Rise of the Nightkings

by Levi Samuel

  A rhythmic echo carried the sound of marching boots on the wind. Listening intently, it wasn’t the uniform beat of an elven detachment. This was different, heavy and somewhat disorganized. Whoever it belonged to, they didn’t march in step. Instead, it was the number of boots that created the familiar, yet unknown beat.

  Tylor turned to Vansin. “Who would be in this area with any kind of force?”

  Shaking his head, the warrior listened for any discernable identifiers. Every army had a distinct way of doing things. Often times they could be recognized simply by the way their boots hit the ground. Vansin had traveled all over Irayth. He’d met armies most had never heard of. Each of them had their own unique methods, usually a result of their physiology. The shorter races often took small strides, which sounded more like scurrying to the untrained ear. Humans were a difficult lot to identify, as they marched in nearly every way possible. But it was typically dependent on where they were trained. Their physical size kept them from being too out of the ordinary, but some kicked the ground when they stepped. Some hiked their knees, and others were stiff from head to toe. It seemed the humans used marching as a formal way of expression, rather than a means of unit travel. They were certainly an odd sort. But it was the larger races that these echoing steps belonged to. Focusing, Vansin isolated the individual beats. The collected whole made it hard to tell them apart, especially since they weren’t in unison. He could hear their feet slap the ground with each step. That denoted a heavy bulk. And there were many of them. But it wasn’t the steps that told him who the newcomers were. It was the disorganization that had ultimately done that. He simply had to identify the other factors first. “We need to take cover. They’ll crest the hill in a moment.”

  “Who?”

  “Orcs!”

  The group reached the trees just as the band of brutes came into view. Settling into position, where they could see without being seen, they watched the orcs approach the intersection and turn toward Risolde.

  Inyalia counted right at thirty strong. She’d never seen an orc before. They were certainly an ugly bunch. The shortest of them towered over the tallest elf. If she had to guess they were at least seven foot tall, some even taller than that. But it was their bulk that concerned her. It couldn’t be compared to an elf. If anything, they were stocky like the dwarves, but even that was a pale comparison. These beasts were solid muscle, wrapped beneath heavy metal armors, and carrying large, vicious looking weapons. Their swords were jagged along the spine and handguard. The lower portion of the blade was serrated, while the upper part was curved and razor sharp. The tip was also unlike any she’d seen before. It had been sharpened, making it ideal for stabbing, but it was shaped more like a rock pick, suggesting massive amounts of damage on a backhand swing. There seemed to be two variants of the weapon. Most carried a single hand, comparable in size to a short sword. But there was one, the largest among them, whose sword was easily heavier than two fully grown elves.

  Inyalia gulped, watching the deadly instrument pass. She was frightened. These were the scariest creatures she’d ever seen. Even Alona’s attack hadn’t frightened her as much. But it wasn’t the thick armors, nor the jagged weapons that did the trick. It was their eyes. They marched with complete focus, their vision locked to the back of the orc ahead of them. Not a one searched the grass or looked toward the distance. It was as if they were of single mind, moving toward their destination with no other thought or concern. It was those dark eyes, set in a field of rough and scarred gray skin that told her these things enjoyed killing. If these were the creatures responsible for Baal’s disappearance, how could anyone stand against them?

  “Do you think they’re what’s been attacking us?” Gilea asked, watching from behind a wide tree trunk. His elegant armor was nearly invisible, adopting the appearance of the bark. Though the enchanted material did little to hide his head or sword.

  “Hard to say. I don’t know much about them. But their presence is questionable at best. We should follow to find out.” Tylor gave the signal, forgetting that not all of them were rangers. Breaking from his position, he skirted the forest’s edge, keeping the band within sight.

  They moved through the trees at a slow pace. It didn’t take much to keep up. These orcs weren’t overly fast. But they seemed to march with an endurance difficult to match. Reaching the foothills, they had to move further from the road. It was the only way to continue following without being in the open. Though keeping sight on the orc patrol was of little importance now. Risolde was obviously their destination. Nothing else rested along this road. And anything beyond would have been more accessible from other routes, not that there was much beyond other than a few small villages. The tail of the Icefall Mountains extended nearly to the coast, making this chunk of land less than desirable to nearly everyone. Even Risolde itself would have settled elsewhere were it not for the mage college the city had been built around. Using magic as a primary means of transportation meant they could operate without direct access to the trade routes, while maintaining the defense the mountains offered.

  Climbing the foothills, Inyalia stayed to Tylor’s flank. It wasn’t nearly as difficult as she remembered from their previous trek. But these were far from the mountains that rested less than a mile to the east. Reaching the top, she watched the others spread out and take position.

  Raemus laid on his belly, squinting through a sight glass. He appeared to be a half-blood of few words. Inyalia only hoped his reputation was one well deserved. Not many had his abilities, and if they had to fight these orcs, they were certainly going to be needed.

  Lorena lingered near the edge of the path they’d climbed. She panted heavily, wiping the sweat from her brow. It seemed the short climb had affected her most of all. But she’d also spent quite a bit of time drinking her sorrows away in recent past. That was bound to weigh on anyone. At least until it was completely purged from her system.

  Tylor knelt beside Vansin. They passed a sight glass back and forth, inspecting the city far beneath them.

  “I count twelve along the front entrance. And—our patrol just went inside.” Vansin handed the glass back to Tylor.

  “Thirteen. You missed the one standing in the gatehouse.”

  “What? Let me see that!”

  Tylor handed it back, studying what details he could without it. “Inyalia, you’re going to want to see this.” He twisted, finding her not far behind him.

  “Oh, I see him now. You’d think for being so big, he wouldn’t be so well hidden.” Vansin handed the glass back to him, expecting the girl to be the next one to use it.

  Inyalia couldn’t help but feel that Tylor and Vansin had known each other for quite some time. They were obviously friends of some caliber. That was a good thing. She assumed she was his only friend, which while happy to be such, she wanted Tylor to have more in life than just her. Approaching the pair, she crouched beside him. Accepting the sight glass, Inyalia brought it to her eye, squinting through the dense, transparent stone. Her vision was blurry around the edges, but the places she could see were much closer. She scanned the city walls, counting several of the creatures along both sides and the front. There was no need for a wall along the east. The mountains served that purpose.

  Working her way toward the city center, she was shocked at how filthy the city was. Debris littered the streets in all directions, most of it cloth. Many of the doors were wide open or busted in. The buildings looked to be of human construction, but that was more of a guess than anything. Aside from the few times she’d been to Ryse, Inyalia hadn’t seen many human buildings.

  There were far more orcs than she’d imagined possible. Where had they all come from? And more importantly, what were they doing here? Inyalia’s vision fell on a mass piled in the city’s center. It took a moment to recognize it for what it was, but when she did, she had to look away. “Are those—bodies?” She felt sick.

  “Yes. Hundreds of them.”

  “Did you see the spikes ju
st south of the gate?” Vansin asked.

  Taking a deep breath, Inyalia brought the sight glass back to her eye. Locking in on the area the warrior had specified, she noticed the three large wooden poles sticking from the ground. A platform had been erected behind them. But it was what remained beneath that drew her attention. Three sets of ranger armor hung loose around what had at one time been elven bodies. All that remained of them now was shrunken skin, wrapped around bone. Their arms were shackled around the large poles, keeping them trapped. But it was the shorter spikes that ultimately killed them. Each ranger remained impaled, the spikes having entered their rear and exited between their shoulders and head. Inyalia knew what she was looking at. You didn’t execute rangers and leave them on display without sending a message. Handing the sight glass back to Tylor, she looked away from the gruesome scene.

  Weighing in on the conversation, Raemus spoke from his own viewing point. “Are you seeing what’s happening at the top of the school?”

  Tylor sighted in. Finding the half-elf’s interest, a sudden gasp escaped him. “They’re executing people in troves.”

  Inyalia ripped the glass from his hands and returned it to her eye, searching fervently. She had to find Baal. Locating the college, she found the place Raemus had mentioned. Elves and humans alike stood in two massive lines that disappeared behind one of the archer turrets. They were beaten and weak. Most appeared starved. Their clothes were filthy and tattered, stripped of all but the essentials. But what Inyalia found most odd, none of them were bound. They calmly walked to their deaths, seeming unbothered by it. Inyalia didn’t want to see any more death, but she couldn’t look away without seeing the executioner. The rangers outside had died a most grotesque and horrible death. She hoped these were at least quick and painless.

  Two sets of gallows had been erected from repurposed wood. Five bodies dangled from each one. That seemed to be the main method used. But occasionally, one of the prisoners was pulled out of line and walked to a chopping block between the hanging decks. The swift fall of an orcish sword ensured the head rolled away clean.

  Inyalia felt the bile rise in her stomach. Unable to contain herself, it expelled from her, splattering before her.

  Gilea erupted in applause, smiling and laughing. It wasn’t every day he saw a greenhorn spill her guts at the sight of her first real world experience. “Charming! Absolutely marvelous! I can’t tell you how honored I am to be traveling with one of such—fortitude, such—resilience. Truly! The bards will sing tale of your—.”

  “Gilea, drop it!” Tylor snapped, pulling Inyalia’s hair into a tail to keep it from dangling into the mess. Helping her up, he stared deep into her eyes. “Are you all right?”

  Inyalia wiped the vomit from her mouth and took a deep breath. “I will be. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—.”

  Tylor cut her off, pulling her close to him. Hugging her, he felt a comfort he hadn’t felt in so long. “It’s okay, Inyalia. If any one of these guys claims to have reacted any differently their first time, I’d say they’re a damned liar.” His gaze burned on Gilea’s persistent smirk, daring him to argue.

  Pulling away, Inyalia stared up at Tylor. She loved being in his arms, but there were more important things she had to do. “They’re killing all of them. We need to free them. Before it’s too late.” Her head nodded in reassurance. It was the only option, the only way she was going to find her brother before he ended up in the line.

  “No. We need to report our findings and come back in force.” Tylor rebutted.

  “We don’t have time for that. With the rate they’re executing them, everyone will be dead long before we can return. Not to mention, the nobles have banned anyone from crossing the border. If we return, we’ll have to answer for that, which will delay us even longer. And who’s to say they’ll let us come with an army, if they let us return at all?”

  “The kid’s got a point.” Raemus admitted, picking himself up. “You know how the nobles are. They’d just assume pretend everything’s fine, opposed to actually doing anything about it.”

  “I know this is hard, but we don’t have the manpower.” Tylor pleaded, hoping for once, Inyalia would actually listen to him.

  “We’ll have to sneak in.”

  “And if we’re discovered?”

  “I’ll find Baal and get out before we are.”

  “Inyalia, look at the facts. You said it yourself, with the rate they’re killing people—,” Tylor paused, trying to find the proper words. “He’s been missing for a while. I’m sorry, but if he was here, he’s already dead.”

  “No! He’s in there. And I’m going to find him and get him out!” Inyalia realized she was shouting. Quieting herself, she turned toward the path. “You can come with me, or not. Either way, I’m going to find my brother.” Refusing to debate it a moment longer, Inyalia made her way down the path, and disappeared between the hills.

  Tylor stood, dumbfounded. Going in was suicide. How was that not obvious? Shaking his head, he watched Lorena follow after her.

  “You know my stance on the matter. Those people need our help.” Raemus walked past him, falling in behind Lorena.

  “It was only a matter of time. Someone always has to make the stupid decisions.” Gilea gestured toward the city.

  “Shut up.” Tylor sighed, drawing the sight glass to watch her progress. He couldn’t let her go alone. But it was stupid to go in blind. “Gilea, how good’s your aim?”

  “You want me to put you out of your misery? I’m sure I can manage that.”

  “Vansin, you’re better at close range. Can Gilea use your crossbow to cover us from here?”

  The warrior picked himself up, unslinging the wooden device. Handing it to the wayward royal, Vansin pulled his hip quiver free. “The pointy end goes that way.”

  Smiling, Gilea loaded the weapon and tested the sights on a small tree. “Aim’s a bit off. Pulls about three inches left, and one inch high. But I think I can manage.”

  Tylor and Vansin made their way down the hills, hoping to catch the others before they found trouble.

  Inyalia stopped at the edge of the road. From here, she could see the gate, and the deceased rangers just past it. Taking a deep breath, she waited for the orcs patrolling the top of the wall to turn away from her. It wasn’t long. Inyalia did one final check before stepping out. She had roughly fourteen seconds to find cover before they found her. Wasting no time, she scurried across the road and took position against the base of the stone wall. Silently counting down, she moved in the shadows, working her way toward the mountains. It would be a difficult climb, but she could see a path that looked just wide enough to get her over the wall. Nearly out of time, Inyalia ran for the rocks. That was her only chance. If she didn’t make it, this would be over before it even began.

  Movement caught her attention to the right. Midjump, Inyalia saw an orc step into sight. He’d been on ground, near the rear of the wall and out of view. How could she have been so foolish? But it was too late now. He’d seen her. Her only chance was to silence him before he could raise alarm. Inyalia reached for her bow. Twisting her wrist, she grabbed an arrow and had it nocked. But she wasn’t in position to fire.

  The orc raised his horn to his lips. Before he could give blow through it, a thud echoed in his mind and his body became unresponsive.

  Inyalia landed, her bow drawn, ready to fire. She watched the orc topple over, a slender bolt protruding from his skull. It seemed the others were looking out. She wanted to offer thanks, but how could she without drawing attention. Giving a subtle salute to her unseen protector, she scanned the rocky terrain, pleased to find a better way into the city.

  The air shimmered and Lorena came into view beside the young ranger. “I was just about to blast him when he fell over.” Lorena gestured to the dead orc.

  “As was I. I’m glad someone up there is keeping watch. I didn’t see him until it was too late.”

  Raemus stepped from the shadows, joining the women. “Per
haps we should continue this conversation elsewhere? The orcs just cycled. They’re going to be right above our heads in about three minutes.”

  Inyalia pointed where the city wall and the base of the mountain connected. A deep ravine had been mined out, allowing water to flow away from the city. The ravine would hide them easy enough. But it was the iron grate that had her attention. A grate meant sewers. And sewers meant a way into the city. “Down there should work.”

  “That it will.” Raemus climbed into the ravine.

  Tylor and Vansin skirted the wall, seeing the others drop into a ditch. Noting the dead orc, they took position on either side of the large creature. He weighed a ton. Heaving against the mass, they half carried, half drug him toward the ravine their companions had disappeared into. From here, they saw them at the entrance to the sewers.

  “Clear.” Tylor announced, as loud as he dared. He and Vansin rolled the orc into the ravine, where he wouldn’t be noticed by the wandering guards atop the wall.

  Carefully, the pair climbed down.

  “I’m glad you decided to join us.” Inyalia smiled at Tylor.

  “Just don’t make me regret it.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  A click echoed, and Raemus pulled the grate open, revealing moss covered brick on the back side. Laying it on the floor, he waited for the others to crawl inside.

  It wasn’t over large. In fact, there was no way one of the orcs could have fit. But an elf had a little room to move. Inyalia squirmed side to side, working her way deeper into the tube. She was glad there wasn’t a whole lot of water. But the little that remained was cold and rancid. The ceiling rose slightly, allowing her to get to her hands and knees. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was better. As far as she could tell, the walls were about twenty feet thick. She had to be pretty close to that by now. Sure enough, just ahead, the sewers opened wide, granting enough height to stand with ease.