Darkness of Naldenveer

  Book Two of the Braemuir Saga

  Kevin Porter

  Copyright © 2026 by Kevin Porter

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [include publisher/author contact info].

  The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

  Book Cover Design by ebooklaunch.com

  ISBN: 9798272171795

  www.kevinporter.co.uk

  In the end, a choice awaits us.

  Walk into the wind, and a dedication becomes less about generic and sentimental words.

  Purpose lies in what is produced under the madness of one’s own process.

  Let it flow.

  Though truthfully, I have gone too far; ah well, no going back now.

  Creative surrender.

  Tick-tock.

  Dramatis Personae

  The Braemuir Brotherhood

  High Elder Tasgall, leader of the Brotherhood

  Master Torcall, fourth rank in the Brotherhood

  Master Manach, fourth rank in the Brotherhood

  Disciple Keegan, third rank in the Brotherhood

  Disciple Archibald, third rank in the Brotherhood

  Demonslayer Lachlann, who answers to no one

  Aspirant Peadar, second rank in the Brotherhood

  Initiate Finley, first rank in the Brotherhood

  Intiate Coire, first rank in the Brotherhood

  Intiate Teigue, first rank in the Brotherhood

  Initiate Baku, first rank in the Brotherhood

  Hutch, master of culinary creations

  The Knight of Klertinmor

  Knight Grandmaster Maximus, leader

  Knight Minfred, equal rank

  Knight Oswald, equal rank

  Knight Kaspian, equal rank

  Knight Guillaume, equal rank

  Knight Francois, equal rank

  Knight Reginald, equal rank

  Knight Griffin, equal rank

  Knight Felix, equal rank

  Knight Tomas, equal rank

  Knight Louis, equal rank

  Knight Bernard, equal rank

  Portier Jarvis, the gatekeeper

  The Sisterhood of Osela

  Selina, the librarian

  Assassin Elyna

  Alchemist Luthriel, owner of Septulshae

  Tara, works in Silvia’s Thread

  Guardians of Osela

  Lady of the Brae, holds dominion above Osela

  Lady of the Muir, holds dominion below Osela

  The Council of Naldenveer

  Death Lord Karvaan, leader of the council

  Nal, a demonic spirit

  Akass, a demonic spirit

  Satal, a demonic spirit

  Carthoo, a demonic spirit

  Barashi, a demonic spirit

  Zelmar, a demonic spirit

  Tasoor, a demonic spirit

  Hagafu, a demonic spirit

  Makef, a demonic spirit

  Vuka, a demonic spirit

  Elbaazu, a demonic spirit

  Kormek, a demonic spirit

  Councillor Veru, devotee to the council

  Councillor Veru, devotee to the council

  Councillor Natal, devotee to the council

  League of Seltookra

  Master Assassin Ombra, leader of the League of Seltookra

  Assassin Nyla

  Assasin Kali

  House of Shiel’Dura

  King Drusus, a monarch ruler

  Queen Melantha, a monarch ruler

  Archdemon Circle (Al’Zhuu)

  Archdemon Evangeline

  Archdemon Arazah

  Others

  Laird Murray, resides in Harrington Hall

  Ascendant Mathos

  High Druidess Aoife, an ascendant

  Arkelo, leader of the Willowmen

  Inquisitor Askel, oversees the king and queen

  Captain Murdoch, a sailor

  Rez, Arbiter of Illuminations Haste

  Jerome, heir to the throne of Shiel’Dura

  Elsbeth, heir to the throne of Shiel’Dura

  General Cadoc, a mercenary leader

  Prologue

  Events transpire sometime before or during the 1st Age of Tyrora… specifics are hazy. Accuracy requires a trust in one’s sources… sometimes it’s better to acknowledge the unknowns.

  Quiet bubbling built in the background; the moonlight shone through the candlelit room as a few figures stepped across the lunar radiance that marked the varnished floor. Luminous liquid poured into glass beakers, calculations muttered while notes were scribbled down with a crow feather quill. Everything functioned precisely, nothing out of place as a veiny hand rolled up his black and orange-lined sleeve, focusing on the collection of different liquids, purples and greens glowed against his pale face, a wry smile drawn.

  ‘Barashi, our work draws near its conclusion.’

  ‘It does, Karvaan. Do you have concerns?’

  Karvaan turned to face him. ‘None. Our research has been… meticulous, and our desire to move beyond the physical body unmatched. Sacrifices are necessary… all of us knew the risks.’

  He turned back around as he gripped a glass beaker, his beady eyes staring into the frothing liquid as he put it back down, scribbling a few things down, carefully formed symbols etched into worn paper. The atmosphere was subdued as he began walking towards the window, both walls lined with bookshelves, a mass of inherited knowledge from what came before and what the council had accumulated. He stood at the window, hands tucked behind his back, staring across the desolate streets, the stars guiding all that lay below. Such ominousness had fed the councillors’ ambition to drive through the heart of reality, to deduct and suss. And now, they stood on the precipice of ingenuity, a madness that few could hold a sword to.

  Karvaan stared into the outside gloom, feeling the depths of his process, a soothing and coalescing blanket spun of his own accord. The fear of the unknown called out to him, yet he did not fear it; he had become immune to such frivolous emotion. Emotion is a leech that imprisons the weak. One could not have an expansive view of existence when ruled by such petty grievances. Rise above the base object, so much so that the hidden layers reveal, creating the conditions for a masquerading force of supreme study to slip through the veil. The council had been oh so patient, every nodule and scrap of genetic material accounted for. Leave nothing to the confused eyes of ignorance; a shrewd and ruthless drive will suffice. Love a pearl of insignificance to misguide and distort correct action. The outside world’s opinions and gossip could not halt the vision. Karvaan likened such people to black flies, forever sucking on an all-consuming type of poison to dull their awareness of all things.

  ‘A drink, Karvaan?’ Barashi asked, who had snuck up, standing shoulder to shoulder at the window with a gold goblet in his hand.

  ‘No, thank you. I wish to revel in my last sober moments. Yet as I stare outward, I can’t help but cast my thoughts towards one thing.’ He paused. ‘Does anyone even recognise the great work we do?’

  ‘They are incapable, and we were right to pull back from the general malaise long ago, seeds of suspending stupidity, directionless and lifeless. Our cutthroat tactics were necessary… we cannot wait on others in life; it disrupts the energetic flow. Thus, our choice is evidently made for us, rather than us deciding.’

  ‘Are they not so convincing in their daily tasks? Pretending and enforcing an instinctual illusion of bare necessities. Their minds are fascinating and alarming, and as I reflect on my last breaths in this human vessel, I can’t stop myself from feeling contempt… that it had to come to this. I cannot take the insanity a day longer. We have kept to ourselves to avoid locking eyes with morons.’ Karvaan pursed his lips together. ‘In some ways, I will be glad when we are no longer associated with such a culture of destitution. I cannot give kindness to lazy minds, nor do I accept the blame for their situation. We stand in a dualistic conundrum, Benevolent or Malevolent; the choice was always a simple one: malevolence. I cannot stand side by side with belligerence in the name of compassion. The truth is more complex. Good and bad decisions have to co-exist, and we made our pact.’

  ‘We did. I have planned for a well-to-do painter to come this evening.’

  Karvaan frowned, the moonlight cratering his skin. ‘What for?’

  ‘I want a memento of the human form; the thirteen of the Council of Naldenveer will stand together as one. The last fragment of our existence…’

  ‘You know I don’t like strangers here.’

  Barashi gave a thin-lipped smirk. ‘I do. However, leaving a painting of the council is a small nod to the great work.’

  ‘Given the limited time we have… I shall allow it to proceed.’

  ‘Excellent. I will inform the rest of the council. Be downstairs in an hour. I’ll leave you with your thoughts.’

  Barashi walked away, his steps creaking across the floor, the door at the end of the long room opening and shutting as Karvaan took a deep inhalation, each breath signifying the last remnants of his mortal existence. A peculiar thing to be close to
the end, and to know it’s coming. There was no panic. He stood poised in front of the window; his arms folded in a relaxed manner as his black and orange-lined robe hung loosely. His meditations and communications had brought him into cahoots with powerful forces; the council would leave its legacy on the Tyrora Archipelago, continuing and advancing its dominion. Nothing would stand in their way once they had shed the skin of the human form, elevating them to new heights and possibilities. Leaving behind the trivial nature of the human condition, morals and principles would fade away, the conscience torched, any weakness devoured, and a powerful ritual would converge to usher in the darkness of Naldenveer. The uptake of the demonic spirit.

  Death comes.

  Chapter One

  And the winds

  whisper a forgotten age

  where destruction fed

  the circle of distrust

  Tol Igar

  Compendium of Musings

  Darkness consumed his sight; the coldness of the stone floor formed an icicle around his spine, gripping it in place. Breathing was slow and rhythmic as his warm breath disappeared into the dullness in front of his eyes. Tasgall knelt within the gloomy atmosphere of the Auld Tunnel Network; his mind had been in a state of overdrive since the Council of Naldenveer’s ritual, and he needed space to assess what lay ahead. Meditation gave him clarity, but he had to be careful; he could feel the changes occurring in the energetics; a thick hue of malevolence hung over the Isle of Ophlen. He closed his eyes, allowing a gentle clearness to find his mind’s eye, stopping his mind from jumping to distractions and ramblings.

  After several minutes, he extended his focus towards the veil over the Isle of Ophlen; the veil penetrated by the Council of Naldenveer’s ritual connected with the orangey glow of the Salfizor cluster. He could see a fissure that cut into the veil, a dark greyish incision that clawed and raked with malice. He assumed that a corresponding fissure existed at the tower of Dejero-Obitus; a fissure was like a gate, and gates weren’t purely for the physical body to use as a go-between, rather energy could be more powerfully and effectively directed between the two connected fissures. The strength of that connection was already being felt less than a day after the ritual had taken place, and Tasgall was certain that darkness would continue to rise as the days counted down towards the ninth, when the Council of Naldenveer would assume maximum strength in alignment with the death and destruction of Salfizor. He would have to deploy every move, strategy, and trick to outsmart the council, yet he had to consider the League of Seltookra, who would likely seek revenge on the Brotherhood. As such, they would have to watch their backs and flanks for opportune attacks. Fortunately, Baku and Manach had drawn up maps that would show positional advantages and weak points that the enemy could exploit. Tasgall planned to meet with Selina and Elyna to discuss the varied and subtle attacks Seltookra would utilise on the Kalseadur plains. Recruitment of capable men and women continued, given basic training, and an opportunity to observe potential soldiers who had the abilities to lead and assist in fluid attack and defence. For realistically, the Brotherhood and knights could not cover every square inch of the battlefield; they would have to delegate and move between areas that were being targeted, overrun, or had a serious threat that required a more battle-hardened hand.

  Since the death of the betraying brother, Hamish, he had been wriggling and wrestling with Hamish’s last words before his death. “I never killed Aodh. You're a smart man, Tasgall; work it out.” He had recognised the truthfulness of his words. What had he meant? He could see his smirking face with his scarred eye laughing at him from beyond the grave. Hamish had knowingly planted a seed he knew would explode inside him. Tasgall continued to probe, reciting the words Aodh had written in his journal: “My senses have laid blaze, the Brotherhood cannot yet come to know, I must continue to peer from afar, Brother Hamish plots my demise, I have known it through the window of his soul.”

  A sobering moment cascaded onto Tasgall; a frenetic feeling went agonisingly through his soul. He had seen the error in his ways; he had been so focused on Hamish being mentioned that he had skipped what Aodh had meant when he wrote, “I must continue to peer from afar.” Aodh had been viewing things from a projected spiritual state through his meditative practice; the pieces came together in his mind effortlessly. He remembered back to his meditation where he had projected into the energetics of Naldenveer, gripped by the skeletal hand. Aodh hadn’t been so fortunate; one of the council members had infiltrated Aodh’s meditative space in a calculated attack. The council had used Hamish as bait to lure Aodh into a precarious spiritual position. Tears formed in Tasgall’s eyes; he felt so stupid for not seeing it earlier. All that occurred in the aftermath of Aodh’s death ripped through him violently. Ailpein, Brennan, and Hamish flashed before his eyes, and with that, a burden of pain dwelt in his body as he looked downward. He had deciphered the truth in Aodh’s last words, an unsettling revelation, one that put things into perspective: not to underestimate the cunning and metaphysical acumen of the council. But even now, Tasgall knew so little about the Council of Naldenveer; they were demonic spirits, but did they possess names and ranks? And did any of that matter? He froze in response to the ignorance he held. An enemy that would destroy Osela and the Isle of Ophlen without hesitation, and he knew so little about their inner workings. He must go to Manach, needing to know more.

  Keegan, Archibald, Peadar, Finley, Coire, Teigue, and Baku were all standing shoulder to shoulder, facing one thousand and one hundred men and women recruits, mainly from Osela, but there were others who had come from Atansupra and Shiel’Dura.

  Keegan stood tall. ‘Soldiers, today we engage in our first battleground simulation. This will give you a taste and feel of the battlefield. We have split you into groups and given starting positions you must defend as well as advance where possible. Remember, our goal is to experience, not to maim or injure anyone. Group up and take your positions.’

  There was collective acknowledgement as different groups travelled to various areas of what was a grassy plain surrounded by various rigid rock faces on all sides that had crevices, channels, and gullies that recruits would come through before meeting directly on the plain; they had wooden swords and shields equipped to reduce the risk of major injuries, even a wooden sword could punish a sloppy defence with a bruise or graze. Enough to keep the recruit’s senses sharp.

  Keegan and Archibald were overseeing the training as they clambered up the mashed landscape of grassy ledges and jagged rock faces with smears of calcite, appearing like white splodges of paint. He stood with his hands on his hips as the recruits took up formation in lines of twos and threes.

  ‘What do you think?’ Archibald asked.

  ‘I think we’re about to find out a lot.’

  ‘I’m predicting absolute chaos.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Even with a brother leading each group. It takes a few battlefield scenarios for your mind to adjust to everything that's happening. It's easy to get whipped up in a collective pitter-patter. Usually, a couple of sound heads who handle the pressure steam forward while the rest motion their bodies around behind them doing nothing.’

  Keegan laughed. ‘It’ll be the duty of each brother to drive them forward out of their collective stupor. We’ve no room for passengers; if recruits can’t deliver on the battlefield, we’ll get overrun and likely end up dead.’

  ‘Here’s hoping all goes well.’

  Keegan could see the groups positioning themselves in the different pockets of the field. He placed a silver whistle against his lips, holding it there, letting the anticipation build in the stomachs of the recruits, feeling the nervous energy coming from every corner. He blew the whistle hard as the light breeze carried the sound across the field. Roars and stamping feet rang out as groups began making their way forward. Keegan focused on the purple group, led by Baku. They were coming at speed as they poured out of the northern gully, and as they came out, their formation became dislodged and ragged. There was an over-eagerness to get onto the field, and it was the red group that was about to meet them from the western side, led by Finley. They held a disciplined and steady speed, staying tightly compact as a unit. Both groups locked onto one another as the noise levels echoed throughout, excited roars mixed with thumping weapons and feet. Within a matter of seconds, the groups collided; the purple group swarmed the compact shell of the red group, surrounding them as the red recruits put up an effective defence, not becoming overwhelmed by the onslaught from all sides. The red recruits tactically bided their time as if waiting for the purple recruits to blow through their energy. Keegan and Archibald observed from afar as the tide turned in the red recruits’ favour as they began picking off the disconnectedness of the purple recruits, who syphoned off in ones and twos. Purple recruits began dropping like flies, which meant they had taken a knee, a signal of defeat. The remaining purple recruits appeared to reorganise and take on a semblance of shape. There were distinct advantages to being outnumbered; it was difficult for the larger group to get clean shots, which led to people from the same group crossing swords and barging into one another. Keegan witnessed that very thing. While the red recruits had outsmarted the purple recruits initially, they were struggling to clear through the remaining bodies, who were battling exceptionally hard, and within a few fell swoops, half the red recruits had taken a knee as the rest backpedalled nervously. Purple recruits drove forward in the ascendancy as they bellowed and charged, a crest of momentum piercing through their lungs as they trampled through more red recruits. Those who had taken a knee were quickly scurrying to the sides of the field, trying not to hamper the flow of the training simulation. The two leaders of each group, Baku and Finley, had locked weapons in the centre and were engaged in a competitive duel, but it was the purple recruits who continued to press home their advantage, rag-dolling the last of the red recruits before turning to surround Finley, who reluctantly took his knee.