Izaryle's Will

by Levi Samuel

  The crunch of dry grass and grain faded, replaced by hollow footsteps on crumbled earth. Despite his distorted vision, he could tell he was on a road. A main road, from the size of it.

  While it would take him to his destination faster, it also increased his chances of discovery by hostile strangers. If there was a main road, there would surely be travelers. He looked up at the moon. It nearly sat upon the mountain ridge, following the sun's path earlier in the evening. He guessed he had about two hours before it would fade, allowing the sun to reclaim dominion. At that time he needed to be clear of the road, but a little distance gained wouldn't hurt him in the dead of night.

  Morning light finally peaked over the tree line, illuminating the brown grass on both sides of the road. Nezial watched from the thickest patch of briars he could find. The sharp needles burrowed their way into his flesh as if his clothes were nothing more than a thin layer, easily punctured. He watched a detachment of soldiers march past, blue and silver tabards hanging loosely over their armor, marking them as weapons of Shadgull. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself. If he tangled with these men, there was no telling what kind of wrath would be brought upon him. He watched them fade into the distance, refusing to move from the painful perch until he could be certain he was alone.

  Hours passed with no sign of travelers. Wherever the soldiers were headed, it was clear they weren't coming back anytime soon. The thorns ripped free of his cloak as he wriggled out. It was nearly midday and he had to make up the time he'd lost. Time he so foolishly believed he’d gained by taking the main pass. He was back in the trees in no time, happy to be hidden once again. Krondar's northern edge was densely packed with forests. If not for the fact that he hadn’t crossed the hot plains, it would have been easy to mistake this forest for that of Evinwood, but he knew that wasn't the case. Every account he’d read about the plains suggested they were impossible to miss. And the myrkalfar homeland seemed much more ominous than this.

  Seeing a clearing ahead, Nezial rushed to the forest’s edge. Looking out into a wide field of golden grain, the crops stood nearly half the height of the others he'd passed. Recalling the details, Nezial dredged up every memory he could of the fabled hot plains.

  He scanned the tops of the grain, watching for any movement. Every now and then a small stream of water would shoot up. They didn't seem to have any pattern or design that he could see. Surely such a small spray cannot be responsible for the reputation this site has gained. Abandoning all caution, he stepped into the reputed, perilous field. A faint hiss echoed all around, reminiscent of a light breeze through autumn leaves. He continued along, smirking wickedly at the deception scribed in so many books. Halfway across, the hiss grew louder, sending a massive jet of water straight into the air not ten steps from where he was standing. The scalding mist rained down over the area.

  Scalding hot droplets pecked at his cloak, burning their way to his flesh. The larger drops were likely to fall much harsher. Realizing he’d made a mistake, Nezial had to do something. Focusing his will he threw his hands overhead, thrusting his palms to the sky.

  The water collided with an invisible barrier, splashing and pooling along the top of the hidden disc. It collected together and ran down around him. Letting the water cool he dropped his hands, allowing the shield to dissipate. A large splash soaked into his thick cloak.

  He parted the stalks and found himself facing an odd figure lying half buried in the deceptively muddy earth. Sunken humanoid eyes stared back at him. An expression of shocked terror was burned into the cooked being. Glancing around, he noticed many more. These were victims that believed as he had. “I may have underestimated this place.”

  A newfound respect for the plains, formed inside him. But now was not the time for admiration. He broke into a run, hoping to escape the field before the jets erupted again. The hiss grew louder all around him. He was moving too quickly to determine its location. Slowing, he listened for it. It wasn’t far off, but it wasn't right on top of him either. He felt a minor quake under his feet. Am I too late? Did I make a mistake? He lunged forward, bending his knees to jump as hard as he could.

  The ground gave way a few inches, squishing water out around his boots and he took to the sky, feeling the thick stream erupt where he had been standing. The jet grazed his backside, burning its way into him. The pain was unbearable. Like a sting that continuously repeated itself. It soaked into his clothing, lingering on his already sensitive skin. He was glad he kept moving, allowing his momentum to carry him away from the majority of the blast, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. His feet collided with the soggy ground, sinking into the muddy grass-covered dirt. Losing his balance, Nezial fell face first into the mud.

  The geyser rained down upon him, burning deep into his clothes.

  He cried out in pain, feeling the blistering water pound against his back. Is this how it ends? Am I another victim to underestimate the field? His cloak offered little protection to the scalding vapor.

  No! I will not be defeated so easily. I've been tortured my whole life. It will not end this way! Biting his tongue, he picked himself up. He could see the tree line just ahead, marking the border to Evinwood. Hand over fist, he crawled through the mud. The water receded, raining the last bit down upon him. On hands and knees, he made his way to the forest edge, passing from the deadly field.

  Reaching the trees, he buckled, falling into the leaves and dirt. The pain shot through his blistered back. He wanted to roll over, but it required too much strength. Forcing everything he had into the single action, he pushed himself to his side. Letting gravity do the rest, he plotted down on his back, wincing in pain from the sudden pressure. The young dreualfar lay there, looking into the blinding clouds of white and blue.

  The moon was already out, ready to claim dominion over the night. Nezial lay there, watching the sun fade. Despite the annoyance of its burning beams, the transition was a sight to behold. All the shades of orange, yellow, and blue came together to sing a lullaby for the finished day. It was a painful price to pay for such a memory, but it was well worth it.

  The sun faded completely, surrendering to the moon. Nezial gathered his strength. He had to find shelter before his body tensed further than it already had. Pushing himself up, he got to his feet and staggered into the trees.

  Just past the forest's edge, he found a fairly secluded ravine. It slashed into the earth, protecting him on all sides. Of course it offered no escape if he was surrounded, but at least no one would see him until they were already there. Weakly, he slid his way to the bottom and stripped off his wet clothes, placing them over the low hanging branches to dry. He kicked the leaves into a pile and held his hands over the mound. Whispering a short incantation, he closed his eyes, focusing his magics into it.

  The leaves began to shift, caught between a single entity and the pile they were before. They changed form, gathered, and solidified into a single mass.

  He opened his eyes, looking down at the thin bedroll before him. Pulling the top layer away, he exposed a down pillow and thin liner. Unable to spend another moment awake, he wiggled into the roll and covered up. Silently praying his back would feel better in the morning, his eyes clapped shut and he drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter VIII

  Stolen Thoughts

  Seasons came and went, years passing like the evening sun into the dead of night. Giant trees stood minus their leaves, scattered across the thawing ground, while the occasional crunch could be heard against the collection of fallen refuse.

  A young man skirted across the frost covered road, disappearing into the dense forest. The dark-green and browns of his leather armor stood in stark contrast to the autumn surroundings, making his movement seem like a mirage, darting in and out of view.

  Keeping an eye on the overturned wagon in the distance, he passed from one thick trunk to the next, speeding toward the wreckage. Demetrix approached without caution, experience telling him the danger had long passed. Co
ming to a stop at the broken frame, he surveyed the abandoned cargo. It clearly wasn’t bandits. They avoided this part of the wood, in large part due to him. Moreover, nothing seemed to be missing. He’d seen the same damage many times over. Leaning into the debris, he checked the bodies, hoping there was at least one survivor.

  The three victims were cold to the touch, clearly absent life.

  Ripping a piece of the large, torn canvas from the wreckage, Demetrix covered them so he wouldn’t have to look upon their still forms. Despite their fate, they were fairly lucky. They’d died before the beast fully descended upon them. Most of the others weren’t so fortunate. Tucking the makeshift tarp around them, he carefully dug through the scattered cargo, searching for any supplies he might be lacking. It seemed a shame to let them go to waste, after all, nobody was coming for them. He found a hand full of salvageable arrows. Laying the collection on the broken bench, he checked each one, ensuring they were straight enough to fly true. Quickly stuffing them into his quiver, he grabbed a few other items and tossed them aside.

  Content there was nothing further he needed, Demetrix piled the crates and shattered wood around the disabled wagon, ensuring the center remained open. He needed as much heat as possible at that point to dispose of the bodies. Anything less wouldn’t allow an even burn. Positioning the last few pieces, he pulled the cork from a barrel of lamp oil and generously poured it over the wood, letting it soak for a few minutes. Certain the wood had soaked enough, he ran a line away from the wagon and struck a piece of flint, letting the sparks dance. They skated across the oil soaked ground, disappearing into nothing. It took a few moments, but the small flame caught and the oil and flared to life. The orange and yellow wave traveled away from him, reaching the piled wood. It whooshed, spreading to the entire mound in a matter of moments.

  Demetrix waited in anticipation, watching the flame climb up the edges of the rough oak. It ate itself into the wood, growing before his eyes. Satisfied it would continue to burn, he turned and stepped back into the forest. Finding a thick tree with low hanging branches, he climbed up and positioned himself to watch the pyre burn away the remnants. It wasn’t a proper funeral, but at least the animals wouldn’t get to them. Pulling his cloak tight around him, Demetrix shut out the cooling evening air. The fire would keep him warm for the night, though the smell of burning flesh might make it difficult to sleep. Getting comfortable, he closed his eyes and listened for any sign of approaching trespassers.

  Demetrix’s eyes shot open at the first signs of morning light. He glanced down at the pile of smoldering ash, seemingly little more than a mixture of flaky powder and melted iron. Quickly scanning his surroundings, securing in his solitude, Demetrix threw his cloak open. The collection of frost and ash flew from the black barrier and gently fell to the ground. He gripped the rough tree bark and climbed from his perc. Approaching the smothered pile, he noticed the heat was nearly gone, buried beneath the layers of cremated mineral. It was probably safe to abandon, but there was no need to take unneeded risks. Kicking a mound of dirt around the edges, he quickly covered the site, ensuring it wouldn't reawaken and spread to the forest around him.

  Certain the containment barrier was sufficient, Demetrix kicked his crude boots against the base of a tree, knocking the clinging ash and dirt free. He dusted the gray specks from his leather and stepped off the road, no destination in mind.

  A familiar roar echoed through the forest, shaking the limbs free of their remaining leaves. That roar recalled him to his childhood. Drawing his bow, Demetrix strung and nocked an arrow in one fluid motion. The beast was close if he could hear the roar. Without hesitation, he broke into a sprint, hoping to reach it before it disappeared as it had a hundred times before. Such a creature would never expect to be hunted by him. That fact alone gave him a fighting chance at success.

  Seeing the ground dip for a deep ravine, Demetrix sprung from his feet, locking his arms around one of the outstretched branches. Shimmying his way up, he got to his feet and ran along the wide pathway, jumping from one branch to the next. He could move quicker without the underbrush tearing at his cloak. His armor was a different story. He’d designed it to resist the briars and thorns. Truth was, he preferred the tree tops. While he had less cover, he was able to move quieter and faster. And the typical bandits he’d taken to stalking rarely looked up. Reaching the end of this tree’s reach, he jumped to another, making little more sound than a squirrel. Had it not been for the iron spikes in the soles of his boots, such a feat would have been nearly impossible. But such was the way of life in this forest. One had to be resourceful to survive.

  He could see a gap in the trees ahead. He didn't remember this part of the forest. River, grove— rocks? He questioned to himself, unsure what to expect when he reached the edge. Stepping into view, his instincts screaming at him to stop. He locked his leather boots, letting the barbed soles dig into the bark of the thick limb. Feeling his balance establish, he backed against the trunk and stared intently down his arrow at the behemoth before him. The feelings he recalled as a child welled up inside him, torn between fear and tenacity. He wouldn't run away this time. He'd kill the dragon, or it'd kill him. Either way, he was done running.

  The dragon extended its neck, rearing its horned head to the tree tops. Its massive wings expanded, stretching out over the entire clearing. With an earth shattering roar, it flexed its many muscles, waving its head back and forth in the cool breeze. A powerful blast of green spray shot from its nostrils and into the sky.

  Demetrix watched the sound wave escape the beast's snout. He couldn't imagine what a force like that would do to his body if he were caught in it. Unable to look away, he stared, fixated on the black, lost in its fearful beauty. It seemed much larger than he remembered, yet he was only able to see part of its head in the cavern's Underdark. How he’d escaped such a creature, he'd never know. His vision trailed down the black scales, shimmering in the sunlight, to the spiked horns running down it's back and tail. They glistened like the bits of broken glass he’d found in some of the caravans. Bracing himself, he carefully moved closer, keeping his arrow at the ready. Watching, waiting for a change.

  The dragon's elongated nostrils flared, sniffing at the air. A familiar scent came to him. He scanned the tree line, searching for its source.

  Demetrix froze, his arms quivering, ready to release. Fear intensified, spotting the ruined, glossy opal. Did I do that? He'll certainly remember me now. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed the large yellow slit of the creature's good eye locked onto him. This was a mistake! How can I to kill it, if a dagger to the eye didn't?

  A booming serpentine voice echoed through the trees, threatening to tear him from his perch. “So you've returned to me, dalari? I knew you couldn't hide forever. Your kind never can.”

  Demetrix swallowed his fear, letting the wind carry his voice. “I've come to kill you, beast. You'll haunt my dreams no longer!” He heard the words leave his mouth, unable to stop himself.

  A deep, bellowing laughter erupted. Holding his belly with his front claws as a portly human would, he shook his head and plopped to his hind haunches, wrapping his thick tail around like a perched cat. The earth shook with such weight being slammed around. “So you believe you're able to kill me? Many have tried, Child of Esoteric.” Abandoning his humor, his nose wrinkled in disgust at the notion. “It took you two-hundred and eighteen years to build up the courage to die. But you came here with purpose. I respect that.” The dragon stood, rearing his head back. With a powerful thrust, he unfolded his wings and flapped them toward the ranger.

  Several gusts of deadly winds washed over him. He lowered his head in an attempt to withstand the force. I have to get a shot off. Releasing the bow string, Demetrix watched the shaft spin into the gale. The arrow twisted, its tail fanning out catching the cross wind. The arrow flew out of sight. That was his chance and he blew it. The winds were too strong. He couldn’t hold on much longer. Feeling himself slide backward, his barbe
d boots tearing against the bark, he slipped. Weightlessness took him briefly. He saw the ground rapidly approaching. Bracing himself, the nimble scout rolled with the terrain, jumping to his feet the moment his knees hit the dirt. With blinding speed, he drew and nocked another arrow. Taking aim, he accounted for the wind and adjusted. With any luck, he could fire under their currents. Letting the string loose, the arrow launched. It’s fletching spun, cutting through the gusts. In seconds the arrow sank deep into the corner of the dragon's scaled mouth.

  It roared, more in irritation than pain. Lowering his wings, it licked at the slight trickle of blood from the minor wound. The tip of his forked tongue pressed against the shaft, dislodging it. “You're going to have to do better than that, if you hope to kill me.”

  Demetrix nocked another arrow and readied to fire. His feet left the ground, a hard force knocking his legs from beneath him. He hadn’t noticed the massive tail whip around behind him. Landing hard on his back his arrow released. It disappeared into the clouds. Demetrix rolled, narrowly dodging the thick tail crashing into the ground beside him. Thundering steps were upon him before he could move.

  The dragon approached, all four legs moving in sequence. Atop the young dalari, he raked his front claw over him pinning him to the ground.

  The disabled ranger was completely covered, his head alone protruding between the huge, clawed talons. Demetrix struggled against the grip, unable to move. He watched the dragon's head lean in close. A rancid stench flowed from its mouth, burning his lungs. He felt vomit work its way up, settling in his mouth. Unable to roll over to spit, he swallowed the acidic substance, bringing the sickness upon him again.