The other held himself against a tall staff, weathered in places, but constantly renewed. His face was wrinkled by time but his eyes held a youth known only to an infant. He couldn’t help but feel lost in them. He wore bronze robes trimmed in a black stone-like material.
“Ozmodius, Osirus, my brothers, nothing you do can stop me. I will return and when I do, your followers will be lost to you.” Nezial heard the words escape his mouth but he didn't know why he said them.
The two men looked down on him. He could feel their thoughts. They smelled of remorse and pity.
A strange energy grab hold of him, pulling him from their presence. He tried fighting against it but it was too strong. He shut his eyes, screaming his anger at his brother’s betrayal. Opening his eyes, the pull disappeared. Staring out over a dark, new world, he watched legions of followers drop to their knees at the mere mention of his name. It was good they knew their rightful place. Unfortunately there were many in the south that evaded his influence. They would suffer like no other had.
He felt his power flow through him. Spreading his wings, he shot into the heavens, ascending to his rightful godly stature. Flying over the graying clouds, he soared to the south. Positioning himself over the heretics, he focused his will toward their destruction. His magics wouldn’t obey. Like they were trapped between realms. He could still feel them, but they couldn't affect the mortal planes. Screaming his discontent, he cursed his brothers one last time. If he was going to crush these infidels, his followers would have to do it for him.
The world shifted again. The lands were decimated. Armies of gray orcs marched through the people of the realm, slaughtering any and all within their path. They were commanded by several men clad in black robes and armor. Several strands of a wicked, purple and black energy flowed from him and into the armored men below. They redirected the energy into his will. It was easy to tell who held complete faith in his divine right and who doubted his presence. The strands couldn’t lie. Within minutes the world was his, leaving only the persistent southlands beyond his rule, protected by a collection of alfar, men, and dwarves.
Again the world shifted, and again, each time filling him with knowledge. He witnessed an eternity of events, watching each one as if he was the source. He felt his sanity slipping away, replaced by bits of knowledge. Knowledge too great for any living being to possess. And suddenly, as quick as he’d disappeared, he was back, standing over a crumbled statue.
He fell to the stone floor, feeling the last bits of information settle into place. Looking around, the once living cloak was crumbled with the rest, its fading purple glow disappearing from sight. Taking a deep breath, a single piece of stone remained intact, its glow holding strong. He reached down and picked up the single shard among the rubble. Inspecting it, it appeared to have been split from the statue years before as a light layer of moss was beginning to claim the rough break. He felt the power rush through him, flowing into the fractured piece. Shifting before his eyes, the jagged piece elongated and thinned, retaining its wavy curves. A moment later, a purple blade with a black hilt sat idle in his hand. Admiring the kris, he felt the remnant energy flow through the blade, trapped inside the material. Fingering the hilt, he spotted a broken setting where a gemstone once rested. Now that’s annoying. Why give me the key to limitless power only to have it crippled by an incomplete bridge? Nevertheless, it was his, and he belonged to it.
Urgency called to him. He glanced at the mirror, knowing what secrets remained on the other side. Recalling his purpose, he shook the thought from his head. He had to find the other one. Izaryle would be freed. Stuffing the dagger into his satchel, he turned and rushed up the stairs.
The two orcs waited patiently outside the dark temple, looking into the deserted city around them.
The little sunlight that pierced the dark clouds, faded when he stepped from the chamber. He locked eyes on the orcs, patiently awaiting him. They seemed much smaller than he recalled. He glanced at the darkening sky. It felt good to stand in the sun without the constant pain.
The larger orc stepped toward him. “You look different. Find what yo--” His words fell short.
Nezial placed his hand on the old orc's breastplate. A smile crept to his face. The thick hide began to contort and turn black, under his touch. The orc screamed, feeling his body burning beneath the armor. He tried in vain to get the straps loose but they burnt him further. He fell to his knees with the loss of muscle. He tried to take a final breath but it would not come. Falling forward, his charred body crashed into the ground with an explosion of ash, the discolored husk all that was left of him.
Nezial glanced at the younger orc.
He stared in horror, watching his commander's body blow away on the wind. He raised his axe and charged the traitorous dreualfar. Bringing the thick blade down, all his strength in that single blow, he hoped to cut the mage in half.
Nezial's smile grew wider at the inexperienced orc’s attempt. Clapping his hands together, he caught the thick cutting blade moments before it would have bit into his skull.
The orc stared in confusion. How can such a small creature stop the strength of an orc? His shocked expression turned to worry. Fear crept into him, feeling the pain take hold in his arms. He tried to release the axe but his hands wouldn’t comply. He felt it flow into his chest. The orc watched his flesh turn to stone before his very eyes. It passed into his legs and moments later, he was fully engulfed, his eyes locked on the smug dreualfar, less than an inch from the edge of his axe.
Nezial looked up at the fading sun, he took comfort in its inability to harm him. With a final glance at the eternal orc, he turned and disappeared, leaving the living statue all alone in the abandoned city.
The young orc silently wept, unable to give his fear voice. He stared blankly at the open tomb, wondering if he would ever see another living being.
***
The dark passageways were full of dreualfar, each one avoiding him. They coward when he was near, moving away as quick as possible, keeping watch until he was out of sight.
Nezial marched through the catacombs. The smell of dirt and fear caressed his nostrils. He wasn't sure why they feared him. Maybe due to the power that courses through my veins? It doesn’t matter, I have a job to do and they'll help me or be swept away by my prosperity. He rounded the narrow corridor, spotting the elder’s chamber just ahead. Approaching the sealed slabs, he released his power.
The heavy stone exploded, leaving the chamber open for entry.
The elders were sitting in their chairs, surprised by the intrusion. Many jumped to their feet, watching him storm into the room.
“Nezial, what’s the meaning of this interruption! Do you think these actions will go unpunished?” Elder Khronis jumped up in a fit of rage at the intrusion.
“I’ve returned as I said I would.” His wicked smirk formed on his lips.
Nadilia smiled, “I see you've succeeded in your task. This is good, I’m glad that you’ve accepted the mantle set before you.”
Nezial felt a fondness for the vicious old woman. She was just as dangerous as the rest of them, but she had a vision similar to his own. The rest of the elders were petty and acquisitive, he had no purpose for them. “I’ve discovered a great many things since I last stood before you. I now know who I’m searching for and what I must do to free him.”
The chamber filled with whispers, each one attempting to conceal their thought. He found it amusing, the efforts they took to hide their motives, the attempt was fleeting, he knew what they were going to say before they did, but it was still entertaining. Each of them schemed against him, all except Nadilia. The old witch sat quietly, waiting for him to continue.
“It might behoove you to know that I’ve also learned something none of you were aware of.” he interjected, silencing them. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve learned a great many things none of you were aware of, but there’s one in particular I wish to share.” He looked over the feeble, so calle
d, Elders, letting his words sink into their ears. “You see, I’m not the scared little pup I was when I left. You might say I’ve matured. I’ve gained more knowledge than this entire council combined and I have the power to escape age. These two details have made me more than any of you will ever be.” He paced in front of them, adding to the insubordination. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, it’s not me, it’s you. By the rites of our people, I hereby disband this council of elders.” He gave a sadistic smile to each of them, finishing his statement. “You’re dismissed!”
The once whispering elders stood, outraged at his insolence, demanding to be shown respect. Of all their voices he heard one in particular. “What's the meaning of this betrayal?”
Nezial glared at the old man, his taunts and mockery lingered in his memory, “The meaning of this, old man-- ” he explained, “is you’re no longer needed to lead our people.” The wide smile held steady on his face. Snapping his fingers, he watched the inflated ego of the abusive elder take hold. Khronis's head grew nearly twice its original size. With a sickening pop it exploded, sending bits of skull and brain matter against the wall behind him.
The elders, save for Nadilia, panicked, rushing for the shattered exit, trying to escape their doomed fates.
Nezial slaughtered them, taking pleasure with each kill. All but the eldest laid dead on the cavern floor. He approached the woman, still sitting calmly in her chair. “You’re a smart woman. Serve my purposes and you’ll be around much longer than you intended. The commanders are loyal to you. Bring me their obedience. We march for Maradar Keep within the month.” He turned, stepping over the bodies littering the floor. “Oh, and Nadilia, I know you were the one responsible for sending me the book. You have my thanks for that. But just so we're clear, I’m the sole ruler of our people. I’ll remain so until someone emerges to take that status from me.”
Nadilia nodded, her expression solemn and absolute. “As it should be, my lord!”
Chapter XI
Booty and the Beast
The sweet scent of decaying meat lingered just outside the wide cavern. Sunlight beamed through the trees, melting a light layer of snow on the ground. The white contrast made the black hole wreathed in rock appear much more intimidating. Five figures looked upon the entrance, lost in the darkness within.
“What do you reckon's in there?” The scarred man asked, fumbling with the crates stacked neatly inside the small wagon.
“Treasure. Lots of treasure.” Their leader said, hiding his fear behind his excitement. “Krenin, go on in and check it out. Let us know what you see.”
“Why does Krenin have to go first?” The half-orc questioned, studying the nervous humans.
“Cause unlike us, you can see in the dark. Now get your ass in there and tell us what you see.” Kelly shot an angry glance at the brute. “Unless you're scared.” he quickly added.
The half-orc puffed his chest at the challenge. How dare they accuse me of being scared. “Krenin not scared of anything!” Raising his axe, he marched toward the opening and disappeared inside.
They others watched in anticipation, awaiting any word, be it screams of terror or otherwise.
A moment later, Krenin stepped back into view, his axe dangling limply from his side. “Come on in. Nothing in here.” He turned and stepped back into the shadows.
The others still on edge, followed after, guiding the single horse and dilapidated wagon inside.
The scent grew stronger at the mouth, carried by the warm air exiting the cave. The snow at the entrance had melted long before the rest, erasing any evidence of other trespassers. One by one, they entered the darkness.
Krenin watched his friends slowly make their way forward. Ha, they called me scared. Looks like they're the one who are scared. He glanced at the scattered remains lying about the moist floor, mostly animal carcasses, but many were unidentifiable to his eyes. He couldn't help but feel small compared to the deep gouge marks along the stone walls and floor. “Look like claw marks.” He stated to no one in particular.
“What?” The scarred man jumped, searching for the half-orc in the darkness. “I can't see anything. “James, light a torch.” Krenin saw the first bright sparks ignite from one of the men's flint. He shielded his eyes, knowing the pain that would follow if he didn't.
The torch flared to life, illuminating the dank room. The humans stood relatively close to one another, watching every nook and cranny, in search of the most evil of foes.
Wondering near the far wall, he glanced back at his companions. “What ever made them ain't here.”, he assured.
They glanced over at him, spotting the marks he was referencing. “Just keep your axe ready. We don't want nothin jumpin out at us.”
“You the boss, Kelly.” Krenin raised his dull axe slightly, wandering deeper into the room. He needed to keep the light at his back so it didn't effect his vision. He found a tunnel near the rear, twice his width, but nearly a foot shorter than him. Craning his neck, he slowly made his way along the passage, pausing at the entrance to the next room. Before him laid pile upon pile of gold and silver. He couldn't imagine ever seeing that much loot in one place. And here it was, waiting to be claimed. “Found the treasure!” His deep voice echoed throughout the small room, resounding much louder than he'd intended.
“Quiet down you idiot. Last thing we need is visitors when we're tryin to get out of here.”
“Sorry, Kelly!” He shouted back, forgetting what he'd just been told.
Kelly spoke just over a whisper. “First chance you get, get rid of him. Every damn job, he finds some way to fuck it up.”
The scarred man nodded his understanding. “Consider it done.”
They rounded the corner, finding the half-orc lost in the sight. “Well, don't just stand there, you oaf. Get to loading the crates. The wagon can't fit back here. Someone has to carry it.” James jabbed him in the ribs, handing him an empty sack.
Krenin lumbered forward and started pouring handful after handful of coin into the bag, watching it quickly fill to the top. Setting it aside, he loaded another bag, and another. Before long, he had nearly twelve bags full.
A deep roar shook the walls, causing the unstable piles to vibrate and tumble downward.
“What the hell was that?” The scarred man ducked low, as if somehow it would shield him.
“Sounded like a roar.” Krenin raised his axe, searching the enclosed ceiling.
“No shit! Where did it come from?”
Kelly drew his sword and stepped up to the scarred man. “Now's your change. Use him as a distraction. The rest of us can get out of her with what we can carry.”
He nodded and turned to face the half-orc. “Krenin, help me get these bags to the wagon. We need to move before that thing finds us.”
Krenin hung his axe from it's leather strap and heaved four of the bags at once. He ducked under the low ceiling and waddled through toward the cart. A sharp pain erupted in the back of his head. Unable to turn around to see what hit him, another blow connected, dropping him to his knees. The bags spilled out, echoing throughout the chamber. He glanced back, seeing his friend standing behind him with one of the half full bags, ready for another swing. “But, you my friend--”
The bag collided a third time, busting open against the side of his face. He collapsed to the floor.
“He's down. Help me tie him up before he comes to.”
The others rushed in, securing the half-orc. Dragging him into the treasure room, they bound and shackled him against the wall, sinking the spikes deep into the stone.
Another roar echoed through the room, much closer than the first. They froze, unable to move from the fear of what crawled through the opening.
A wispy, serpentine voice surrounded them. “You trespass in the home of Autzumo. You seek to claim my treasures? Tell me why I should allow you to leave here with a single piece.”
“I-- I--” Kelly shuddered over the words, unable to get the thoughts out.
; The scared man stepped forward, letting his fear fuel his words. “We caught this trespasser trying to sneak away with your treasure. Had we not stopped him, he might have made away with a large majority of it. Surely this is worth our freedom and a small amount to claim as our own?”
Autzumo reared his scaly head back in laughter. “It took four of you to stop one trespasser? I find this unlikely. Even if he is a half-breed.” His laughter subsided. “But I suppose I can let you have one trinket, for your valiant deeds.”
The scarred man smiled, feeling eased by the young dragon's words. He looked at the piles around him, searching for his prize. His eyes locked on a black orb, inlaid with golden runes. He grabbed the orb and lifted it for the dragon to see. “I choose this one.”
“That's a fine choice. The stone of Rezerik, first king of the dreualfar. It's said to contain his emotion, cast away into the stone in order to lead his people to victory. Take it. It's yours.”
The scarred man stuffed the fist-sized orb into his pouch and glanced at the others, still frozen where they stood.
The dragon shot his neck forward, snapping down on the human. His thick, jagged teeth tore into his flesh, ripping him in half before his screams were silenced. Swallowing the top half, he whipped around to face the others. “Who else would like a piece of my treasure?” A thick green mist rolled gently from his nostrils, forming into a thick pool around them. It floated through the air like a heavy fog, collecting at their feet and engulfing their bodies.
Kelly felt the poison burn it's way down his throat. He coughed, watching the blood spill from his mouth. His knees hit the ground, sending coin scattering in all directions. His vision was fading quickly. He watched the black-horned head hover in front of him. It's mouth opened, revealing the massive teeth and forked tongue. He felt a sharp pain, then nothing.
Krenin felt the rumbling stone all around him. He tried to move but couldn't. Opening his eyes, he was lost in the sight of the creature, sitting on its hind haunches, before him.
The Order of the Trident (Eldarlands Book 1) Page 14
