by Levi Samuel
“I want to spray some blood. And yes, I got me a sword. But it wasn’t my kill. I can’t properly claim it until I’ve earned it!”
Inyalia approached the near dozen prisoners huddled near the far wall. Their arms and legs were bound by a thick abrasive rope that ran through iron cuffs. She searched their faces. Most were battered and underfed, but there were a few that appeared to still have some strength. They were likely new arrivals, though new or old was irrelevant. They were all frightened and confused. “Stay calm. We’re going to get you out of here.” Kneeling beside one of the elven women, Inyalia laid her hand upon her shoulder. “What happened here? Why were they holding you?”
The woman threw her arms around her savior. Sobbing onto Inyalia’s shoulder, her words were nearly indistinguishable. “They started tes—us here and—that to us? The big one—tools he uses. My—killed my son—.” A sickening pop ended her attempt.
The prisoners gasped, backing away as far as their bonds would allow.
Inyalia blinked in shock, staring at the thick piece of wood protruding from the woman’s head. If it were about three times smaller, it would have resembled an arrow. Dropping the lifeless body, Inyalia’s eyes fell to the doorway.
Three orcs stood at the entrance, their vicious weapons drawn and ready for blood. One carried the bow that had fired the shot. His hand was reaching for another bolt. A fourth stepped into view from around the corner.
Inyalia knew this had to be the Blackguard. He stood nearly a foot taller than the rest, and nearly as broad. How he’d been able to squeeze through the doorways was anybody’s guess. Her attention shot to Tylor and Vansin, standing just inside. They were still, facing the orcs, petrified. Why hadn’t they attacked? How did they not see the orcs coming? And most important, why were they just standing there now?
Desperate screams echoed inside Tylor’s mind. He wanted to warn Inyalia. He wanted to do a great many things, but all attempts proved futile. He was a prisoner, trapped within his own body. How was this possible? He saw the orcs enter the hallway. He recognized the look of surprise upon their ugly pig faces. He’d tried to speak, tried to attack. But nothing happened. He couldn’t move. The tether tightened around his neck, draining him of everything but life. It was a small thing, nearly invisible. But it was clearly there. The slither of green light resembled a blade of grass, but it shimmered. It extended from his neck, ending at something in the large orc’s hand. If he could just find some way to cut it, perhaps that would free him.
Anger flooded Inyalia. She wanted to lash out. But even on her best day she couldn’t land four killing shots in so little time, especially with the enemy so close. Granted, they’d have to rush her, which would allow at least two shots, but it wasn’t enough. Their weapons would cut straight through her bow. And then she’d really be defenseless. If only she’d taken her sword training a little more serious. Perhaps then she’d have a fighting chance. Racing through her options, Inyalia was having trouble finding a way out of this.
Raemus stepped into the hall, seeing the orcs. Instinctively, he spun, extending his quarterstaff. It struck the big one in the back of the head. The shock nearly knocked the wooden weapon out of his hands. Worse yet, the orc shrugged it off, turning to face him. A sadistic smile settled upon him, and he felt something wrap around his neck.
Seeing the large orc turn, Inyalia knew this was her window. It was now or never. Leaping backward, Inyalia nocked and fired. The arrow landed in the closest orc’s shoulder. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it would keep him from striking Tylor. A second arrow flew, catching the archer in the chest. The dwarven arrowhead tore through the heavy breastplate, but it didn’t sink as deep as she desired. The last of the three smaller orcs was nearly upon her. She was fortunate only one was able to enter at a time, but she was no match for their obvious strength. She had to end this one before he got to her.
Grabbing the last of her dwarven arrows, Inyalia nocked and fired. She watched the fletching twist as it left. The distance to its mark wasn’t far, but it had to be precise. The orcish weapon swung, its razor-edge glimmering in the lowlight. Her arrow skimmed the blade. She saw the loose fibers of shaved wood and plume separate, but its path remained unchanged. The deadly weapon was nearly upon her. Just a few more inches and she’d be dead.
The bite of sharpened iron reached her. The blade impacted her left collar bone, retracting no sooner than it made contact. Not even her armor could have saved her had the arrow not struck. It hit the orc at the top lip of his breastplate, knocking him back as it tore through metal and sank deep. Inyalia picked herself up and nocked another arrow. The dying orc gasped as he took his final breath and fell still. She’d never forget the sound of his death throes as he weakly clawed at the arrow embedded in his chest.
The blackguard turned to face the puny elf. She’d wounded two of his guard and killed the third. That made her an excellent candidate for his tests. These other prisoners lacked the will to withstand his attempts. She would fare much better. Gripping the polished tool his master had given him, Ormik channeled another lasso and cast it at the young girl. He watched it sail across the room, opening just before it reached her.
Inyalia stared down her favorite arrow. The large orc was studying her. She could see the thoughts behind his eyes. That made him unique. She hadn’t seen anything but the desire to kill in the others. Suddenly, the crystalline head exploded in a bright purple glow. Her arrow released as if it had a mind of its own. The glow revealed a whip-like strand headed straight for her, but it wasn’t moving anymore. It was frozen, trapped within the bright light. For the briefest moment, time was still. And then, as the arrow swallowed the strand, it went after its true target.
Fear overcame Ormik. How did she destroy the lasso? How did she even know about it? Most couldn’t see it until it had already taken hold. Even then it required an uncanny perception. Ormik trembled. He felt the power of his tool urging him to obey. That was the curse of using it. He was slave to it, as it allowed him to enslave others. His hand brought the tool to bare. He couldn’t help himself. Shielding his face, his fear evaporated, replaced by pain. The purple headed arrow struck the crystal object, shattering it into hundreds of tiny pieces. The jagged shards tore into his arm as the arrow ripped through his hand. All his worry and pain faded as the glowing head struck him between the eyes. Ormik fell backward, unable to move. His body spasmed, but he had no control of it. He was a slave no longer. The device was gone. All those he’d tortured were free. And now, finally, so was he.
Tylor collapsed beside Vansin. Seeing the two remaining orcs, he leapt onto the closest one, embedding his daggers. It took three stabs before it finally collapsed.
Having his first opportunity for a fight, Vansin charged the wounded orc. His morningstar connected before he could unsling his shield. A spray of dark ichor spattered across the wall. Throwing all his weight into the charge, Vansin managed to knock the beast aside. It crumbled, holding the side of its head in despair. Again, Vansin struck, the spikes of his weapon destroying the creature’s hand. It mashed into its head, spurting blood across the elf’s face. A sadistic laughter escaped the warrior. Again, he swung, and again. There was little more than pieces of cracked skull and brain matter, but he kept swinging. Tasting the blood on his lips, Vansin spun around, finding a new target. He leapt atop the one Tylor had killed, bringing his shield down on its throat. Hammering it, the head came free, torn and gruesome. Looking around, he wanted more. He needed more. Unfortunately, none were left.
Tylor backed away from the blood sodden elf. Putting his daggers away, he raised his hands and slowly inched toward the warrior. “Easy, Vansin. You’ll get your chance for more. But you have to control yourself now.”
A hearty laugh escaped the warrior. “I haven’t lost my mind yet. Believe me, you’ll know if I do. And just a heads up. If that happens, don’t come near me. Just point me at the people you want dead and let me go. I’ll come back when I’m done.”
&n
bsp; “Good to know.” Tylor turned toward Inyalia and entered the room. Kneeling in front of her, he inspected to make sure she wasn’t hurt. “Are you okay? What the hell happened?”
Inyalia picked herself up. “Yeah, I’m fine. I guess Kael’s magic is still in my arrow. I thought it was all gone when it opened the portal for us.”
“I got that part. I mean, how did he control us like that? And if they have the ability to do that, how can we hope to fight it? We don’t all have magic arrows that will explode at the last minute.”
“I don’t know, Tylor. I think it had something to do with the box he was holding. We should take the pieces just in case. Either way, we’ll just have to take it a day at a time.” Collecting the arrows that were worth salvaging, her favorite among them, Inyalia turned her attention to the prisoners. It was going to take a while to remove the ropes, but once she freed a few, they could free the rest.
Raemus entered the room. “You guys need to see this.” He led them across the hall to the two prisoners sitting in the floor. They remained where he’d left them, but their eyes were now open, staring blankly straight ahead.
“What’s wrong with them?” Tylor waved his hand in front of the elf’s face. He looked somewhat familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
“I don’t know. Never seen anything like—”
Inyalia was the last to enter. She’d cut the two strongest free, directing them to help the others. Taking position between Tylor and Raemus, she set eyes on the pair. “Baal!” Forcing her way between the two, she threw her arms around her brother. “Oh, Baal, I knew you were still alive!”
Eyes locked on the wall, Baal didn’t budge. He was clearly breathing, but he never once blinked.
“Inyalia, something’s not right here.” Tylor attempted to pull her away. It was no use.
“Get off me!” Inyalia snapped, locking her arms. She’d found him. And she wasn’t about to let go.
“Inyalia, please.”
“It’s like they’re in some kind of trance. I’ve known monks who enter similar states. But never this deep.” Raemus inspected the human.
“It’s kind of like that thing the big orc did to us.” Vansin interjected.
“Exactly!”
“But that means—.” Tylor drew his daggers and looked toward the door.
“What?” Inyalia turned her attention to Tylor, keeping hold of her brother. “What’s it mean?”
Tylor crept toward the opening, stealing a glance down the hall. It was clear save for the few prisoners who started to gather. “We were released when this one died.” Kneeling, he checked for a pulse. Finding none, he got back to his feet. “If these two are still enthralled, there has to be another blackguard around here somewhere.”
“We should leave. Now that we know what’s happening, we can come back in force and end it.” Vansin approached Tylor at the door.
“I hate to admit it, but I agree. There are too many unknown variables happening here. And we’ve found quite a few prisoners. We can only help so many at a time.” Raemus ran his hand around the frozen human, careful not to touch him. He couldn’t feel any poisons, but that didn’t mean they weren’t suffering from other afflictions. His skills were limited to natural ailments. Magical affects and curses were beyond him.
“We’ve found Baal. That’s all I wanted. If he can’t move, we’ll just have to carry him.” Inyalia got to her feet, releasing him for the first time. “Let’s gather the others and head back.”
“Most are strong enough to walk, but a few need assistance. I’ll do what I can for them.” Raemus started toward the door.
“How do you expect us to carry them and fight? Vansin asked.
“Maybe some of the other prisoners can help?” Tylor glanced at the steady train gathering before them. “Okay, here’s the plan. I’ll see if some of the stronger prisoners will help us carry them. Raemus, collect Lorena and get the rest into the sewers. Maybe Lorena’s made some progress with the wards and she can use her skills to make sure that happens without incident. They’ll have to stay quiet or all of this will have been for nothing. Vansin, Inyalia, and I will take the rear, making sure no one follows us. Any questions?” Taking their nods as approval, Tylor turned his attention to the prisoners. “You, you, and you. Can you help us carry a few people?”
Inyalia ran her hand over her brother’s head, patting down his unkempt hair. She’d never seen him so disheveled. His long brown hair had been hastily chopped, leaving it uneven and patchy. He’d never been plump, but his skin sagged from his boney face and arms. She had no doubt the rest of him was the same. He needed food and water. And likely, many days rest once she got him out of here. Throwing his arm over her shoulder, she pulled him up.
The moment Baal’s body moved, a blood curdling scream escaped his mouth. “Intruders! Intruders are here! Summon the guard!”
“Baal, it’s me! It’s Inyalia!” Inyalia released him, moving so he could see her. “It’s me!” Tears flowed down her cheeks. What had they done to him?
The human began to shout, repeating Baal’s words. In unison, they began to echo. The words could be heard elsewhere, throughout the complex. Some resounded on the floor above, others, below. But it was always the same words, timed near perfectly after the initial outburst. The pair before them went silent for a moment. And, standing, they began anew.
Baal grabbed the dagger from Inyalia’s waist, swiping wildly around him.
Wasting no time, Vansin rushed across the room. “Forgive me, girly.” Bringing his fist across Baal’s cheek, he collapsed into silent slumber, dropping the dagger. Instinctively, he backhanded the human, knocking him from his feet. It took another hit to knock him out.
The ceiling shook, rhythmic with the sound of rushing boots.
“Just great. They’ve alerted the whole damn place!” Vansin fumed, heaving the unconscious elf to his shoulder. “Come on. Get the other one. We have to leave now!” Vansin handed Baal off to one of the prisoners and drew his morningstar and shield.
The remaining two ran over and collected the human.
Inyalia sat stunned, watching it all happen. Why did Baal not recognize her?
Tylor approached and knelt beside her. “Inyalia, I know this is hard for you, but we have to move. They’ll kill us if we stay.”
“Come on!” Vansin shouted, following the rush of prisoners making for the exit.
Pulling her to her feet, Tylor and Inyalia took position behind the others. Passing the room where Lorena had waited, she was nowhere to be seen.
“I hope Lorena and Raemus made it out.” Inyalia could hear the footsteps getting louder. They sounded like they were right above them.
“They’re leading the way. Just stay close. We can’t afford any more setbacks.”
Reaching the stairs, thick bolts began to rain from the sky.
Inyalia stole a glance behind her. She didn’t know how many orcs were present, but there were more than she could count in a split second. One of the arrows passed by her face. She could feel the wind off it. Had it not been for Tylor pulling her aside, it would have ended her right there.
They ran down the stairs as fast as they could, reaching the ground floor. Guttural curses spewed behind them, accompanied by arrows. The orcs were gaining. At this pace, they’d be upon them by the time they reached the main door.
“Look out!” Tylor twisted and sliced, knocking an arrow out of flight.
Seizing the moment, Inyalia fired, hitting her target. The orc tumbled down the stairs, tripping a few others. It wasn’t much, but every little bit helped.
Light filled the corridor as the door came open. The sounds of battle could be heard outside.
Firing another arrow, Inyalia heard the crowd of people moving again. She didn’t have time to look. The last thing she wanted to do was waste valuable time checking behind her, only to run into someone.
Vansin batted an arrow away from him, ready for the beasts to advance. They were doing so, but slowly.
It seemed they had some tactics in them after all. They were bottlenecked in this hall. All advancing would do would interrupt the steady flow of arrows. “It’s times like this, I wish I had my crossbow!”
“If it’s any consolation, I wish you had it too.” Tylor dodged a bolt, hearing it impact one of the prisoners behind him. Stealing a glance, one of the elven women had been unfortunate. She was already dead. “With any luck, Gilea’s putting it to good use outside.”
“Fall back!” Vansin shouted, seeing the hall rapidly emptying. Most of the prisoners had made it out. Though at least five had been hit, including the human he’d knocked out. There was no saving them now. If they weren’t already dead, it would be a kinder mercy to make it quick.
Inyalia was down to six arrows. Backing away, she stepped over a body, narrowly tripping. It was fortunate. She released just as an orcish arrow was headed toward her. The heads collided, sending both to the floor.
Bodies littered the ground around them. All were dead but one. The human had woken up. He was shouting about the intruders. Grabbing Vansin’s legs, the warrior ended his suffering with a single blow.
They reached the door, hearing combat right behind them. The orcs ahead had stopped firing and were now advancing into the hall. Filtered sunlight fell upon them as they stepped outside.
Inyalia fired a last shot through the crack. The green head impacted the metal armor of the encroaching horde and bounced harmlessly to the floor. Her face sank as the door sealed. She’d hoped it had been one of the enchanted arrows. It was the last blunt tip she had.
A large explosion shook the ground, throwing chunks of orc and rubble alike into the closed doors. Instinctively, Inyalia threw her weight against the wooden barriers, holding them shut. She could still hear movement, inside, but it would slow them a bit.
A hearty laugh echoed from Vansin. “Well done, girly! I’m glad you finally did something useful!” He clapped her on the back and stepped between her and the door. Dropping his shield, he stuffed it between the bronze handles. It was a tight fit, but that’s what he’d hoped for. With any luck it would keep those inside from flanking them. Lofting the spiked mace, he spun around to see what kind of trouble they were facing at their escape.
