Izaryle's Prison

by Levi Samuel

  Vorak smiled. The green-orc had been lucky thus far. That ended today. Keeping his main-hand locked against the greater warvich he brought his off-hand up, ramming the jagged guard into Krenin’s jaw. The green-skin stumbled backward. Sword in hand, Vorak removed his blackened helm and swung it, bashing him in the face.

  Krenin fell backward slamming into the densely compacted snow. Grabbing his face, sticky, warm blood poured from the wounds.

  The orc raised his blades evoking a cheer from the surrounding spectators. Circling, gaining their praise, Vorak returned his attention to the prone half-orc.

  Anger burned inside him. This orc was going to pay. Abandoning his sword Krenin jumped and charged, throwing his shoulder into the orc's midsection.

  The impact knocked the swords from his grip. Flying backward, propelled by the green-skin, Vorak landed hard in the snow. No sooner than he hit the ground, his neck popped, jarred from a sudden impact.

  Krenin’s thick, green fist slammed into the side of Vorak’s head. Bringing his other around, it rocketed the other direction. Krenin’s eyes locked on the dark-red blood trickling from the deep gouges where bone and skin were closest. He could see the white sinew beyond the meaty tissue. Slamming his forehead down, Krenin shattered the orc's nose with a crunch. Rising from his beaten opponent, he took pleasure in the inflicted pain. The orc hurt him. It was only right he did the same. Spitting a mouthful of blood on the weakened orc, Krenin turned and marched toward his sword. If he was going to finish the job, he was going to sate its appetite. Lifting his weapon, Krenin spun, hearing a deep howl echo from the across the pit. The orc had climbed to his feet, chin outstretched and pointed to the sky.

  A matching howl echoed in the distance.

  Krenin could hear something massive getting closer. Thundering footsteps sounded near, shaking the ground. A dark flash shot through his vision ending at a huge warg standing in the pit, positioned between him and the orc. The snarling, pointed teeth threatened him. He looked deep into the warg's blackened eyes seeing no submission. This warg wasn't going to back down and neither would he.

  The beast lunged, knocking him from his feet. Krenin felt its dagger-like teeth sink into his arm. Howling in pain he pressed the flat of his blade against the warg's chest, pushing it away as best he could. The vicious maw snapped, inches from his face, trying to tear him apart. Krenin could see the orc fast approaching, ready to kill him while his defenses were down.

  Another howl echoed, this one much closer.

  Krenin felt the weight suddenly leave him. Glancing over he saw two dogs toppling over one another. His pup hunkered close to the ground, fur on end and teeth ready to kill. It sprang, tearing into the other.

  The black warg snarled, scratching and pawing, trying to get at the smaller animal. It was no use. The younger pup was quicker, more agile. It tore into the beast’s neck shaking its head viciously, trying to rip out anything vital.

  Krenin was lost in the battle. The pup he'd rescued, rescued him. He had to help. The larger warg would surely kill him if it got one bite in. His attention was stolen seeing the orc approaching from his side. A smaller, jagged sword was aimed and flying at his head. Instinctively Krenin ducked, bringing his own sword around. It caught the orc in the stomach. Ripping the weapon free he watched the steady flow of blood drip from Vorak, soiling the already stained snow.

  The orc dropped his sword, unable to keep his grip on the weapon. He was rapidly weakening. Hearing a yelp Vorak glanced over, seeing the smaller pup sink its maw into his mount's throat. It collapsed, ending his pet. Defeated, he looked upon his successor anticipating the final blow.

  Krenin slashed wide, letting the jagged edge cut through his opponent's chest. Refusing to leave it to chance he twisted the blade and brought the pick down. It sank deep into the orc’s skull lodging itself in place. Krenin watched the star-glazed eyes of the dying orc. They stared back at him, crossing and rolling up. A mixture of drool and blood fell from Vorak’s mouth. He dropped to his knees, the remainder of his strength fading rapidly.

  Krenin ripped the blade free. hearing a suctioning pop as the pick was released. Turning to find his pup he stared in pride, watching the smaller animal bite into the already dead warg. It ripped out another chunk of meat, feasting on its victory. Approaching the pup he scratched it behind the ears, realizing they were surrounded. Raising his blade, he prepared for the worst.

  The surrounding orcs stared in silence, lost in awe of the victors. A single voice echoed above the silence. “A fine victory. One worthy of note.”

  Krenin searched the crowd finding the unfamiliar voice. He stood stunned, watching the warchief step into the pit.

  “Let this be lesson to all. Never underestimate your opponent. You never know the resources they possess. Even the weakest foe can emerge victorious given the right opportunities.” Gesturing to the half-orc the warchief continued. “Stand down, Krenin. You fought a fine battle this day. And emerge, Sergeant Krenin, slayer of Shadowhelm!”

  The orcs erupted in cheer, lost in the primitive heat of battle. “Krenin! Krenin! Krenin!” The echoing roar of his name was deafening in the sea of orcs.

  Pride overflowing, Krenin raised his warvich overhead, enticing their praise. It felt good, hearing them chant his name. He’d never had a people of his own. It’d taken a while, but these orcs finally accepted him.

  The warchief extended his hands, silencing them. “The status you earned has perks, one of which is a battle warg of your own, though it seems you already acquired one.”

  The pup stared at his only friend, those icy-blue eyes piercing his soul. Krenin found the blood matted fur around its maw somewhat humorous and unnerving at the same time. Scratching the pup behind the ears he listened to the warchief continue his speech.

  “Your warg may reside in the pens, where it will receive the utmost care. Now, step forward, Sergeant and receive your station.”

  Several orcs broke through the crowd carrying a litter into the center. They sat the large platform down and disappeared back into the warrior mass. It had wind breaks on three sides and a huge throne fixed to the center. A moment later they returned carrying a smaller one. Laying it atop the first, beside the throne, they took position on the sides.

  Krenin looked at the device. The smaller was covered in burning embers. Best he could figure it was designed to provide heat in the open cold, though he found one thing odd. He could see the hilt of an unusual dagger sticking from the coal.

  The warchief marched up the fixed steps and plopped in his heavy chair. His nearly white mane blew in the snowy mixture, blending in with the weather. He wore black fur over his shoulders and carried a large axe with a spike sticking from each end. It hung at his side, suspended by a single leather strap. The gray of his face and arms was marred by hundreds of scars, displaying years of victory and conquests. Waving the young, green orc to approach, the warchief reached to the embers and secured the hilt of the buried dagger. Pulling it free, a thin blade glowed bright orange.

  The orcs grew silent, watching the ritual. Many of them had gone through it several times, though the younger and less experienced stared longingly at the green-skin.

  Krenin stabbed his warvich into the snow and patted his warg's head. The pup sat, happy to return to his treat. Walking toward the warchief, Krenin marched up the steps, stopping in front of the venerable warrior. Standing tall as he could, Krenin stared straight ahead, knowing his test was only half over.

  The warchief stood, placing his hand atop the green orc's head. Gently raising the glowing blade he pressed into his face, following the contours of his cheekbone.

  Krenin felt the sizzle before it even touched him. The smell of his cooking flesh made him sick but he had to endure. To show weakness in this moment of honor would bring disgrace upon him. He tensed, feeling the burning edge carve from his nostril and up under his eye. The frozen winds burned the fresh wound like no other, but he felt pride in the status.

  “Behold
, Sergeant Krenin, Slayer of Shadowhelm!”

  The orcs erupted in cheer once again.

  The warchief plunged the blade back into the flame and leaned close for the green-skin to hear. “Enjoy tonight. Tomorrow, you and your warg report to Warlord Morrek. You being sent on a hunt.”

  Chapter XX

  Ties That Bind Us

  The dim glow of daylight faintly shined upon the elegant skylights atop the towering keep of Adariel. The crystalline windows collected and amplified it, sending warm beams down to the polished marble floor below.

  Demetrix marched, listening to the echo of his boots off the vastly empty walls. Approaching the great hall the towering, white doors opened as he neared. Alfaren guards stood patient, refusing to say a word. Continuing past he entered the chamber, feeling the light upon his face for what seemed the first time in over a year. Despite its feel, he didn't care for visiting the hall. It was too big. Too— empty. The dwindling population made him feel like he was alone in the world. A funny concept considering he'd spent much of his life alone. Perhaps that was the problem. He'd spent too much time alone, he was ready to have company. Setting his feelings aside Demetrix marched across the seamless floor and approached the three thrones, perched upon the dais.

  Elalon sat to the left, scanning stacks of parchment piled high on a pull about table. Glancing from her reports, a smile breeched her face. “I'm happy to see you. I was beginning to think you'd never visit me here.” She laid the parchment in such a manner that she could pick up where she left off. Pushing the table away she stood and threw her arms around the young dalari's shoulders, softly kissing him.

  Returning the kiss, Demetrix stared into her eyes, regretting what he had to say. “I'm afraid I must leave.”

  The pair stood in silence a brief moment, one that lasted an eternity.

  “I know.” Elalon gave a half-hearted smile. “Your brothers should arrive any day now. It's best you greet them.”

  “I fear it's more than that. We were searching for a way home. If they're headed this way that means they succeeded, at least enough to have a plan. I don't know what that will entail, but I fear it means I'll be away from you for a long while.” Demetrix placed his hands against her sleek hips. “For what it's worth I've enjoyed my time here, getting to know you. I only wish I'd met you sooner, so that we had more time.”

  “Shhh.” Pressing a finger to his lips Elalon quieted him. “I'll not have you saying permanent goodbyes. This is a hard land. People die here every day. Most don't have the opportunity for such luxury. I'll see you again. If not tomorrow, then a thousand years from now. But I'm certain I'll see you tomorrow.” Smiling she reached back, grabbing one of the papers she'd set to the side. Pulling it between them, she held it so he could see the writing.

  It was encrypted, but she'd shown him how to decipher it. Reading aloud Demetrix listened to the details, he was otherwise unable to pick out silently. “Two humans near the forest, a day from High Point. One wearing an eye patch, the other, long red hair. Neither appear to be agents of shadow.” Breaking his gaze from the parchment he returned his attention to her. “That describes Gareth and Ravion!”

  “I thought it might. I received that missive early this morning. They should be here just before nightfall. If you'll allow it I'd like to send a unit with you. They'll regard your orders as if they were my own. Collect your friends and return here. If it's our final night, I'd like to have you completely. Tomorrow, you set out, supplied and ready to do what you must.”

  “Yes, ma'am!” Demetrix smiled and kissed her.

  Screams echoed from the wooden barricades. Humans scurried, trying to escape the crude hovels. Bellows of smoke rose from their thatch roofs. The easy tinder quickly engulfed in flame.

  Krenin brought his warvich down. The serrated curve along the edge sank deep into a woman’s skull. Her head popped under the pressure, splattering blood across his face. Licking his lips Krenin tasted the sweet fluid of victory. He didn't know why he enjoyed it so much. It wasn't wreathed in honor. These people were unarmed and yet he cherished their demise. They were inferior to him, inferior to the orcs. The weak deserved misery. It was their place. He was an orc, strong and worthy of ruling. Glancing over he spotted his pup ripping the innards from one of the lesser beings. Taking pride in the sight he marched over and scratched the young warg behind the ears. He was still smaller than the others, but perfectly sized for him. “That's a good boy, Xarg.”

  The pup wagged his tail in approval, licking his master's blood-soaked fingers.

  “Sergeant, this one knows something.” One of the larger gray orcs approached, dragging a human across the dirt road by his shoulder length, brown hair.

  Krenin looked the man over. He was in his later years though he showed no accumulated muscle mass. It was as if the man had never swung a sword.

  The orc forced him to his knees. “Tell him.” The orc’s common was severely broken.

  “I— I just run the inn. Didn't know they was wanted for anything!” His lips quivered and tears ran down his face, soaking into his dirty twill tunic.

  The orc smiled letting his guttural orcish words resonate in the half-breed. “It cries like a baby. Perhaps we should end his suffering?” Fingers entwined in the human's hair, he jerked the man off the ground, exposing his throat.

  Krenin knelt in front of the human. How could they tolerate being so weak? It was disgusting. “Where they go?”

  “Th— They didn't s— say. Tho— Though I think I hea— heard one of ‘em mention Hi— High Point B— Bluff.” He wept openly, unable to ignore the pain. Nearly all his weight on scalp, it threatened to tear free.

  Glancing to the commander Krenin saw the nod. The axe-like tip of his sword plunged into the man's throat, cutting through meat and bone. A sickening pop echoed and the man’s head came free, ending his pitiful sobbing. The body hit the dirt, bleeding out through the open wound in his neck. Standing to his full height Krenin absorbed the carnage around him.

  The larger orc flung the head, watching it roll toward one of the weak structures. “Give the command, Sergeant!”

  “Your command, Warlord.” Clearing his throat Krenin shouted over the chaos. “Burn the buildings. When they come out, kill them all. Leave none alive who harbor fugitives!” Grabbing one of the torches he tossed it onto the straw roof beside him, watching it smolder and ignite.

  The entire block was aflame. Soon little more than piled embers would remain. Dead and dying humans littered the streets, left to bleed out where they fell. A light snow drifted from the sky settling on the blood-red streets.

  Krenin watched the last woman fall to his brethren. He didn't understand why they took the time to mate with her first but it didn't matter. She was dead now. With a satisfied smile he shouted. “People of Tiermoar. This what happens when you shelter enemies of shadow. Next time, we not be so merciful!” Sheathing his warvich he gave a low whistle, watching Xarg happily approach. Grabbing the leather heel mounted on the warg's back, Krenin kicked his leg over and found the comfortable saddle. Turning away from the city he patted the noble beast, signaling he was ready.

  Warlord Morrek rode beside him. “High Point Bluff, he say?”

  “Yes!”

  The larger orc pointed to the outlined forest in the distance. “It on north face. We reach in few days.”

  Krenin nodded his understanding. Signaling his mount, Xarg launched, leaping across the dirt and snow mixture in bounds. The pup was happy, running freely. He was faster than the other wargs and didn't sink so deep in the snow due to the lighter weight.

  The other warg riders sprang into action, falling in behind the green-skin.

  “Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Gareth squinted against the blinding snow. It was hard to see anything through the constant furies. He felt the numbness in his toes. It was one thing when they were dry, but the days of walking brought sweat. And with it new misery when they stopped. Pulling his thick cloak tighter around him,
Gareth hoped it would block out some of the chill. He wasn’t dressed for such weather.

  Ravion unrolled the tiny scroll, reading the brief message. “This has to be it.” Reaching into his pack he pulled a crude sight glass and checked the landmarks, hoping to get a better idea of where they were. In the distance he could see the faint outline of a huge structure built into the mountain face. Handing the glass to Gareth he continued. “If you look seven degrees left of that tall peak, you can see an archer turret. You think that's Idenfal?”

  Gareth rubbed the scruff growing atop his head, knocking the snow build up free. It offered mild resistance, doing little to block out the cold. Pressing the glass to his eye he found the stonework, scanning as much as he could. “I'm not sure, but it'd make sense. That map shows we should be pretty close. It's hard to tell, but I think that's a training ground to the left. If anything, I'd guess that's where we'll find Krenin. Provided he's still alive.”

  “At this point we can only hope. He’s strong, but we don't know what they've put him through. I’ve seen some pretty gruesome techniques that could make the most resilient of men break.”

  A familiar voice echoed from the trees behind them. “It’s not his wellbeing we have to worry about.” Demetrix stepped into the outcropping.

  They turned, hearing the young dalari. His armor had been modified to withstand the cold north. A thick fur liner poked from around the edges and his shoulder pauldrons had been extended, covering more of his arms. The heavy canvas cloak was pulled around him, clasped in the center by a golden leaf. Most shocking of all was his dark brown hair. It hung near shoulder length, blending into his equally long facial hair. He carried a pack and had his bow and quiver over his shoulder.

  Ravion approached, grabbing his forearm in a hugging embrace. “It's good to see you. Look at how long your hair's gotten. You look like you've been doing well, particularly in the midsection.” He poked at the slightly bulged belly of his armor.