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      Advent of

      Darkness

      Gary Caplan

      Copyright ebook © 2013 Gary Caplan

      All rights reserved.

      Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com

       http://www.eBookIt.com

      ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-2039-4

      No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

      Dedication

      I would like to dedicate this book to all the great authors who wrote in this fantasy genre that inspired my imagination and interest to write. To J. R. R. Tolkien, Roger Zelany, Robert E. Howard, Michael Moorcock, Stephen Donaldson, Terry Brooks, and many others—thanks for the inspiration. I have had these ideas since I was a young boy. I just had to find the time to write. I would also like to dedicate this to my parents, Martin and Merri Caplan, who inspired me to learn; to some friends who helped me work through some of my ideas: my brother Mark and my old friends Brian Godshall, Bob Fedic, and David St John. Last but not least, to my good friend Basil Varian for his help with writing the original draft of the prologue and first six chapters and the part of the draft of last chapter, and his contribution of some interesting names to the Illúmaril story and his imaginative artwork.

      Prologue

      The car's headlights cut through the darkness of the night on the empty road outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. John Gideon sat behind the wheel, rubbing his eyes, his mind weary from several hours of travel. He was a tall man with a lean but powerful build, surfer good looks, and shoulder-length blond hair.

      He had just completed the qualifying exams for his master's degree and his thesis project, which were the culmination of twenty-four months of full-time study at Temple University in Philadelphia.

      World prehistory, Stone Age Europe, and archeological methods and theories still jangled in his brain, giving him a headache. Still, he had to laugh slightly at the course his life had taken. A few years earlier, he had left his home state of California and joined the military, not because he did not want to go to college, but because he felt almost compelled to serve. Because of his exceptional intelligence and his athletic ability, he had a few unique opportunities, including gathering intelligence for his company and later Fifty-Eighth Infantry, and that was when his tour of duty got interesting. For three years, he worked both in combat situations and non-combat situations of gathering of military intelligence. During his time in the military, he was awarded the Silver Star for gallantry in action against enemy forces. In 1970, he got out, wanting to put the horror of the past behind him. That year, he enrolled in one of Philadelphia's university's archeological sciences program because he thought that the study of "old stuff" would be sufficiently different. After three years of hell, archaeology would seem like heaven.

      Now, here he was six years later, having completed college with honors and recently earned a master's degree, on his way to a doctorate.

      He let out a bored sigh and looked up at the sky. In the darkness above, rain-filled nimbus clouds moved in to block the light of the stars.

      It's going to rain, he thought to himself.

      Cursing softly at the rotten change in the weather, he flipped on the radio and tuned it to the local pop music station, which was playing "Disco Duck."

      God, I'm really beginning to hate that song, he thought as it mercifully faded out to be replaced by Rod Stewart's newest hit, "Tonight's the Night."

      Now, that's more like it, he thought.

      Soon, he found himself tapping unconsciously on the steering wheel and humming to himself. With a quick downward thrust, he shifted into fourth gear as he thought of trying to beat the rain.

      Cool air blew on his face, tousling his light golden-blond hair and easing the stifling summer night air. Glancing at the clock on the dash, he saw it was five minutes to eight.

      Thunder rumbled across the heavens, and the night sky flashed with lightning, though the storm was still minutes away.

      Gideon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As a rule, he liked lonely country roads during daylight. There were farms and cows and trees and stuff to look at, good for relieving the monotonous boredom of a long road trip. However, at night, the darkness and shadows made everything mysterious and spooky. Trees loomed from either side of the road, their appearance suddenly gnarled and misshapen when lit by the flashes of lightning. No longer the homes of happy squirrels and twittering birds, they became twisted, evil creatures one only encountered in a fairy tale about wicked witches and goblins.

      Somewhat shaken by his thoughts, he downshifted and continued at a safe and steady forty-five miles per hour. It was then, more or less, that he realized with slight apprehension that his seemed to be the only car on the road. He had not passed, nor had he seen, another car for over an hour.

      He thought that was a bit odd.

      He looked into his rearview mirror.

      Nothing.

      Nervously, he looked about and began eyeing the dreadful trees again.

      Then, as he turned his eyes back to the road before him, the headlight beams caught a man suddenly stepping out onto the road about one hundred yards in front of his oncoming car.

      With his heart suddenly leaping into his throat, Gideon quickly lay down on the horn and slammed down hard on the brakes. He steered the wheel to the right. The Mustang's tires screeched to a reluctant halt.

      The man stood on the road, motionless, as if he did not realize he had been only a few seconds away from being road kill, and looked at the car.

      No, not at the car.

      At me!

      The engine rumbled idly as Gideon and the man looked at each other.

      Was the man crazy? He was wearing some kind of robe, like a fancy housecoat. Red, he thought. He had a tightly cropped black beard and blue-gray eyes.

      Piercing eyes. No fear in them.

      Lucid, sane, determined.

      Clearing his mind, Gideon leaned out the window and opened his mouth to speak, but the strange man in the road spoke first. His voice was clear and strong, though halted and strained, as if English was not his first language.

      "John…Gid…eon."

      It was not a question but rather a confirmation. Gideon stiffened warily at hearing his own name from this stranger's lips.

      Thunder and lightning crashed overhead. Rain began to pour down from the sky in torrents. The storm had decided to break.

      "Who?" he began.

      "They…come…for you!" the man continued; his steady gaze seemed to grow even harder. "They have breached…the barrier, and they…have found…your scent. You are…in great danger!"

      Gideon opened the door at this and began to step out of the car. He was shaken but resolute. He was going to find out who this person was and how he knew his name.

      "Who the hell are you, man? Do you realize I nearly ran you over? What are you, stoned? And what the hell's all this about? 'They'? Who's they?"

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