Izaryle's Will

by Levi Samuel

  The darkness in the room faded, leaving a black-skinned alfar in its place. Its body laid motionless on the floor, a thick black ichor seeping from the fatal chest wound.

  Kane stared into its fading eyes, feeling something familiar but unknown in the wicked being.

  The barred cell was growing chilly in the night. It was bare, save for a wooden cot and an empty bucket resting in the corner. Krenin laid on the wood and canvas bed, his feet overhanging the small structure. He wished they would have at least left him a blanket. Hearing the screams echo from the single overhead window, he shot up.

  Several shadows rushed past, reflecting in the outside lanterns. He watched as best he could, seeing the light disappear. An unnatural darkness to wisp through the small portal, flicking about the iron runs, as if it were searching for something. There was something unsettling about it. The darkest night not hinder my vision. But this— mist? I can't see through it.

  His fear grew seeing a similar shadow seep through the cracks of the jailhouse door. It licked at the keyhole, threatening to come inside. Krenin stepped to the door of his small cell, pulling the bars with all his might. His strength was returning, but he was still far from peak. And worse yet, now he was completely unarmed.

  The door burst open spilling darkness into the room.

  He braced himself, ready for his death to swiftly follow. But he wasn't going to go down without a fight. Raising his fists, he stepped back, watching the shadow approach the cell. He could hear something alive inside it, something intelligent.

  A familiar click echoed from the door and it creaked open. The void engulfed the door and floated closer to him, leaving no place to escape.

  Krenin felt the wall at his back. He was out of space. Clenching his fist, he roared and leapt into the shadow. His fist beat down, colliding against something— soft? He felt it give with his first swing. Again, he struck. A warm sticky liquid clung to his knuckles, though it wasn’t from him. He swung again, and again. He hadn't realized, but the shadow had faded leaving a frail, black-skinned creature beneath him. He felt its skull give way, the mush inside spilling onto the floor.

  Lost in the black gore covering his hands, Krenin wiped them on the creature's clothing and stood. Grabbing the crude, rusted sword it had been carrying, he stared out the open door to the chaos beyond. The handle was too small for his large hands but it would have to suffice. Seeing another shadow in the doorway, he knew he had to act. This one wouldn’t be so easy.

  It rolled toward him with blinding speed, engulfing everything in its vicinity.

  Timing his attack, Krenin swung the blade in defense. To his surprise metal rang out, telling him it was locked against another sword. Refusing to give the enshadowed creature another chance, he slid the blade down letting it glide against the parried weapon. Reaching the cross-guard he twisted and thrust deep, feeling the tip sink into the obscured figure.

  Ripping the sword free, the second monster fell from the shadow and landed hard on the wooden floor. A pool of black ooze spilled out.

  Armed with two blades, Krenin rushed through the door. I no longer a prisoner! That means I have to die. But I not die unless I die fighting!

  Chapter XIII

  Order to Chaos

  Darkness enveloped him. He couldn't tell where one ended and the next began. Swiping wildly, Gareth felt his cutlass bite into one of the foul creatures. Spinning around, he connected with another. The shadows were starting to fade allowing him to see the moonlight through their swarming mass. Glancing back at the dead dreualfar in his wake, he lunged forward, feeding the numbers. A sticky, black liquid dripped from his face, splattered here and there. He didn't have to look down to know that he was covered in the soupy substance. It's not the first time, it won't be the last! Another creature fell before him, releasing an overwhelming sense of pride. A satisfied, wicked smile glowed bright in the enveloping darkness, seeming to burn away the shadow.

  Ravion spun around, twirling his longsword between thrusts. To the untrained eye his actions were sloppy and misguided, but to a seasoned combatant, each strike was a calculated step in his overall plan. He danced through the shadow, gracefully avoiding the unseen attacks. There had to be hundreds of them. Yet, they couldn’t close in on him, not while he was moving. They seemed afraid of his dancing blade. Ravion swung, the sharpened steel unhindered by resistance. One would fall and another would take its place.

  A sadistic laughter echoed through the darkness, reaching his ears. The tone rang familiar. Making his way toward it, felling several of the black-skinned, cloaked creatures as he went, Ravion stepped into the moonlight, able to see for the first time since exiting the pub. Gareth’s face lingered among the black. His wicked smile revealed a monster in hiding, taking pleasure in the death of others.

  Gareth stabbed his cutlass into the blood-soaked earth and knelt beside his freshest kill. Retrieving his dagger, he neatly removed one of its ears and tucked it into his pouch. Glancing at the approaching scout, he picked himself up. “Ah, glad you could make it.” Ripping his sword from the earth, he spun around, decapitating another.

  Dark fluid ran the valley at the center of his blade, spilling over and dripping to the floor. The shadow faded, revealing another of the beast. A woman cried at its feet, her rose colored dress, torn and blood-soaked. The sticky cloth clung to her, but she appeared unharmed, if a little shaken up.

  Kane extended his hand and pulled her to her feet. “Get to the rear. Others are already back there.”

  She rushed toward the back room obeying his instruction.

  He shot a glance to Malakai, pulling his sabre from one of the dead creatures. Several bodies littered the ground, human and devil alike, but the pup was finally free of shadow.

  Stealing a glance to the barkeep, peeking from the barricaded kitchen door, Kane nodded to him, silently giving the command to seal it. All the patrons were either dead, or already in there with him. Approaching the fair-haired lord, cleaning his rapier and dagger, Kane prepared for the worst. “Lord Remle, what are you doing?”

  “These creatures are in my lands. I won't sit idle while they attack my people.” Remle stood to his towering height, gesturing toward the door. “I aim to march out that door and confront them head on.”

  “My Lord, if I may?” Kane paused, adding the illusion of request. “You don't know how many are. This town has suffered enough this night. Do not allow it the chance to claim their lord as well. My friend and I will go out and fend them off to our last breath. I would request you remain here as a last defense, should we fail?”

  The towering lord thought through his options. Sighing deeply, he had to admit the young warrior stance. “I suppose you're right. And while I don't like it, I'll remain here. If you're able, my men are stationed a mile south. Any way you can reach them, do so. We need all the reinforcements we can get.”

  “Understood, My Lord.” Kane gave a respectful bow and spun around, searching for the swashbuckler.

  Malakai stood beside the door, cleaning his fingernails with a dagger. “You ready?”

  Kane nodded, grabbing hold of the bronze latch. Pulling it open, he stepped into the night.

  The door clicked behind them. Raising their weapons, the fight already upon them, they took a defensive stance. As a pair, they swung and dodged, using each other's style to defend their openings. One would swing, the other would block. Together they fought their way into the unending veil, hoping to fell as many as possible before they met their ends.

  The chill of death lingered on the back of his neck. They swarmed all around, encircling him. Gareth dodged a wild swipe, pushing the scout out of the way. The man could clearly handle himself, but his fancy style made it difficult to anticipate. Last thing he wanted was to get the man killed by failing to watch his back.

  Ravion caught himself, glancing at the broad warrior. Had it not been for the shove, an unnoticed scimitar would have bit into his spine. For that he was thankful, though the warrior clearly w
asn't used to fighting with a unit. Ravion plunged his sword into one of the revealed beasts, using the momentum to send him into his companion. Despite his calm, sweat beaded down his face. How are there so many? More importantly, where did they come from?

  Gareth felt one of the wicked, curved blades bite into his arm. It wasn't deep, but it would be an annoyance for a while. Grimacing the pain, he grabbed hold of the crude weapon, pulling its wielder close. Bringing his head forward, he slammed it into the dark-skin's nose. It crunched beneath the impact. Refusing to wait for him to recover, Gareth stabbed him in the stomach, letting gravity carry him off the sword.

  Unable to see an end to the assault, a heavy sigh escaped him. Exhausted and ready to rest, Gareth lowered his guard and closed his eyes, expecting to join his wife and son. The brief moment felt like an eternity. He waited, hoping for the longing sting that would be his end. A familiar shout roused his curiosity. Peeking into the night, the half-orc slammed into the group, disorienting them.

  Krenin slashed wildly, tearing into the unsuspecting foes. Their shadowy spheres faded with each death, granting more light.

  Seeing the half-orc jump into the fray, excitement coursed through him. The thought of a challenge rejuvenated him. Renewed vigor rushing through his veins, Gareth raised his cutlass leapt into the dissolving swarm. “You damned, green-skinned dummy. You ain’t claimin' all the glory for yourself!” Gareth crashed into another group, launching them back several feet. Taking position behind the half-orc, he deflected a swipe, running his sword into its deliverer.

  Ravion tumbled toward the pair, thrusting his sword into an exposed back. Landing on his feet, he took position in their rank, ready to end the fight.

  They fought, protecting each other, slowly making their way toward the pub. Each step twisted their stance, cycling them around with the movement. It kept them refreshed and always ready for the next attack. One by one they caught a glimpse of the tavern doors. Kane and Malakai had taken position just outside them, defending with all their might.

  Nearing the pair, they spread out, the two groups becoming one. Five men stood, their backs protected by the others, forming a deadly pocket of hope in the midst of an outnumbering army.

  The dreualfar washed against them, unable to break their resolve. They fell in troves, piling up around the defenders’ feet. Regardless of how many they outnumbered them by, they couldn’t break them. A high-pitched horn echoed in the night, calling the dreualfar to a halt. They stopped their attacks and slowly backed away, granting a moment of reprieve for all.

  Gareth lunged forward, slashing as many as he could reach. To his surprise they didn’t reengage him.

  The darkness faded, returning the town's post lanterns to sight. Hundreds of dreualfar stood in the open, surrounding the already entrapped warriors. The impenetrable wall looked upon them, an unquenchable bloodlust in their eyes.

  The five stood ready, weapons held high, anticipating attack.

  Ravion glanced around, hoping for a miracle. They were surrounded on all sides, save for the sealed pub doors. Hundreds stood against them, ready to cut them down, each one with a city full of bodies worth of reason to do so. Why do they hold? His question was answered as if he'd asked it aloud.

  A wide path opened, allowing a single dreualfar to pass through the ranks. He looked older than the rest, his long, stringy, white hair was pulled to the back and braided. Blackened leather covered his equally black form, highlighted only by his features. A silver clover design inlaid the edges, offering minor glow in the moonlight. An ornate rapier hung at his side, radiating a faint glow even through its scabbard.

  “Enim si taht gnihtemos evah uoy!” He hissed, stopping a short distance from the resistance.

  Gareth aimed the tip of his cutlass at the creature. “Speak that vile tongue at me and I'll cut it out!”

  The dreualfar commander smiled, his elongated canines showing for the briefest moment. A smooth, collected voice echoed from him, seemingly misplaced by the harshness of his previous words. “As if your threats have any effect on me. You’re only alive because you have something that belongs to me. And I want it back.”

  Gareth spat at the creature, the stringy saliva falling several feet short. “I was disgusted before I knew you were capable of intelligent speech. Now that I know you are, it just makes me want to slaughter you that much more.”

  The creature smiled. “You doubt our intelligence? If you had the slightest idea, you'd throw yourself upon your own sword just to escape our wrath.”

  Ravion placed his hand on Gareth's shoulder, hoping the gesture would calm the disgusted warrior. Stepping to the front of the group, he spoke. “What item do you believe us to possess?”

  The black-skinned alfar looked over the young dalari. His interest was evident, but his motives remained hidden. “You’re something unseen for quite some time. Perhaps I'll keep you as my own personal pet once this is all said and done.”

  Ravion smiled, letting the notion hide his thoughts. “The item?” He repeated.

  “Oh, it's nothing much, just something a friend was holding for me. You took it from him earlier this day. I want it back.”

  The sea of dreualfar opened, allowing the dragon's severed head through, still mounted upon the pike.

  “There were many items among the dragon's treasure. Perhaps if you told us what you're looking for, we may be able to say if we have it or not.”

  “I have a better idea. Why don't I just kill you one at a time until you tell me where all of it is. I'm sure I can find it myself at that point.”

  “Not gonna’ happen.” Gareth spat, ready to spring into action.

  The commander smirked at the warrior's words, licking his lips. “You’re so full of hate and despair. I think I want to keep you as well. I'll make you my plaything. There's nothing quite like a well broken stallion.” He raised his hand, facing the palm toward the group. “Bring me the mouthy one.”

  The dreualfar rushed in, encircling tight around the group. They had no chance to fight. There were too many of them. Two of them grabbed hold of Gareth, securing his arms.

  They tried to fight. Tried to move. Tried to perform the slightest action, but it was impossible. Some unseen force was holding them stationary.

  Gareth screamed his discontent, annoyed further at the lack of sound. He struggled, kicked, bit, clawed, nothing worked. His body was not his own.

  The dreualfar pulled him from the group, dragging him before the commander. He was on display, open for all to see. Kicking the back of his legs, his knees buckled. They set him on his knees and stepped away, leaving him unattended.

  The commander smiled at the kneeling warrior. Slowly approaching him, he spoke. “You see, sometimes puny, rebellious humans have to be taught a lesson when they interfere with beings beyond their understanding.” Grabbing his crotch, he pulled his armor to the side.

  Gareth felt a pressure in his jaw, forcing his mouth to open. He stared in horror, unable to resist.

  The dreualfar commander continued toward him, dropping his leather breeches to his knees. Erect and demanding attention, he moved ever closer to the defeated man.

  Gareth wanted to close his eyes, hoping to hide from what was to follow. They wouldn't obey. He was being forced to watch his own sodomy. Something flew past his head, ringing out with a thud. A sickening scream echoed from the commander. Unable to comprehend what had happened, Gareth saw the handle of a crude scimitar protruding from the dreualfar's exposed growing. It bounced from the force of the hit and sudden movement. Finding his body responsive, he lunged toward the wounded creature, taking hold of the hilt. Forcing all his strength into it, he thrust the blade deeper, driving it straight through the commander. The curved steel caught on the pelvic bone, glancing upward into his stomach.

  Gareth twisted the sword, letting the dull spine rip his body open. It was too kind to kill him quickly. He wanted to force as much pain as possible. Watching his would-be rapist drop to his knees, the dark
face white from blood loss, Gareth took in delight in his torment. Content with the weakening screams, he ripped the crude, rusted weapon free. Standing to his full height he grabbed the dying dreualfar’s head and drug the metal across one of its pointed ears. Assisted by the semi-sharp blade, Gareth tore his trophy free and placed the tip of the blade into the exposed ear canal. He thrust the blade hard, watching it explode out the other side of his head. Gareth let go of the sword, watching the body fall to the earth.

  The assembled dreualfar hissed, unsure what to do without their commander. Confusion took hold. They scurried to escape, trampling one another in the effort. Some retreated into the darkness from once they sprang, while a select few charged, expecting a fight. Those few were cut down in moments.

  Gareth turned, finding his companions outside the door. Looking them over, he noticed the half-orc held but one sword. Its twin lodged in the commander's head. Walking toward them, he placed his hand on the half-orc's shoulder. “Thank you for saving me from that.”

  “Not suitable for anyone. Krenin hope you do the same if it was me.”

  Gareth nodded his understanding.

  “Permission to speak?” Malakai stated more than asked. “You must be blessed by Corin. After all, you nearly took a mouthful of dreu cock and the one person who helped you was the one who had the least reason to.”

  Krenin leaned in whispering louder than intended. “I aim for his head.”

  “Looks like you got it!” Ravion laughed.

  Gareth shook his head, looking to the group of warriors around him. “Do me a favor and never speak of this again.”

  Ravion retrieved his sword. Placing it into its sheath. He glanced at the carnage around them. “I can’t make any promises. Though I think it'd be wise to figure out what they were after and safeguard it. We can’t risk failing next time.”