable feast of blood afterwards; the fact that he always demanded women and children was simply down to preference.

But, despite how it took its toll on him, the Vampire Lord knew he would be foolish not to use this weapon of immense power, that his numbers could thrive from these unpredictable attacks, that he could wipe out the numbers of men by the thousands in the process, and that one day would see vampires taking their rightful place as the rulers of the world of Naine. But not this day, not yet...

No, he knew what must be done before his kind had any hope of fulfilling their destinies; for the Gauntlet of Night was only one of a pair, and the equally-legendary Gauntlet of Day had been lost for centuries. With both in his possession, he could not only blot out the sun, but eradicateit completely. But he had been searching for the second Gauntlet’s location for many years now, and yet he was no closer to unearthing it than he had been the day he first heard tell of the two artefacts.

With both Gauntlets, he knew, he would be unstoppable.

And then there would be nothing in the way of him destroying the human filth entirely, and starting his new world.

If news was correct, then he felt assured that that time was quickly approaching, that the long-lost Gauntlet of Day was about to be discovered thanks to the manipulation of his many human insurgents, those more blind from the promises of eternal life and glory everlasting to realise the annihilation they would bring upon themselves.

So let them hasten to their doom, he thought to himself as he observed the exquisite carnage taking place at his feet. They’re nothing more than cattle to me, and unfit for dominance merely because they can walk in the light unafraid. But I will show them the true reason to fear the Darkness...

There is always reason to fear the night when it can fall at any time...