The Dark Eye: Starless Sky: The Dark Eye Short Story Anthology

Credits

ORIGINAL, GERMAN VERSION

Editor

Eevie Demirtel

Authors

Eevie Demirtel, Marco Findeisen, Mike Krzywik-Groß, Daniel Heßler, M. A. Lippert, Michael Masberg, Carolina Möbis, Marie Mönkemeyer, Daniel Simon Richter, Gudrun Schürer, Stefan Schweikert, Alex Spohr, Jens Ullrich, Judith C. Vogt, Christian Vogt, Josch K. Zahradnik, and Lena Zeferino

Cover Illustration

Nadine Schäkel

Aventuria Maps

Daniel Jödemann

Copy-Editing

Stephan Naguschewski, Marco Findeisen

Illustrations

Nadine Schäkel

Layout & Design

Michael Mingers

Edited by Kevin MacGregor

Starless Sky

24 short stories from

the world of The Dark Eye©

With special thanks to all our players and readers,

who inspire us to continue writing every day.

"Great heroes need great sorrows and burdens, or half their

greatness goes unnoticed. It is all part of the fairy-tale."The Last Unicorn

—Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn

ENGLISH VERSION

Studio Director

Timothy B. Brown

Translation

Daniel Mayer, Steven M. Fowler, BA, MH, DPhil

Managing Editor

Kevin MacGregor

Editing

Kevin MacGregor, Carolyn Steele,

Dana Hagengruber, Greg Nagler

Aventuria Maps

Steffen Brand, Eduard Lerperger

Layout

Ben Acevedo, Emma Beltran

Copyright © 2017 by Ulisses Spiele GmbH, Waldems.

THE DARK EYE, AVENTURIA, DERE, MYRANOR, RIESLAND, THARUN, and UTHURIA are trademarks of Ulisses Spiele GmbH. All rights reserved.

The contents of this publication are protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without prior written consent by Ulisses Spiele GmbH, Waldems.

ISBN: 9783957525444

Forward

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the fantasy world of The Dark Eye! This volume concerns the Starfall, a mythical event that heralds a new era of heroes in Aventuria. The 24 stories in this anthology, as told by 17 different authors, describe changes both great and small for the world and its many peoples.

Starless Sky brings together stories from the past, present, and future of Aventuria. A few occur beyond the borders of the continent, in faraway Gyldenland, and even in Limbo, the space between the Spheres of Reality.

But enough preamble! Let yourselves be transported to the magical Bornwood, the wide steppes of the Orclands, or the tallest peaks of the High Eternans. Witness the events surrounding the Starfall in the decaying, demon city of Yol-Ghurmak, the fairy-tale Lands of the Tulamydes, the grand arenas of Al’Anfa, or the alleys of the Imperial city of Gareth.

A sunny day in autumn, 2015

Eevie Demirtel

Duty—Part I

by Marie Mönkemeyer

Porta Yaquiris, 290 before the Fall of Bosparan

We should have been there, at their side. They were our comrades. We let them down and now they are dead! Cavalry Prefect Aradnus’ voice was a deep rumble, full of anger and desperation.

And still the Lion Worshipers have not tired of spilling our blood. It is only a matter of time before they come at us again. We need a tactic that will work against them. Centurio-Maga Cirania was practical to her core and always looked to the future. Only her unyielding grip on her walking staff gave any hint to the emotions that burned within her. I remained silent, even though I knew they were waiting for me to respond.

Two months ago, I was still assigned to the Divine Field Commander. For 36 years, my role as a priest was to serve on the battlefield with the legions. I had been deep in meditation over the nature of our god when my brothers and sisters mustered and marched off to the Battle of Bloodhills. What happened next is well known. It didn’t settle the question of which deity—Rahandra or Shinxir—deserved to be worshiped as the god of war, but given the results, it might as well have. The servants of the Lion Goddess had betrayed us, their comrades, and won. Of the many champions of Shinxir who fought that day, none survived.

I could not accept that these men and women had gone to their doom without me, but no matter how long I meditated or how many hours I devoted to practice with my weapons, I could not compensate for my injured left leg. The answer was plain for all to see—Shinxir called me to serve, but he did not call me to battle. Even so, he was still my god, my supreme commander. Whatever he asked of me, I would do gladly. And so I stayed with the legion.

Rahandra has reigned as the true goddess of war ever since. After the Battle of Bloodhills, fear began to spread through the tents. It was only a matter of time before belief in Shinxir would be proscribed, his priests executed, and his believers cast from society. Officers and soldiers alike learned quickly to keep their heads down. They adapted to the new order and swore allegiance to Rahandra (or at least to the belief that this really was the will of the gods).

And so it came to pass that the three of us were sitting in my tent instead of in the officers’ mess, questions hanging unspoken in the air between us.

Aradnus and Cirania were more than good officers. They were my friends, and both would have given their lives for me without hesitation. They showed me consideration with their silence. Instead, they focused their anger on the servants of Rahandra and the officers, who were suddenly avoiding them. Yet they longed for answers. Should they have found a way to carry me into battle? Should they gather those who were still loyal to Shinxir and attack the servants of the Lioness, and by so doing, seek their own deaths as well? Was that Shinxir’s will? I had often asked myself these questions.

For most of my life, and especially these past few months, I had asked these questions of myself and my god. I meditated for hours, until the black and golden squares of the board filled my mind, pushing everything else aside. Twelve times twelve squares, black and gold like a hornet, orderly like a legion’s camp. The game requires tactics, planned moves, and quick countermoves against the unexpected strikes of the opponent. System and tactics, discipline and order, camaraderie and companionship.

Even now my gaze remained fixed on the board that sat on the table, flanked by Aradnus’ and Ciranias’ goblets. I had not put it aside for more than a year.

Twelve times twelve squares, twelve pieces for each player. Alone, a single piece is of little importance. Only together do they have meaning—just like a legion. To win, one need only employ them in the right way, systematically and prudently. When strengthened by its companions at just the right moment, an otherwise worthless piece can win the battle.

Shinxir is no hot-headed warrior who throws himself heedlessly into battle. He is a field commander who plans well in advance and does not send his reserves to the slaughter. And he is my god.

By the way, I am keeping my fastest horse ready for you, in case they try to arrest you. Aradnus’ words derailed my thoughts. He clapped my shoulder encouragingly, forcing my gaze from the black and golden squares. It would have to be a very good horse, I thought. As Prefect of the Cavalry he was very demanding, so of course it would be a strong animal. However, I did not need it.

Thank you, I said, but that is not necessary.

If you say so. Aradnus shrugged skeptically and reached for the wine. Then he seemed to come to a decision. Yes. I am not going to flee, either, he said. This is the time for action.

Aradnus and Cirania exchanged glances, and I could tell by their body language that they had been waiting for a moment like this. Officers never liked to sit around not knowing when or if new orders would arrive.

If we die as martyrs, I began, who then shall serve Shinxir? Who will guard his sanctuaries? Who will honor the Champion? When you lose a battle, do you sit in the corner and cry? No! You retreat, you gather your forces, and you regroup. And that is exactly what we are going to do. The thundering Lioness might have beaten us this time, but that does not mean she will always win, or even that this war is over. The next battle will come, and people will sing Shinxir’s praises again.

They found comfort and, I think, cautious, hesitating hope in my words.

If the war is not over, should we not raise an army and lead it against Rahandra’s servants? Cirania asked, ever eager for battle.

No. We retreat. You two can remain in the legion, if you wish. I shall become a private citizen and settle down on my family’s land.

So, we’re to run away, after all, Aradnus grumbled into his goblet. I gave him a chiding stare, and he snapped to attention, red-faced, like a scolded recruit. Please forgive me! he exclaimed.

I waved him aside before he could continue. Aradnus had served on the border, in Corania, and everywhere in between. His manners, even after all the drilling, were still as rugged and wild as his homeland. This would never change.

Do you think you will be safe there? Cirania asked.

I think so. I am getting old and I am a cripple. How dangerous could I be? I tapped my left leg, smiling.

You are not a cripple! Cirania yelled. She always objected strongly whenever I started talking like this. Another thing that would not change. She was tough on herself, and she would never give up on me.

I has been a young man, and she was still in training, when an enemy’s arrow struck my horse. The animal plunged and rolled, trapping me beneath its body. If not for Cirania, I would certainly have gone on to join Shinxir’s otherworldly legions. She pulled me from beneath my dying horse and treated the worst of my injuries at great risk to her own life. Eventually I was able to walk again, but slowly, and with a limp. I survived only because of her.

Some may see me as one, if they like. You know that the most dangerous enemy is the one you underestimate. How often had I uttered that ancient bit of wisdom?

Yes, she said, nodding to herself. After a few moments, she asked, You said ‘retreat and wait.’ Until when?

Until Shinxir’s next battle.

Aradnus frowned, his brows furrowing. Cirania rolled her eyes in mock exasperation at the obvious nature of my answer, but she remained confident that things would work out for the best.

The truth is not easily grasped by mortal minds, and my mind is no exception. Eventually I came to understand that if I remained alone, I was doomed to fail. I could make use of my authority as a priest for a time, but that authority would not survive beyond my death. I needed Aradnus and Cirania to join me in an important task. Therefore, I needed to explain something to them which even I had trouble putting into words.

It might not happen for a very long time, I began. "The Champion is a god, and gods...they...they think in different dimensions. To them, we are so small, like a game piece on the board. Time works differently for gods. Hundred of years seem like forever to us mortals, but to the gods, centuries rush past in the blink of an eye. There will come a day when Rahandra’s sword grows rusty, and Shinxir will be there to fight her once again. I know it. I have seen it! Yet I do not know when it will happen. We must not lose heart. We must do our part as loyal soldiers. The Champion will return, and it is our task to ensure that somebody still supports Shinxir’s fight here in the mortal world, on Dere, when that day arrives. Thus will the Divine Field Commander be victorious!"

…to be continued in Duty—Part II on page 280.

Herbalism

by Gudrun Schürer

Somewhere on the edge of the Bornwood, Peraine, 1038 after the

Fall of Bosparan…

Yoline! The loud but musical summons that issued from the hut was addressed to a young woman who stood but a stone’s throw away weeding around a hedge of whitethorn bushes.

It has been like this since you died, she grumbled as she plucked withered blossoms from a primrose.

Yoli-i-ine!

This time, a different voice called for her.

People will hear her even in Gartimpen, she sighed as she spread some soil around the ram’s horn sapling that was growing between the whitethorns.

Yo-o-li-ine! It is ti-ime! the two women in the hut sang in unison.

No, not just in Gartimpen. They will hear that racket all the way on the other side of the Bornwood! Yoline frowned at the nearby grave. You were no different than those two. Silly, like Little Alrik at his third Tsa’s Day celebration. All of you should have been clowns, not Daughters of Satuaria.

She rose and looked at the grave with affection in her eyes. Despite her harsh thoughts, she missed her old teacher.

Whoever came up with that ridiculous name, that’s what I’d like to know. As if it was an official title to be passed down from teacher to disciple... Two Yolines are already more than enough!

With these last words she turned to the next grave in line, the second of four. I bet it was you, she said, kicking a stone from the dirt.

She crouched down to pluck one last blade of grass from the earth when suddenly something prodded her backside. She spun around angrily. That something had been only a cooking spoon. It floated in front of her nose, swaying teasingly up and down.

Yoline! yelled the chorus once more. It is time for the soup!

Feeling indignant, she snatched the spoon out of the air and trudged back to the hut, where two old hags waited impatiently and waved her to the hearth. A large cauldron was set on the flame, its contents coming to a boil.

I really wish you would stop! she snapped at the two. Yoline lies buried out there, under the whitethorn. Next to Yoline, Maline, and Zeline.

The two hags seemed unimpressed. Zeline gathers the herbs, Maline chops the herbs, Yoline stirs the soup, they droned in a chorus, pointing at each person in turn as their name was mentioned. It’s tradition.

Yoline turned away, giving them the silent treatment.

You need a small bowl of herb soup, suggested Maline, the crone standing to her right.

Or better yet, two, giggled Zeline, to her left.

"All good things come in threes, corrected Maline. Like the three sisters of Gartimpen, whose herb soup banishes even the worst of distempers. Yoline, swing the spoon!"

Yoline gave a sigh and plunged the cooking spoon into the thick broth. While she stirred, three barn owls flew in, perched on the wooden chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and jostled for the best spot. Maline reached for a bundle of herbs, which were lying next to each other in orderly rows on the table near the hearth. With dexterous fingers, she quickly separated stems and stalks from the leaves. She drew out the largest, sharpest knife the witches owned, wiped it clean on Zeline’s apron, and chopped the herbs into tiny pieces. She then gathered the small pile in her hand and cast it evenly over the simmering cauldron.

Mugwort, she announced as she picked up the next bundle.

Next comes the chervil, said Yoline, stirring diligently.

And plenty of that, added Zeline.

It makes the soup taste divine, giggled Maline as she placed the next portion of chopped herbs into the pot.

Sorrel, demanded Yoline.

Quickly, and followed by burnet, Zeline added.

One herb after another went into the broth: cress (which was very wholesome); parsley (the whole bunch); sage (harvested at night); St. Gilborn’s Wort (which makes people merry); ram’s horn (just a little bit), and…and hadn’t they forgotten something?

Chives! sang the sisters. The last of the greens disappeared into the pot.

Six pairs of eyes followed the movements of the cooking spoon, which dragged a spiral of green speckles behind it. Yoline paused as the first tiny bubbles began appearing on the surface.

Soup! she said. Show us what you’ve got!

A large bubble rose from the soup and burst, blowing its steamy breath into the witches’ faces. A cloud of herbs swirled in its wake. They gathered in the middle of the cauldron as if following orders, and started to form an image.

A sheep, said Zeline.

A cloud, mused Maline.

One by one, pieces of chive detached themselves from the others in the center and swam in a jagged line to the rim of the pot.

A thunderstorm! the three sisters said in unison.

The soup answered with more bubbles of steam, and the image of the storm cloud dissolved.

The big corn on my toe already told me about that, Maline complained. And it itches something fierce. Reminded now of her discomfort, she removed her slipper and scratched her toe vigorously.

Yoline went back to stirring the pot with the spoon. Another large bubble brought more herbs to the surface. They assembled themselves as before, this time showing the outline of a human.

A man, Yoline declared.

The outline grew larger.

A big man, Zeline added.

The outline continued to grow and began sprouting a beard.

A giant! yelled Maline.

A little whirl formed itself on the image’s left cheek. It grew and shrank back again in a rhythmic way.

He has his heart is on his cheek Yoline assumed.

The pulsation grew in intensity and the figure hunched over.

He is in pain, said Zeline.

He’s got a rotten tooth, Maline concluded.

Melzenis has a toothache! the sisters shouted simultaneously.

More bubbles rose to the surface and the image vanished. Sounds of worried hooting came from the chandelier.

Not you, Milzenis, said Maline, trying to calm her familiar. "You don’t have teeth. I said Melzenis. The giant. He has a rotten tooth. We should visit soon and cheer up the poor fellow."

Yoline kept stirring. Another bubble rose to the surface, and an image of three women appeared in the broth.

Three women, said Maline.

One of the women in the image raised her arm and waved.

It’s us, Zeline giggled, waving back.

The middle of the three women in the image carried something in her arms.

What has she got there? asked Yoline. A bundle, maybe?

The bundle stretched out two little arms.

A baby! Maline exclaimed in surprise. She looked at the third sister, as did Zeline. You don’t happen to have a sweet little secret? she asked eagerly.

Yoline turned beet red. I do not! she uttered indignantly. What nonsense!

We saw it! exclaimed the two crones.

But we didn’t say it, reminded the young woman.

Zeline took the spoon out of her sister’s hand and continued stirring the broth. The image returned momentarily. Yoline stared intently at the wriggling bundle. It squirmed out of the herb-arms of its mother and crawled on all fours to the edge of the cauldron. A curly tail sprouted from its backside.

Stupid hags, Yoline grumbled as she snatched the spoon back into her own hands. Full of laughs. As if this is all just fun and games! One day something bad will come from your pranks, and then there will be moaning and groaning.

The two hags giggled mischievously and poked her in the ribs. Oh yes, moaning and groaning, they confirmed.

The steam bubble rose up yet again, and a hut appeared. A small creature approached, its wings flapping, followed by a four-legged bandit with a pointed muzzle and a bushy tail.

Our hen house! the three witches yelled, horrified, but the soup wasn’t finished delivering messages yet. A shadow shot from the rim of the cauldron, swift as an arrow, and flew towards the fox. It grabbed the fox up in its claws, pecked it with its beak, and shook it until the fox was sent fleeing with its tail between its legs.

An owl, Maline sighed with relief.

The owls on the chandelier craned their necks. They did not want to miss this very significant message.

My owls, Yoline whispered with delight.

Mim chases the chicken thief away! the sisters recited as they looked up at the birds. The smallest of the three owls ruffled its feathers with satisfaction, while the other two looked with newfound respect at their companion. Milzenis hopped a bit to the side, to give the future heroine the best vantage point.

With a loud bloop, the soup once more drew the attention of the sisters. Yoline continued stirring and a new bubble welled up. This time the herbs seemed to arrange themselves randomly on the surface. The sisters gazed wonderingly into the cauldron.

You don’t have more to say? Zeline asked.

A group of green speckles coalesced into a head and a long body that meandered to the rim of the pot, whereupon it vanished slowly into the deep. Moments later, the same image reappeared at the same spot.

A snake? Maline asked. She seemed uncertain this time.

The constellation! Yoline yelled. She clapped her hands, obviously pleased at her cleverness. Look, the Fox is there, too, with its pointy ears.

The entire Circle of Gods. And here is the Dragon, and next to it, the Hero. Zeline pointed excitedly at the herb-star patterns. The soup made a warning, gurgling sound and she quickly withdrew her hand. The herbs swirled again, and the Snake reappeared. It wriggled and curled upon itself, and then formed a circle.

What is it doing? Maline asked, bewildered.

Again the constellation came into view, forming the head and long body, its tail now set where the jaws of the snake would have been.

The Snake bites its own tail! the sisters chanted.

The starry sky image faded, leaving the witches puzzled.

The Snake bites its own tail, Maline repeated. That cannot be.

But we said so, Zeline declared.

So it must be true, confirmed Yoline.

The witches glanced around worriedly, trying to remember if they had ever been wrong before. The birds seemed anxious, too, even though that last message had not depicted any owls. But these night hunters preyed upon snakes, and they watched the cauldron with interest.

Their ruminations were interrupted by the impatient soup. A loud gurgle reminded Yoline to get back to her task, and she continued stirring. A bubble of steam rose up, and the starry sky appeared once again. The sisters remained silent, concern etched in their brows.

They almost missed a single roll of chive turning around itself with incredible speed and then disappearing.

The Eye of the Dragon, Zeline mentioned. It closed.

The Dragon falls asleep, the sisters intoned together.

A new bubble formed, and the star-studded sky appeared again.

If we don’t say it, maybe it won’t come true this time, Maline whispered, as if she was afraid the soup would hear her.

You think so? Yoline asked, doubt in her voice.

We should try, said Zeline with determination.

The sisters looked at each other and nodded.

Yoline stirred energetically, scattering the images. When she stopped, the starry image appeared in front of them again, this time just as it looked in the real night sky. The witches sighed with relief but waited, watching intently for any new messages. Only Yoline’s young eyes noticed that the point of the Sword was missing. She stirred vigorously once more. This time, all the stars appeared in their proper places. Then, in the area of the Horns, five new stars appeared.

A new constellation! Zeline said with surprise.

Is that a bowl? Maline asked.

A go…, the sisters began to say, but they stopped before the word could pass their lips.

Yoline stirred up the strange constellation with her cooking spoon, dispersing it back into the soup. Next she dispersed the Raven, which had pushed itself between the Fox and the Stork as it chased the Dog back to its place. Yoline stirred frantically, but the images kept reforming.

The starry sky has gone mad, gasped Zeline.

Madder than the sisters of Gartimpen! hooted Maline.

Too crazy for us! they all agreed. Yoline put the lid on the cauldron just as the Lizard seemed to be growing two new legs. The soup started to boil, as soups usually do.

Time for supper, Zeline declared.

The owls glided majestically down from the chandelier and