Nezial nodded, spinning around to look at the frightened dreualfar. The stench was bittersweet. It was good they feared him. But fear made them weak. It meant they weren't ready. The whole lot of them needed to be conditioned. But time for that had passed. They had no choice but to fight, fearful or not. They would do as he commanded, or they would die. “You're dismissed.”
The captain rushed off as quickly as he could.
Nezial glanced down the left flank, then the right. A smile came to his lips. They're in position and awaiting my command? It's a shame the young captain didn't try anything, that would have shown the others I'm not to be trifled with. He surveyed the army again, proud of the mass he’d forged. They’ve trained years in preparation for this one night. Yet still, they aren't ready. But they'll have to suffice. The tables have shifted and I cannot afford further delay. He ran through his plans one last time, ensuring all the pieces were in place before he announced victory. The outlying villages are cut off. The garrisons have been destroyed, disabling any chance for reinforcements or escape. And the signal fires at Heroes Gate have been claimed, preventing any assistance from the south. These humans are defenseless. His smile grew wider. Every route has been covered. Victory was assured. The humans have no chance of survival and it is all due to my plan, my perfect, flawless plan. That is unless these idiots find some way to muck it up. Feeling his anger start to rise, he glanced into the night sky, feeling the wind on his face. “It's time.” he quietly whisper to himself, throwing his right hand into the air.
The army roared, breaking their halt. The sound of boots and the echo of war-cries shook the foundation of the very walls they were about to crush. Like a swarm of marbles rolling down a hill, they collided with the wall.
Nezial watched them race toward the unyielding stone and mortar. They battered against it, their numbers renewed constantly. The walls crumbled in many places, allowing the horde access to the capital city. The army seeped through the fallen barricades and into the courtyard.
Following after them, keeping a leisurely pace, he slowly walked toward victory. I'm in no hurry. The keep will fall, it is inevitable. Reaching the shattered walls, he cautiously stepped over the crumbled stone. The courtyard stood defenseless, its protectors crushed beneath the fallen rubble. He smiled at the carnage within.
Dead and dying soldiers were everywhere, their bodies trampled beneath the mass passing through. A few of his dreualfar had fallen among them, their twisted and mangled frames mixed with the humans. It was obvious these few hadn’t trained enough. They proved they weren't worthy of remaining among his elite.
A maniacal laughter erupted from deep inside him, echoing through the courtyard. They thought they were invulnerable inside their capital, I’ve shown their folly. He made his way through the courtyard and into the inner bailey. The grass was coated in fresh blood, soaking the hems of his leather plated robes. Everything’s going according to plan. Soon we'll impregnate the keep and then nothing can stop us.
Lost in thought, he hadn't noticed a human guard heading straight toward him. Spotting the lone attacker, he shook himself from his head. In a single fluid motion, he reached across his body, grabbing hold of his sword. Drawing it, he brought it across the human and resheathed it, refusing to slow for the distraction.
He moved so quickly, the human didn't see him draw the blade. Stuck in his charge, he overshot the wandering dreualfar. Unable to stop himself, he arched, turning just enough to watch his enemy disappear around the corner. He slowed to pursue the trespasser. An immense amount of pain shot throughout his body. He searched his chest and stomach, but couldn't find any fresh stab wounds. Though something was clearly wrong. His body wouldn't responding to his command. He tried to take another step, but it wouldn't comply. The pain subsided, leaving him numb. Lost in the fading, he glanced down a second time, finding a thin, red line forming across his chest. Pressing his fingers against the mark, he lifted them, inspecting the fluid on their tips. The dark red blood stuck to his bare skin, it's bright contrast shocking and uprising him. His comfortable numb turned to senseless. He could hear his heart beating in his chest, pumping faster and faster, the line growing wider with each beat. He fell to his knees, watching the thin tunic split into two pieces and fall from his chest. His left arm hit the ground, severed just below the shoulder. He stared at the lost appendage, unable to process what was happening. Fear, pain, worry, it all escaped him, like he was already dead. Reaching down to grab his arm, he felt the world spin. Impacting the trampled snow and mud, he realized it was him that spun from the rest of his body. A severed torso, lying at the base of his collapsed legs. The human closed his eyes, drifting into death.
Nezial chuckled, listening to the man's final moments. Calmly walking toward his destination, he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like, death that is. Would it be quick and painless, or slow and drawn out?
He rounded the corner, finding his army bottle necked at the reinforced wood and steel doors. They battered against it with one of the courtyard trees, its limbs viciously chopped away, leaving just enough to hold onto.
The doors were buckled slightly, but appeared to be holding against the impromptu ram.
Nezial marched through the army, hearing the whispers alert those in front of him. They glanced back, quickly jumping out of his path.
The gap grew wider, giving their terrifying master plenty of room for his tricks. They dropped the make-shift ram where it laid, stepping aside. It landed with a thud, cracking the cobblestone street leading into the inner city.
Within moments all was clear from his path, giving him direct access to the doors.
He studied the reinforcement for a moment, running his fingers across the wood grain. Stepping back, he pulled his over sized sleeves back, revealing his blackened arms. Clapping his hands together, bits of dust flew from his leather gloves. He rubbed them together, seeming as if they were cold. Exhaling slowly, he thrust them forward, shoving his open palms toward the sealed barricade.
A large bolt of black and purple energy shot forth, striking the doors directly at the seal. It crackled and popped, following the intricate design of the grain. The wood groaned and twisted, distorting its resilient nature. A massive shock wave erupted from the barriers. It ripple outward, stretching the reinforcing metal and then slapped together, tear them apart. The ancient wood and steel shuttered and flexed, exploding into thousands of jagged pieces launching itself in all directions.
The dust and debris settled, revealing the passage open. Several humans laid dying on the back side of the now ruined doors, their flesh pierced and slashed from the explosion.
The army roared to life, rushing into the inner city, their numbers resisted only by the width of the shattered frame.
Nezial waited for his army to pass before continuing behind them.
The dreualfar broke into several groups, flooding the streets and buildings. The screams echoed in all directions.
Nezial laughed, letting his voice carry into the night, amplified through magic. “Find every man, woman, and child. Drag them from their homes and slaughter them in the streets. Don't leave so much as a wagon unmolested. If it breathes, kill it. I want the streets of this city to run red every time it rains. Tonight, the citizens of Maradar Keep will learn to fear the dreualfar!”
He stepped over the broken barricade, scanning the central road. Wherever they hide, we will find them. Every human of this city will perish this evening, save for one. He scanned the distance, searching for his prize. The keep stood high above the other structures, like a beacon to his desires. Its archers were in position, wasting their arrows on scavengers. He smiled at their folly. By the time we advance on the keep, their volley will be spent. He wandered down a side alley, watching the carnage play out before him. Only one path mattered. That was the path he was on.
Battle horns echoed across the city, alerting him of their success. The city was theirs, the inner curtain had been breeched. The only thing left
was the defenseless throne. And they doubted me. Can't be sacked! He mocked silently. I've proven my worth. This victory will bring the others to my call. Floating on success, he launched his hands into the air, firing several bolts of energy into the night sky. They exploded in arrays of purple and green, illuminating every detail of the defeated capital.
He listened to the rhythm of boots, marching along the pitching, feeling the vibrations. It's time to finish this. He sauntered onto the main road, following the army of dreualfar headed for the city's heart.
Reaching the shattered doors, Nezial glanced up at the belvedere. The archers were absent, either dead of fallen back with their dwindling ammunition. His men rushed past him, anxious for the taste of blood. He didn't pay them any mind. They were following orders.
Nezial stepped over the ruined barriers and into the keep. Recalling his books, he recited his knowledge of human architecture, making his way through the labyrinth of hallways and corridors, passing into the great hall. Sounds of battle echoed all around him, resonating through the stone and wood. It was difficult to tell which direction the conflict originated. Following the clink of swords as best he could, he sought out his prize.
He rounded the corner finding several of his men locked in combat against twice as many human's. He watched intently, certain his men would fall to this small band of surface dwellers. It was good to study his opponents in action. It told him everything he needed to know about them.
The humans washed over the small band, locking their sights on the lone commander.
He laughed, amused by their attempt to withstand his might. Watching the last of his dark-skinned warriors fall, the group to advance, keeping his laughter fresh in their minds.
They cautiously stepped toward him, weapons at the ready. A lone dreualfar, laughing at their approach. He could be dangerous. Caution was needed.
Nezial drew his sword, thrusting it straight into the closest man’s throat before he could blink. The blade shot out the back, sending a stream of blood onto the face of the man behind him. Twisting the blade, he sliced sideways toward the next man. A gout of blood spattered just before the gore covered blade tore into him. He smirked, watching four men stagger to their deaths from his first strike. They clearly weren't prepared for one of his caliber.
The remaining humans paused, taking a step away from the lethal dreualfar. Centering themselves, unable to retreat for honor’s sake, they swallowed hard and raised their weapons, preparing to strike at him.
Their hesitation amused him. These are the best Maradar Keep has to offer? What a jest. Perhaps they require more reassurance. Daring them to advance, he twisted his wrist and spun around, leaving himself open for attack. Arching the tip of his sabre, he plunged it deep into the wooden floor, letting the thin blade flex back and forth. He raised his hands, disarmingly, holding them out as if he were going to allow them to capture him.
They glanced nervously at one another, unsure if he was surrendering to or deceiving them. The first took a step toward the skilled dreualfar, his sword at the ready.
Nezial kept his hands up, allowing the human to get closer. He watched him step into threat range. It's too easy. If I strike him down, the others will hesitate. No! I need to dispose of them all at once. The wicked smile stretched across his lips, staring his intent into the approaching human's eyes. It was too late for all of them. The dreualfar commander slammed his hands together, letting a resounding clap echo from his leather gloves. A light bit of dust flew into the air in front of him.
They jumped at his sudden movement, expecting his expert swordsmanship to dance to life.
His grin widened, amused by their fear. The stench was so strong. Peeling his hands apart, he cupped them, catching the airborne particles. They landed in light brown and gray speckles against the black covers. Raising them to his face, he gentle blew them toward his audience.
The dust disappeared, lost in the dim, torchlight. Unaware of his plan, the humans sucked in the unseen particulates, they being little more than common, everyday debris. After all, the ability to breathe was one of instinct, not training. They froze, unsure what was happening. On edge, they turned, hearing one of their number scream, feeling the panic set in. Their chests grew tight, swelling like an overfilled balloon. The flesh covering their bodies stretched and contorted, displaying shallow purple veins beneath the thin layer. Like an animal carcass left in the sun for too long, one by one, they split wide open, a spray of bright red blood exiting the tears.
He watched their flabby skin wither and dry before his eyes. The flaky hide chipping away into the dust they ingested. The more they struggled, the quicker it deteriorated, falling into dried hunks on the floor beneath them. Blood seeped from the drying cracks like a yellow puss in an infected wound. Desperately, they attempted to comfort themselves. A few cried silently, while others wept in noisy gouts. Several minutes they struggled against the inevitable, until final last one fell silent. Nothing but their dehydrated carcasses, shriveled upon the floor.
He waited for the last one to draw his final breath, a sense of satisfaction on his face. Retrieving his sword, he stepped from the room, feeling their remains crumble beneath his boots. Dusty clouds taking flight with each step. “I pray you aren't the best this city has to offer.” Nezial turned and made his way up the staircase.
Nearing the top, soldiers lined each wall, awaiting his arrival. They scurried to the side, allowing him through. Not one lingering to delay his path to the front of their mass.
The large decorated doors leading to the great chamber were busted, announcing his complete success. Watching his men nod their respects, he passed, refusing to return the gesture. They were beneath him. Not worthy of his acknowledgment. He stepped into the throne room, feeling the victory wash over him.
The Highlord and his advisers stood captive, removed of their weapons. Each one stood bound and gagged, held in position by his officers. Such a task was too important to have sullied by an incompetent grunt. Several of the lesser nobles laid dead on the floor, their blood running between the cracks in the floorboards.
Nezial marched toward them, making eye contact with each and every one of his officers. They had to know he was in charge. He passed three of them, finding one who refused to break eye contact. Drawing his sabre, he stabbed it deep into the dreualfar's face, letting the soldier collapse behind the prisoner. Another stepped into position, securing the man.
Reaching the head of the room, he noted which among the humans wore the finest garb. Finding the man, held by one of his captains, he approached, stopping just in front of him. He gave the captain a gentle nod.
The dreualfar ripped the gag from his mouth, letting if fall around his neck.
Nezial magically amplified his voice, letting his calm and chilling tone carry throughout the keep. “You thought you were safe behind your thick walls and armed turrets? You thought you could keep us out? You should have known better!” His tone was low but demanding of attention.
Every human standing in the room cowered at the sound of his voice, trembling against the grip of their captors.
Locking his gaze upon the man standing before him, he surveyed him. His composure and custom tailored underclothes betrayed his status. Had he been smart enough to use a double, he perhaps could have delayed the inevitable. But these humans clearly weren't skilled tacticians. It took him less than a day to infiltrate their northern capital. With that level of incompetence, he could probably overthrow their entire empire in a matter of weeks. And with this success, and the joining of the other lines, that was entirely possible, provided his plans take him that far.
Returning to the now, his gaze narrowed on the middle-aged human. “Highlord Kashus, you know what I've come for. Give it to me and I’ll ensure you have a quick and merciful death. Defy me and you’ll experience more pain than any one person should ever know.”
Kashus jerked his shoulders away from his guard, taking a single step forward. He stopped directly in f
ront of the dreualfar commander. “You may have crushed this city and killed every person in your path. And you may do the same to me but I will never help you.” Finalizing his statement, he spat his defiance into the commander’s face.
Nezial calmly reached up, wiping the saliva from him, his defiance was admirable, but folly. He nodded to the captain once again.
The captain shot forward, securing the human at the base of his spine. Digging his elongated nails into the fleshy collar bone, he forced the man to his knees. Towering over him, he twisted his shoulders, ensuring constant discomfort and forcing him to keep his attention on the commander.
Nezial leaned in, placing his mouth inches from the subdued lord’s ear. He could have licked the man if he so desired. “I was hoping you’d say that.” His wicked smile revealed his sharp dagger-like teeth. He leaned close to the man, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of his sword. Pulling fast and hard, he bashed the Highlord in the face, feeling his nose crunch under the pommel.
Kashus stumbled, falling unconscious to the marble floor.
He slid the blade back into its proper position and straightened himself. “Search him.”
The captain knelt down and riffled the man, finding a golden chain tucked beneath this tunic. Pulling it free, a small silver key was revealed. He ripped it off the man and handed it to his commander.
Nezial stepped over the body, holding the key up to the stained glass window overlooking the room. Aligning it with the designs, he smiled and tucked it into his satchel. “Take him to the chamber of pain and secure him. He’s going to learn that I’m no liar. As for the others-- ” he glanced at each of them. “Kill them and destroy the keep.” He held his hand up, gesturing a small loop with his fingertips. Bringing the invisible ring around him, he disappeared, hearing the first screams of the prisoners.
Chapter XV
An Unwelcome Shadow
The golden fields outside of Shadgull City were speckled with tabards of blue and green. Soldiers struck in unison, mimicking the actions of their instructor.
The Order of the Trident (Eldarlands Book 1) Page 18
