Izaryle's Will

by Levi Samuel

  He reached the door, finding the frame busted leaving the two-story home open for all to see. Gareth stepped inside, seeing the broken pieces of door and frame scattered across the polished plank floor.

  The common room was trashed. Lanterns had been knocked from their hooks, lying broken on the floor. Scorch marks scored the wood where the oil had burned. He was surprised the whole place hadn’t gone up in flames. The candles had burned out, leaving long tails of wax hanging from their fixtures. The table was overturned, its ornaments scattered throughout the room.

  Drawing his cutlass, Gareth slowly made his inside, looking for any sign of his family. Reaching the nursery, he peeked through the cracked door. The room was silent, save for his weight under the occasional loose floorboard. He pushed the door open, finding the cradle overturned. His heart pumped faster, beating inside his chest, sending fear down his spine.

  Lying on the floor near the spilled blankets, he noticed a torn piece of his wife's favorite dress. It was bunched and discarded. A small amount of dried blood stained the wood next to it. Not enough to suggest death, but certainly injury. A pain erupted in his heart. Snatching up the light blue fabric, he clenched his fist around it. Bringing it to his face, he closed his eyes, forcing his fears aside. A rage grew in its place, unlike any he’d ever known. Overflowing with pain, a single thought echoed in his mind. The scent of the fabric filled his nostrils, sending memory of his wife into mind. A hatred burned inside him, fueling his desire for revenge. It didn't matter if they simply scratched her. They’d caused her pain and that was enough to evoke his wrath.

  Tucking the ribbon into his sash, he opened his eyes and stormed up the stairs. Refusing to slow, Gareth lifted his leg and kicked the sturdy door, sending it off its hinges. It flew across the room, shedding bits of the wooden frame. He opened the wardrobe and looked inside, finding his quarry.

  He snatched the gray leather armor from its wire stand and slipped it overhead. With a quick tug he tightened the pull cords along the sides and tied them off to prevent loosening. He recalled wearing it only once, the day he was named captain. His captain’s words echoed in his mind. 'Every good captain needs a suit of armor. Ye never know what life’s gonna throw at ya’. One day ye may be sailin’ the seas. The next, ye have to sell ‘yer boat and take up arms. It’s always handy to have a good set of armor.'

  Forcing the memories, back he pulled against the hem, hoping the shoulders would abandon their training and form to his present shape. As he ran his hands across the brigandine, the numerous studs lining both sides scraped his fingers. The once shiny steel circlets were now dull and slightly corroded from years in storage. Brushing them one last time he adjusted the straps, making sure he could move properly. Opening the wardrobe drawer, Gareth removed a thick leather belt and strung his sheath and pouch on it. Throwing it around his waist, Gareth caught the tail. Looping it around the buckle, he tied a hitch knot and let the tail drop down between his legs. Adjusting his gear, he sheathed the blade and set off for the docks.

  Resting in his high-backed oaken chair, the harbormaster glanced out the side window of the dock house. Fear crept into him with the sight of the armored captain. His stature demanded attention, and, more importantly, caution. Pushing against the polished armrests, Merrick got to his feet and grabbed his staff. Taking a deep breath, he made for the door to meet the clearly enraged captain. He’d taken pleasure in dealing with so many good men over the years. But situations like these made him dread his duties. Stepping out the door he silently prayed to Corin, hoping the encounter would pass easily. Pausing on edge of the dock, he awaited Gareth's approach. He had a look about him that would frighten the common man. There was something primal in his eyes. Something that told him to run. But he couldn’t. It was his job to interact with the captains. Besides, there was no guarantee Gareth wouldn’t give chase.

  “Merrick, what’d the creatures look like?” Gareth demanded, dropping all formalities.

  The old man was shaken by the tone. It was low and dangerous. His hair stood on end, sending chills down his spine. He tried to speak but the words couldn’t escape his mouth. “Capt—”

  Abandoning all tact, Gareth shouted louder than intended. “What’d they look like?” He could feel his anger rising.

  “I— I didn't get a good look, sir. They were hard to see. Like they were always standing in shadows. Yo— You might ask Adrian Blakner over at the bakery, he barely got away from them last night. If anyone got a good look it'd be him.”

  It wasn't much of a lead, but it was better than nothing. Gareth turned and briskly marched toward the bakery. He passed several boarded up shops. The few citizens he passed along the way gave him a wide berth. Finding the small shop on the east side of town, he glanced at the charred siding. It seemed the place had caught fire at some point. The storm more than likely had some hand in putting it out. With little care for the people nearby, Gareth busted through the door, demanding answers. “Adrian, I need to know what the creatures look like.”

  The boy behind the counter was barely old enough to run the shop. He jumped at the loud bang, backing away from the large man barreling toward him.

  Lost in his purpose, Gareth grabbed hold of his tunic and pulled him over the counter. “I need to know what the creatures look like.”

  The young man began to speak but was so frightened he couldn’t get the words out.

  Slamming him against the wall, Gareth hoped to jar the boy's memory. He had no time to wait for an answer. Pinning him in place he dropped a hand and slapped him across the cheek, more alerting him than causing pain. “Speak!”

  “I— I saw th— them.”

  Gareth heard a trickle of liquid hit the floor. Glaring into the shop keep's eyes he spoke in a slow quiet tone, “What’d they look like, boy?”

  He shook uncontrollably, choking on his words. “Th— They were black, their skin wa— was black. So— some of them had long hair, others had short. They had magic, th— they could disappear in the dark, like hide inside it— they used the night to get close and then they’d attack. They would appear and— and—” He started crying, uncaring that he’d wet himself. “They— They took my mother.” He sobbed, letting the tears roll freely down his cheeks.

  Gareth shook him, attempting to regain his attention. “What kind of weapons did they have?”

  The young man looked puzzled at the question, staring into the anger-filled eyes. “They had all kinds of weapons, mostly swords but— but there were others.”

  “How many of them were there?”

  He began to sob again. “There were— There were hundreds of them, they came out of nowhere, took what they wanted, and disappeared as quickly as they arrived. Please, tha— that’s all I know.” He begged, sobbing uncontrollably.

  Gareth released him, letting him fall to the floor. Without a word, he turned and stormed from the bakery.

  Chapter IV

  The Last of the Dalari

  Rays of sunlight beamed down through the trees on the edge of the small town of Winterhaven. Spring flowers stood tall through the dense grass, displaying a wide variety of colors. Each and every one stretched up in response to the sun's warmth. Laughter echoed across the clearing, finding its way to a boy standing at the edge of the forest road leading into the settlement.

  Ravion waited patiently, watching over his siblings. His brother and sister played in the distance, paying no attention to the world around them. With a sigh, he felt the weight of his ten years. Instinctively, he rested his hand on the pommel of the dull short sword hanging from his hip. He couldn't explain why, but he enjoyed fondling the aged weapon. This was the first time he'd been allowed to carry it outside his training. It made him feel proud and slightly untouchable. Glancing over, he checked on the two younger children, recalling the days when he was able to play as they did. Instead his were filled with training in the ways of the sword. Any breaks he was allowed involved babysitting the younger two. It wasn't all that bad though,
it gave him time to reflect on his training. Though too much reflection grew old quickly. He admired his sister, sitting among a patch of flowers. She split the stems, lacing them together to make a beautiful spring necklace among other accessories.

  Despite her innocent appearance, she was naturally gifted in the ways of combat, as all dalari were. She had an aptitude with daggers unlike any he'd seen before. It wouldn't be long before she'd be required to sacrifice her play time as he had.

  Shifting his attention to his brother, Ravion searched the forest's edge for the child, just out of his toddler years. The dark-green tunic was hard to see among the grass and leaves, but he found him. The child wandered the far edge of the grove, beyond the tree line. Ravion recalled the numerous times he'd marched across the grove to reclaim him, each time reminding him to stay in sight. He knew the youngling was testing his limits, wandering off a bit farther than he was supposed to. He was true to his nature. He wouldn’t be dalari if he hadn’t expressed a desire to explore the world. But he would have to be careful. He didn't understand how easily he could get lost in the forest. Calmly shaking his head, Ravion counted the minutes until he would have to retrieve him again.

  Returning his thoughts to his training, he pulled the sword from its short leather sheath and stared intently at the blade. It was discolored from age, but held a brilliant, polished surface. He ran his fingers along the edge. It was rolled from years of use without sharpening, if it had ever been sharp in the first place. Several nicks were embedded in the forged iron, marred where it’d contacted another blade. Despite its less-than-ideal condition, he was proud of the simple weapon. And he vowed it would be proud of him one day.

  A familiar sound echoed in the distance. The slightly pointed tips of his ears twitched, catching the noise. Sheathing the blade, he turned toward Winterhaven. Several pillars of smoke billowed from the wooden structures in the distance. Fear and excitement rushed through him. He'd trained since the day he was able to hold a weapon. If this wasn't the opportunity he needed to prove himself, he didn't know what would be. He glanced along the path ensuring the way was clear. It would take some time to get back, but if he ran he could close the gap in a few minutes. His mind made, he turned toward his sister, seeing her run toward him. “Alexzandra, something’s wrong! Stay here and keep an eye on him.”

  Hearing his words, she froze and turned to head back to her flower patch. Glancing over at her younger brother, she retook her seat.

  Ravion turned and ran as fast as he could. In the blink of an eye, he'd crested the hill and disappeared from the grove. Atop the hill the sounds of battle, an extremely large battle, assaulted his ears. He heard the familiar clank of swords echoing all around him.

  Smoke rose from homes and shops. Bright orange flame licked the layered wooden shingles atop the sloped wooden roofs. They were turning black from the heat, ready to burst into flame.

  He felt sick to his stomach, like he’d eaten something bad. The only home he'd known was under attack. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel. Ignoring the pain deep within him he moved forward, using the outlying buildings for cover. They seemed to be the only ones that weren't ablaze.

  Several armor-clad figures, wielding graceful and well-balanced weapons, swarmed the far edge of town. They surrounded the townspeople, cutting them down with ease.

  He was too far away to make out who they were, but they were clearly winning the fight. He had to get home and find his parents. Drawing his sword Ravion slowly made his way through town, hoping to avoid being seen. The tailor's shop was just ahead, having suffered minor charring along the siding. It seemed the fire had been put out before it consumed too much. He quickly made his way around the corner and stepped through the door. The building was abandoned. Everything remained in its proper place, suggesting the tailor and his family simply left.

  Ravion grabbed a large patch of tan linen, noting the resemblance in color to that of the dirt roads outside. Throwing them overhead, he tied them off to wrap around him like an oversized robe. It would be too bulky to fight in, but perhaps he could get closer to home before they saw him. Testing his reaction time to disrobe and draw his sword, he carefully made his way from the shop and turned down the narrow alleyway. Inhaling softly, Ravion cleared his mind, the first thing he'd been taught. His vision began to focus and zoom. He was at one with his surroundings. He felt faster and stronger, like he was connected to the world around him.

  Making his way from the alley, he spotted the attacking figures. They'd killed nearly everyone and now were checking for survivors. He'd have to make sure they didn't see him. Placing his back against the wall, he stood as still as his body would allow. The tall, slender aggressors resembled human, but their ears were severely pointed. Realization set in. He knew what they were and why they were here. He closed his eyes, attempting to force the story from his mind. His family's origins, and more importantly, their reason for living among the humans, wouldn't help him. He couldn’t understand why the alfar hated them, or why they continued their manhunt for so long. But the real question found its way to the surface. How had they been discovered? And why was there no warning?

  He felt his focus fading. He couldn't allow that to happen. Taking another deep, steady breath, Ravion calmed himself, returning his focus. Waiting for the intruders to pass, he slowly, carefully made his way through the village, avoiding those that would kill him for the mistakes of his ancestors.

  Ravion made his way through the streets. His face paled at the sights before him. Dead and dying bodies of the town’s residents littered the ground, left where they'd fallen. Their attackers had abandoned them and moved on to another part of town. This was no simple hunt for the last of the dalari. This was extermination of anyone they met. This was genocide.

  He turned the corner, looking up toward the house atop the hill. He couldn't see it yet, but he couldn't see signs of fire, either. Much of the smoke had settled, leaving the streets foggy and dense. Hopefully the alfar hadn't bothered taking the hill. His father built their home with the intention of its defense in mind. Anyone attempting to take it by force would undoubtedly suffer heavy casualties.

  He continued up the small hill, spotting the roof of the wood beamed cabin. To his relief it remained free of flame. A momentary victory faded, leaving worry in its place. Sounds of battle echoed overhead. They were louder than ever, increasing volume in his mind. Running toward the commotion, he saw several bodies wrapped in thin, yet sturdy leather armor lining the curved road. It was clear these were the casualties of his father’s work, having fallen during their trek. Fletchings protruded from them in various places, matching those of his father’s arrows. Emotions twisted inside him. Many of the alfar were lost in the approach, but from the sounds of the continuing battle at the peak, at least a few had to have survived.

  Ravion hurried up the hill, assessing the situation. Frozen at the sight of a crowd gathered in front of his home, he realized they were encircled around a single man. A shocked gasp escaped him, realizing the lone man was his father, armed with a longsword, outstretched and ready to strike.

  The elder dalari took in everything and nothing at the same time. Sweat glistened off his forehead. His long golden-brown hair was pulled into a tail at the back. He stood with his feet a short distance apart, hands placed one above the other, locked around the extended handle of his blood-coated longsword. He held fast, awaiting the moment to attack.

  Several of the alfar rushed in, striking in perfect unison. Their target proved too skillful to handle one on one. If they were going to take him down, they'd have to strike as one and overpower him.

  Ravion watched, frozen in fear. His father was everything. Nothing could best him. But against so many how could he hope to succeed? His fear settled as he watched the group fall before his eyes, their deaths a mystery to him. He hadn't seen his father move, let alone strike the outnumbering opponents. Another group followed, suffering a similar fate.

  The remaining alf
ar closed on the lone dalari. Many of them suffered moderate wounds, but the blood loss hadn't affected their ability yet. They perished as quickly as they approached leaving just over half a dozen to finish the unharmed, but exhausted warrior.

  Ravion moved closer. The attackers were too busy to worry about him. He kept his eyes forward, but made sure to listen behind him. He couldn't help his father if they were able to catch him unaware.

  The battle shifted with the thinned numbers, leaving large gaps between the alfar.

  His gaze darted to a body unlike the others, lying crumpled just outside the door of his home. His mother's cold, lifeless eyes stared back at him, void of the love she'd shown him for as long as he could remember. A fresh pool of crimson fluid ran in streams down the stone walkway leading from their door. “No!” Unable to stop himself, he charged toward his father.

  The elder dalari brought his sword up, blocking a potentially deadly blow. “Ra’dulen, get your siblings and retreat!” Without pause, he spun the blade around and thrust deep into the attacking alfar's chest. With ease he redirected back to his neutral stance, ready for the next advance.

  Ravion came to a stop several steps from his father. Why did he tell me to retreat? I can help. I've been trained for this. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to return to the grove as his father had commanded, but he also wanted to help against so many intruders. Taking another step closer, he froze, lost in the moment for an eternity.

  Using the distraction to their advantage, the alfar rushed in, bringing their blades down in all directions. The familiar ring of steel on steel sounded out, echoing into silence. One by one the alfar dropped their weapons joining their brethren on the blood-soaked earth.