Izaryle's Prison

by Levi Samuel

  Krenin had trouble seeing through the sand cloud. The powerful gusts were fading, telling him the creature had taken flight, but he was blinded. Squinting against the flying debris he searched the sky. A dark shape caught his attention. He could barely make out the creature’s outline, but it was growing larger, headed straight toward him. It was moving too fast. There was no way he could withstand the impact. Glancing at his weapons, Krenin twisted and leaned back. Bringing his axe around he threw it as hard as he could, letting loose at the apex of his swing. The light weight, well-balanced weapon tumbled end over end pausing briefly each time the head was at the lowest point. Krenin watched it tear into one of the fleshy wings, sinking to the handle.

  A sharp pain tore into his right wing. Drognau glanced over, seeing a gaping hole in the web. One of the blackened axes was lodged in the bone. He hadn't expected the half-orc to sacrifice one of his weapons. Though it seemed there was much he hadn’t expected. He was coming in too fast. He had to slow himself. Flapping to control his descent, the wing couldn’t catch the wind. Off-balance he spun, unable to stabilize himself. Falling faster, dizziness took hold. Adjusting with his good wing, Drognau slowed the spinning, but couldn't do much else. The ground was rapidly approaching. Pulling his limbs in at the last moment, he crashed into the arena floor. A wall of coarse dust exploded around him.

  Watching the incoming creature, Krenin rolled out of the way. He felt bits of sand hit him. He popped up on his feet, gripping his remaining axe. The pain in his ribs was great, but he had to ignore it for now. He could deal with it if he survived. Cautiously approaching the fallen dragon-man, he searched through the cloud, hoping he could finish it before it got up. It was unlikely the fall killed it. He would have to land the final blow for himself. Climbing the mound of sand, Krenin surveyed the half-buried beast within. Its eyes were closed and one of the wings was jaggedly folded at an awkward angle, broken. A fair amount of blood seeped from the punctured bones. He spotted his axe near the creature’s tail. Only the handle was sticking from the sand. Raising his weapon he inched closer, ready to remove the beast's head.

  A slit-like eye shot open, expanding to focus on the half-orc. Drognau sprang to life, raking his sharpened claws at the approaching abomination. Pain shot through his body. The fall must have damaged him more than he’d hoped.

  Krenin jumped back narrowly avoiding the deadly swipe. He tripped over the uneven ground, tumbling down the small mound. The sands shifted beneath him telling him the beast was freeing itself. They slid into the hole, filling the crater and trying to bring him along with it. Krenin clawed at the loose sand, trying to stop himself. To his fortune he escaped the draw. Picking himself up he turned and backed away, watching the broken beast crawl from the pit.

  “Oh how you will pay. I’ve faced hundreds of adversaries of every race and never before have I bled. When I get my claws on you I’m going to peel your flesh from muscle so you can experience every ounce of pain I have to inflict. Only after I’ve eaten every part of your body you can live without will I let you die!” Drognau stabbed his talons into the sand, balancing himself. One limb at a time, he made for the half-orc.

  Fear grew inside him. The beast was furious, and he its only target. He knew he couldn't hold against it in melee. Taking a deep breath, Krenin watched the creature approach, unsure how he was going to win this fight. He felt a heavy droplet splash against his bare arm. Looking down, he watched the water collect the dust and run off. Another drop hit, followed by a dense downpour. The rain soaked into everything, all but eliminating the cloud of floating dust. As if a sign from the gods, Krenin spotted the handle of his axe sticking from the sands just in front of the beast. Apparently, he wasn't the only thing that got caught in the sandslide. He felt his lips tighten, revealing a knowing smile to the approaching creature. “You’ll have to catch me first.” Laughing in pleasure, Krenin charged, leaping into the air with his axe overhead.

  Is this orcling stupid? Why’s he charging me? I can shred him with ease. Bringing his clawed hand up, Drognau watched the half-orc jump. He was too far away to hit him. “Ha! Too soon you pathetic half-br—.”

  Krenin slammed into the ground in front of the creature, bringing his axe down with all his might. It hit the handle of its twin slingshotting the blade straight up and into Drognau's chin.

  The sharp edge penetrated his brain, silencing his words. Drognau staggered, unsure what had just happened. He tried to catch himself, but something was wrong. He couldn’t move. His limbs gave out and he crashed face-first into the sand, jabbing the war axe deeper into the underside of his skull.

  The torrential downpour slowed to a stop, emptying the last few droplets over the battleground.

  Krenin picked himself up and dusted the clinging sand from his bloodied leathers. Approaching the dead dragon-man, he straddled its long neck and raised his axe. Bringing it down in a solid, fluid motion, he severed its head.

  “Krenin the undefeated! Krenin the Dragon Slayer! Krenin the Almighty!” The crowd erupted in cheers of praise and excitement having never seen such a battle.

  Grabbing his embedded axe, the head along with it, Krenin calmly marched toward the gate, watching it raise for his approach. He was free now, provided the orcs didn't try anything underhanded and kept their word. Exiting the arena, he paused just inside the gate. It clanked down, trapping him in the small confines.

  Over a dozen orcs stood in the room, awaiting him. They were armed with large axes and hammers, proudly displaying their thick, metal armors. Many had bear pelts secured to the shoulders as protection against the chilling winds, or so he guessed. These weren't guards. These were soldiers. And from the look of them, they were his executioners.

  “Drop your weapons and remove your armor, slave!”

  Krenin looked over the orc. He was older than the others and wore a finer armor with quality furs and hundreds of markings etched into it. He wasn't sure what it all meant, but if he had to guess he was an orc of power. “I was told I'd go free if I won. That means you no longer refer to me as 'slave'!” Krenin tightened his grip, knowing the embedded axe was next to useless in its current state.

  The elder orc cracked a smile at his rebellion. “True enough. You've earned your name. Krenin, relinquish your weapons and armor. They'll be returned to you when you leave the city.”

  Krenin stared at the old orc for a long minute, unsure if he should trust him or not. “How do I know you won’t kill me the minute I pose no threat?”

  “You're a warrior. Even unarmed you pose a threat. But I'm an orc of my word. Your victory over Drognau has granted freedom, status, and wealth. Not only over yourself, but over this city. The beast has been hording treasure for decades. With his death that treasure has become yours. Most of it anyway. So please, drop your weapons. I give you my word, as chieftain of Tulgrimm, they'll be returned to you once you're outside the city.”

  A heavy sigh escaped him. “Guess that has to do.” Krenin dropped his axes. The free one clanked to the ground, while its twin hit with a thud from the weight of Drognau’s head. Unbuckling his armor, Krenin laid it across the table and returned his attention to the chieftain.

  The orcs calmly approached and collected his belongings. Stuffing them into a large bag they moved aside, exposing an open doorway he'd never been through.

  Krenin marched past their number and into the corridor. It was nicer than the other ones he'd seen. This one actually had smoothed walls and was decorated beyond nailed planks. They escorted him through the underground labyrinth and to a set of sealed wooden doors. Sunlight beamed through the seam where they met.

  Awaiting the orcs to open them, Krenin stepped through, lost in the sights around him. He'd never seen the orc city before. It was strangely wonderful in a harsh sort of way. Were it not for his history with them he could have found it a wonderful home. Outside the tunnel, orcs marched on all sides of him, led by the chieftain. He kept watch on as many as he could. If they were going to execute him, th
ey were going to be in for a surprise.

  Making their way through the heart of the huge city, Krenin found himself studying the structures. It was a style of craftsmanship all on its own. The citizens were another story. For the most part they ignored him, going about their daily lives. It was the younger orcs, the children, that made him smile. They stared as if they knew who he was. Many joined the ranks marching alongside the group, trying to keep him in their sights as long as they could. He found it amusing. Occasionally one of them would work up the courage to run between the soldiers and slap his leg. Followed immediately by running away, fear in their eyes. He guessed it was some sort of challenge between them, an innocent way of proving bravery. It felt good to inspire them in such a way. It was certainly going to be one of the things he’d remember for the rest of his life.

  The group rounded the corner, stepping into a wooden tunnel. It twisted and went back the other direction as if it were some sort of defense if the city were under attack. Stepping through the other side, Krenin spotted a large steel reinforced gate. It towered over them, even in the distance. Reaching the massive portal he could hear the chains inside the wall rattling. The twin doors cracked, displaying a large road on the other side. A wide bridge made of wood spanned the long chasm. It was lined with a single rope run through the center of the rail posts.

  The chieftain stopped at the edge of the bridge and turned to address the newly freed half-orc. “Your freedom lies on the other side. You've proven yourself worthy of being called an orc. From this day forward, you're welcome among our kind.” He nodded to one of the soldiers.

  The orc dropped a large sack at Krenin’s feet. It was nearly bulging at the seams.

  Krenin grabbed the bound opening and heaved the sack to his shoulder. It had to weigh at least a few hundred pounds. Nodding to the chieftain he took his first steps of freedom and marched across the bridge. Stealing a glance over the edge, his stomach churned at the sight. It had to have been several hundred feet to the deep-blue waters beneath. Returning his eyes to his path, he reached the other side. Glancing back, Krenin looked upon the orcs one last time. In unison, they offered salute and turned to reenter their city.

  Dropping the sack, Krenin pulled the leather binding free. Looking inside he found his armor had been folded neatly and tucked around his axes. Removing his equipment, he readied for the long journey home. Beneath there was a smaller sack with hundreds of coins and gems piled around it. Opening the smaller bag he found Drognau's glazed eyes staring back at him.

  Chapter VII

  Slipping Shackles

  A cool breeze drifted through the cavern entrance carrying the briny scent of stale seaweed. Gareth had spent enough time on the sea to know when he was near one. He could see filtered light through the cloth clinging to his face. A rag had been stuffed into his mouth and tied in place, keeping him from talking. His hands and feet were bound behind him, forcing him face down on the rocky terrain. His body ached, as if he'd completely exhausted himself and hadn't had the chance to recuperate. Footsteps echoed past, telling him he wasn't alone. Gareth tried to focus on his anger, but it wouldn't flow. He was too worn to linger on the pain.

  Another set of boots approached, pausing near him. A forceful grip latched hold of his bound arms and lifted him from the cold ground. Gareth didn't know where they were taking him, but surely weren’t stupid enough to give him a chance at escape.

  The temperature dropped slightly, but he remained warm. That meant they were going deeper into the caverns. It was odd. Dreu didn’t normally camp so close to an entrance. The sunlight would burn them. Released, the impact of the cold, hard ground was jarring to his unsuspecting form. It was gentle all things considered, but he was sure they wanted him to feel some pain. Additional ropes engulfed his arms, burning into his flesh and cinched tight. It didn't make much sense. He was already bound, what were they hoping to accomplish? To his surprise, his arms sprang free of his legs, allowing the sore muscles to return to a more natural position. Gareth pulled against the bindings, realizing what they had done. He was still bound, just not in a manner preventing movement.

  Being yanked up, his weight was placed on his own two feet, a welcome change from his raw stomach and chest. Gareth staggered, disoriented in the sensory deprivation. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't walked for at least a few days. He wasn't sure how long they'd had him, but it was certainly long enough for his body to lose some of its muscle memory. Guided backward, Gareth felt something hard impact the back of his knees, buckling them. To his surprise there was a bench awaiting him.

  The mul'daron ran the ropes through the holes in the wooden seat, pulling tight to keep him seated. Assured he couldn't move they ripped the bag from his head and untied the gag, stepping aside.

  Gareth was able to see for the first time since he'd passed out. It wasn't much of a sight. The bright, yellow entrance blocked most of the details his single eye could normally give him. Though he could make out a lone figure seated in front of him, the man's back to the entrance.

  “Gareth Dreuslayer. I must say I never expected to have you in such a position. Moreover, I never expected to be in the position I'm in either.”

  His throat was dry from lack of use, but he forced the gravely words out anyway. “Then why don't we switch? You sit here, and I there. I'll promise to cut your ears off before I run a blade through your head.”

  The figure let out a light chuckle at the prisoner's rebellion. He truly was everything the rumors claimed. “Oh, I don't believe that to be necessary. You and I aren't so different. We both want the same thing.” He nodded to one of the mul'daron.

  The man approached, extending a waterskin to the parched dreuslayer. Gareth glanced at the uncorked container. “You really think I'd drink anything you gave me? For all I know it's poisoned.”

  “Look at it this way, if I wanted you dead we wouldn't be having this conversation. I could simply leave you bound. Starvation would claim you within the next day or two. So ask yourself this, if I wanted you dead why would I waste perfectly good poison to make it happen?”

  He had a point, Gareth couldn't deny that. Nodding to the pink-skinned figure beside him, Gareth tipped his head back to take a drink. It soothed his throat, but hurt when it reached his stomach. It wasn't nearly as bad as before, but it certainly reminded him how long it’d been since he'd eaten. Clearing his throat, Gareth returned his focus to the silhouette. Features were beginning to appear against the backdrop of light. “So, if you aren't going to kill me, why am I here?”

  “As I said, we want the same thing. The dreualfar are no friend of mine. They're just as likely to kill us, as they are you. What's the old saying? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

  “We're not friends. For all I know this is some trap to get me to reveal something.”

  The figure laughed once again, sitting back in his chair. “And what do you think you have that isn't already known? You're a little too full of yourself, I'm afraid. You're of little value when it comes to information. Your life on the other hand, that's greatly valued and it just so happens that you have valuable friends. One of these friends has applied this value to my commander and our people. That in of itself has granted you salvation, especially since you killed so many of my men. Though I can understand your confusion under the circumstances.”

  “So you're just going to let me go?”

  “In due time. I have a couple questions I'd like to ask you. First off, do you know what this is?” The shadowed mul’daron held up a brown satchel, exposing the shimmering black book inside. “We took it from you while you were out. My men have looked over it from cover to cover, but haven't been able to find so much as a single scribe mark. We know it's magical. Hell, a blind man would know that much.”

  “I don't know. I found it in the tunnels. Thought it'd be good as kindling if I needed to make a fire.”

  “I see. Well we're going to hang on to it for the time being. Wouldn't want it getting damaged until
you have need of your fire.” He smiled, suggesting he knew more than he was letting on. “Secondly, when you killed my men, you were using a magic none of us have ever seen before. Do you know how you did it? Or perhaps how someone could learn it?”

  “I don't know what to tell you. It started a couple weeks ago. It just happens sometimes, usually when I get mad. As for teaching someone how to do it, I wouldn't know where to start. I don't even know how to control it myself.”

  “That's a shame. Perhaps those answers will be revealed to you soon. That's all I have for you right now. I hope you'll understand that I can't risk letting you loose upon my men. I wouldn't want you to get mad again. We both know what happened last time. We move in the morning. Until then, you're to be kept separate from my men. Food and water will be provided. Once you're done, you'll be bound and gagged for the duration of your stay. When we reach our destination, I promise you'll never be kept against your will by my people ever again.”

  Gareth watched the light fade feeling the thick cloth take its place over his head once again.

  The towering wall stretched across the land running one hundred miles in both directions. At the center a massive bastion stood erect, overlooking the approaching army of men.

  The majority wore the blue and green tabard of Shadgull, though a fair many were dressed in black and green of Marbayne. Those few hung to the outskirts of the group, serving as added protection in the unlikely event they were attacked.

  Remle pulled the reins of his horse. The majestic creature was a mixture of brown and white, as if the white patches had been splattered across and eventually took dominance. Looking over the ancient post he surveyed the guards posted atop the structure and on foot at the closed gateway. Glancing at his son he gave a reassuring smile. “Center of the tunnel. Is there anything I need to look for?”