Izaryle's Prison

by Levi Samuel

  The disarmed orc roared his discontent and drew his warvich.

  Rolling to his knees Krenin sprung up, waiting for the orcs to be upon him again. He was unarmed, out manned, and unsure how he was going to survive this. They were stronger, but he was resourceful. This was going to be a battle of opportunity, nothing more. Readying himself, he waited for their approach. Catching movement out the corner of his eye, Krenin spotted the unarmed orc swing. He ducked, causing the creature to miss him entirely. Dropping low, he kicked, knocking the orc's legs from beneath him.

  The orc dropped from the unexpected kick. Rolling, he regained his balance and popped back up on his knees. Abandoning pause, he swung, punching the half-orc in the face.

  Krenin stumbled backward, seeing the second orc approach, warvich raised and aimed to decapitate. He had to do something fast or it would all be over. Spotting the broken shield in the dirt, Krenin dove for the kneeling orc, grabbing his chainmail shirt and pulling him close. He slammed his forehead forward in hopes of landing a solid blow.

  The orc threw his hands in defense. It was no use, the blow smashed into his nose, forcing tears from his eyes. Unprepared and off balance, the orc tumbled, propelled by his attacker.

  Passing his defenses, the impact coated Krenin’s face in a spray of blood. Holding tight, he fell backward pulling the orc with him. Krenin landed hard on his back, the orc atop him. Seeing the incoming attack, the half-orc pushed the heavy orc into the air, hearing the falling sword penetrate. The orc gasp in pain, the wicked blade protruding through the dying orc’s chest, restricted only by a few unbroken rings of chainmail.

  The towering orc thrust the sword deeper, hoping to impale the green-skin.

  Krenin didn’t have many options. He was trapped beneath his meat shield and his final aggressor was in position to finish him. Seeing his only option, he shoved the dead orc, using the force to move himself. The orc and protruding sword hit the ground beside him. Wasting no time, he swung as hard as he could, punching the standing orc in the ankle.

  The orc howled in pain, his ankle cracking beneath the powerful blow.

  Krenin hit again, weakening the orc while carrying his momentum. He slammed into both legs, grabbing the broken shield from the dust.

  Unable to withstand the force, the orc collapsed and landed hard in the dirt.

  Krenin climbed atop him and batted him across the face with the shield fragment. It broke from the impact, splintering into pieces. Seeing the broken pike beside them, Krenin grabbed the jagged spear. Securing it, he shoving the splintered wood into the side of the orc’s head. The needle like slithers cut through flesh, burying themselves. The harder he shoved, the weaker his enemy got, which meant the deeper the splinters pierced. Feeling all resistance give way, a final jolt buried the wood deep in the orc’s brain. The orc was beaten but not dead. Not yet. Releasing him, Krenin stood, turning to face the cloaked man. He was the victor once again. A gladiator fighting for the crowd. Only this time his arena didn’t have walls. Glancing at the dead orcs, a sense of honor overcame him. Returning his attention to the man he wondered what was going to happen next. “Five!”

  The man smiled, only his mouth shown in the torchlight. “Well done. But he's not dead yet. Finish it!”

  Krenin glanced at the orc. There was no fight left in him. He was likely to die from his wounds. Even if he didn’t he’d never be functional again. Several gashes along his face bled from the cuts and pricks of the wooden needles. The gaping hole in the side of his head, housing the remnants of the shaft, displayed ridged bone and muscle. Even brain where it had pierced the ear. But the man wasn’t wrong. The orc wasn’t dead yet. Unable to stop himself Krenin straddled the orc, placing his knees against his shoulders. Grabbing hold of the blood-soaked spike, he ripped it free. He couldn’t help himself. He had to obey. His body acted of its own volition. Krenin watched, helpless to his own assault. Flipping it around, he stabbed the bladed head deep into the orc's throat. Twisting the broken weapon he hooked it around his esophagus and pulled, bringing flesh and meat with it. He could taste the blood in his mouth. It was sweet. Sweeter than anything he'd tasted before. Jabbing the tip into the orc's skull, he picked himself up and turned around.

  Gareth strained against the awkward weight. He held both arms overhead, struggling to balance the smaller man. “What do you see?”

  Demetrix balanced himself against his wobbly base. Peering through the glass window he watched the inhabitants on the other side. “Shhh.”

  “Don’t ‘shhh’ me. I’ll drop your ass.”

  Ravion chuckled. “Perhaps it'd be wise to wait for him to come down before he tells us. Wouldn’t want to risk them hearing.”

  Gareth sighed, bracing himself against the wall. “This would be much easier if his ass didn't weigh so much.”

  Ignoring his comments Demetrix dug the tip of his dagger beneath the wooden seal, prying the brass latch open. As quietly as possible he lifted the window, hoping to hear them better.

  A heavyset woman, dressed in layers of out of place clothing sat behind a large, oaken desk. She pulled a bag from one of the drawers and handed it to an excessively thin man. “Put these with my other trinkets. I’ll not have them fall into the hands of that sharliet.”

  The man took the bag. “Do you think it wise to maneuver while he’s here?”

  “So long as those loyal to me keep their mouths shut there’s no reason to fear. He’ll be gone before long and we’ll be back to business as usual.” She gave the man a stern gaze, more warning than anything.

  “As you wish, Magistrate. Will you be requiring any more of my services this evening?”

  “Yes, actually. I want you to locate the men that escaped the tavern brawl this afternoon. Find out who they are and take care of them. I can’t have a couple of renegade resistance fighters stirring up trouble in my city. It doesn’t inspire confidence with the sharliet.”

  “As you wish.” He heaved the bag over his shoulder and stepped out the door.

  “Oh, and Marcus, need I remind you what happens if you fail me?”

  “No, Magistrate.”

  Demetrix softly closed the window and signaled Gareth to bring him down.

  The bald warrior lowered him, letting him fall the last few feet.

  “It's her. One of her henchmen confirmed it. She's greedy as far as I could tell. Gave a bag full of stuff to one of her men and told him to put it with the others. She said she didn’t want it falling in with the sharliet, whatever that means.”

  “Both Gailon and Krizere have mentioned them. They act as the commanders of the orcs. I didn’t learn much, but they’re widely feared. If one is here we need to be that much more cautious.”

  “That goes double. She told her man to find us. Said to ‘deal’ with us. Apparently, they think we belong to the resistance.”

  “Sounds like we need to pay her a visit before her assassin does us.” Gareth smiled at the thought of removing the collar he'd been leashed with.

  “You may be right about this one.” Ravion glanced at the window. “How do you advise we get in without a scene?”

  “We might as well walk right in the front door. We know how to get out from here. The window isn’t that far. We can jump if we have to.” Gareth sized the drop as an afterthought.

  Demetrix scanned the area. “I’ve got an idea.”

  A gentle knock echoed through the small room. She stood from her desk and marched toward the door. “What is it? I asked not to be disturbed.” Pulling the door open with a vengeance she glared at the man on the other side. “What?”

  Ravion smiled. “Good evening, Magistrate. Might I trouble you for a moment of your time?”

  She froze, feeling the cold steel against her throat.

  Gareth stepped into view, guiding her inside. He pushed her into one of the wooden chairs and took position behind her, keeping the blade firm against her flesh.

  Ravion stepped in behind them, closing the door.

  “I�
��ve never seen you before. That leaves you to be common thugs or rogue resistance fighters come to pick the bones.” She glared at Ravion letting her distaste radiate.

  “You’re wrong on both counts.” The young dalari casually walked across the room and opened the window. He turned and took a seat behind her desk. Pressing his elbows against the polished top, he interlocked his fingers and smiled. “You’re in possession of something that doesn’t belong to you. We simply wish to obtain said item and we’ll gladly be on our way.”

  She struggled against the edge of the dagger, feeling a small amount of blood trickle down her neck. “What are you after?”

  “I’m glad you asked.” Breaking his hold, Ravion sat back in the chair. “It seems at some point in your career you came across a rod. Not just any rod, though. This one is special. I'm told you put it with your private reserve. So I’ll make you a deal. Give us what we came for. We’ll leave and you’ll never see us again. Hell, you can even try to send people after us if you’d like. I’d prefer you didn’t, but I can’t stop you. Or we can do it the hard way. My friend's been itching to kill someone all night, but I really don't want the cleaning bill. And I'm sure you don’t want to experience that amount of pain before the end.”

  She forced as much hatred into her glare as she could muster. He had a calmness to him she hadn’t seen before. His demeanor reminded her of the few sharliets she’d had the misfortune to meet. If only there was a way to hire him. “You seem to have it all figured out. You’ve gained all the bargaining chips, with the exception of one.”

  “And what might that be? If you’d be so kind as to inform us.” Ravion gestured subconsciously. “After all, the presence of choice is kind offerings. We’re not barbarians.” He chuckled to himself thinking of his title.

  “I recall the rod of which you speak. You'll be saddened to learn that it isn't here.” She smiled victory. There was no way they’d be able to take her to the vault without discovery, regardless of how many guards they’d killed.

  Ravion smiled. “Well it seems you have us in quite the predicament.” Refusing to let a single word betray him he continued. “But, let me ask you this, if I may?” He waited patiently for her response.

  “It seems I don’t have a choice.”

  “Oh, don’t be like that. There’s always a choice, just sometimes not a good one.”

  She paused in uncomfortable silence. “You may.” He was infuriating, yet she couldn’t help but like him. Perhaps if the tables were turned she could enjoy his personality a little better.

  “What are the contents of your vault worth to you?”

  “What?”

  “The contents of your vault. The place you stash your stolen treasures. What are they worth to you?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re asking”

  He let his head drop, showing clear disappointment at her inability to follow. It wasn’t nearly as fun when you had to explain everything. Reaching into his pocket, Ravion removed a golden ring with a green gem set into it. Tossing it to her, he walked to the door.

  She caught the ring, recognizing the etching in the stone. “Where’d you get this?”

  “Your vault of course. Where else would I have gotten it?” Ravion opened the door and stepped around the corner. Returning a moment later, he guided the slender man into the room. He was bound and gagged, his white tunic in stark contrast to the dark brown vest over it. Ravion set him against the wall, letting his subdued form slide to the floor. Shutting the door he returned his focus to the older woman. “I’ll repeat again. What are the contents of your vault worth to you?”

  “Marcus, you fool, you led them to my vault?” Her voice was venom, spitting anger at the man.

  Ravion stepped in front of the woman, leaning close so she could look him in the eye. “Madam Magistrate, I won’t ask you again.”

  She pointed to the far wall. “Behind the tapestry you’ll find a hidden stash. It's in there.”

  Ravion lifted the cloth banner and ran his hand along the wall. Finding the seam he traced it out, identifying the door. Pushing one side, the wall rotated revealing a small room full of trinkets. A scepter rested on a table, half buried by gold and silver. Lifting the ornate tool he turned and held it up for her to see. “Is this it?”

  “Yes.” Knowing her usefulness was at its end, she closed her eyes expecting death to follow at any moment.

  Inspecting the carved wood and golden studs, Ravion walked to the window and tossed it out. “Madam Magistrate, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you. Your vault is secure. We haven't taken anything you don't know about. As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I recommend you use what little time you have left wisely. Get yourself and your treasures to a secure location. An anonymous message has been sent to the sharliet about your dealings with the taxes of this fair city. You have the option of pursuing us, but I fear it wouldn’t be the best use of your time.” He climbed up the perch and jumped out the window, landing on the cobblestone beneath.

  Gareth sheathed his dagger and followed after, disappearing from sight.

  Demetrix stared down the shaft of his arrow, watching the magistrate and her bound servant. She jumped up, running toward the window. He let loose his arrow, sinking it into the wood between her arms.

  She fell backward avoiding the vicious bolt, searching for its source. “Marcus, get yourself untied and gather my things. We have to get far from this city.”

  Chapter XVII

  Parting Ways

  The torch lit streets were barren, aside from the occasional orc patrol. Demetrix stood on the ledge of the two-story building looking out over the city. One of the patrols was a few blocks away and moving closer. He'd have to be quick if he was going to avoid them. Gauging the distance he stepped off, freefalling to the dirt covered street. Forcing his body to obey he went limp just before impact, absorbing the shock through his legs and into his chest. Nearly crouching on the road he jumped up, letting his body realign from the force. Dusting himself off Demetrix turned, seeing the glow of torches flickering along the wall. He had to move or they would see him. Running the half block to their hideout he gently knocked on the wooden frame, keeping it from echoing out in the night. Waiting in full view he watched the door crack. A single eye peered at him.

  Ravion stared through the slender gap finding his brother waiting patiently in the open. Quickly releasing their makeshift latches he pulled the door inward, granting access. “Any sign?”

  Demetrix stepped through the portal and spun, latching the door before speaking. “She’s fled the city. Took a sewage tunnel on the temple side of town to get under the wall. It'll take us closer to the Blackguard barracks, but I think we can use the same one to escape.”

  “Where does it lead?” Gareth stepped into the faint glowing light beaming through the hole in the thatch roof.

  “Best I could tell it empties into a marsh about a mile away. It's hard to be certain, but there is clearly some kind of a bog that direction. I did notice the Blackguard was nearly abandoned. And the patrols are out in force. Though they seem to be avoiding that direction. It seems almost as if something is deterring them, like they have orders to stay away.”

  Ravion checked the latches, making sure he hadn't missed one. Leaving the door he took a seat atop one of the wooden crates littering the rundown shack. “We'll keep that in mind. Were you able to find Krenin?”

  “I did. He’s being held just outside the trade gates. For now they have him tied to a post, but he’s still alive and seemingly in good health. Although I don’t know how much longer that’ll last. There were only a handful of guards watching him, but it looks as if they’re going to move soon. They're stocking a caravan not far from him. I think we may be able to fight our way in, but we’ll have to hurry. We’d probably have better luck if we can convince some of the townspeople to aid us.”

  “We can’t plan for that. It leaves too many loose ends. Besides, this land has a full army standi
ng in opposition to the orcs. If their own people can’t convince them to stand, what chance do we have?” Gareth fumed. “We need to get this damn book and get Krenin so we can get out of here, permanently. We can't rely on anyone other than ourselves. That’s the only reason we’ve survived this long.”

  “Calm yourself, Gareth. You’re not wrong, but we must also hear each other. Time and again, we’ve rose above the odds and emerged victorious. This will be no different. But we have to trust each other. Only when all thoughts and opinions are heard, can we bring order to chaos. We—” Ravion froze, hearing footsteps outside the door.

  A gentle knock echoed through the room.

  Ravion drew his blade and approached the door. Cautiously he pulled against the knob, letting the door open just enough to peek out. It held firm against its latches and blocks, reinforced by the tension. Squinting through the crack he saw a scrawny human, maybe in his early twenties. He was dressed in tattered rags that draped over his small frame.

  “Are you Ravion?” The young man asked, staring into the darkness from beneath his dark brown cowl.

  “I am?”

  “I have message from Krizere.” He extended a sealed scroll toward the door, keeping it at arm’s reach from the crack.

  Wait for it! Wait for a clean shot! Strike fast and hard!

  Gareth felt the familiar sensation wash over him, hearing the thoughts of the man. Seeing Ravion reach for the latch, Gareth charged. “No!” Abandoning all caution he slammed into the door. The makeshift latches broke under the force. He busted through sending splintered pieces of door into the alley and tackling the unknown man.

  The boy fell backward, dropping a concealed dagger.

  Gareth brought his forehead down, smashing it into the boy's face. Drawing his own dagger he plunged it deep into his chest, watching the life fade from his eyes.