Izaryle's Prison

by Levi Samuel

  A sharp pain erupted in his chest, cutting his thoughts short. Glancing down he saw a purple and black handle protruding from him. “Impossible. No blade can pierce—”

  He collapsed, unable to speak another word. The pain was immense. It burned to the depths of his soul, as if it was being devoured. Then all was gone. He couldn't feel anything. No pain, no joy, no sorrow. He was simply a void floating in the ether of creation.

  Raising his head to the sky Krenin sniffed the air, feeling the cold freeze his nose hair. The scent was gone. Gritting his teeth his tusk ground together, containing his rage. There was only one place it would be expelled and that wasn't here. Searching the snow he spotted a partially covered footprint. The torrential snowfall was rapidly covering them. Knowing they wouldn't last much longer he followed, seeing a second pair join them. And then a third. Jumping from one set to another, he stopped at the edge of the tree line. Turning back, he waved his orcs to join him.

  They approached, cautiously navigating the slick slopes. Reaching the cliff’s edge they paused, seeing the single rope disappearing over the edge. Krenin leaned over, spotting the bridge below. “It look weak. One at a time.” Refusing to wait he grabbed the rope and quickly slid down. Making his way across the icy path he drew his warvich and stopped just outside the cave. He hated waiting, but the others were needed if for nothing but fodder.

  One of the orcs watched, seeing Krenin make his way across. Grabbing the thin braid he stepped off and slid down, using his hands to control his speed. He hit the rocky outcrop harder than he’d intended. Grabbing the rope he gave two hard pulls, letting the others know he’d reached the bottom. He waited, watching Grem mount. Seeing him in position, he turned and started across the bridge. His leather soled boots made it hard to navigate the slippery surface.

  Grem grabbed the rope and pulled hard, making sure it was sturdy enough to hold his weight. Content with its tension he leapt backward, letting the rope slide across his back side. Watching the landing he squeezed, slowing himself. Stepping off he turned and started across the bridge, seeing Murroc reach the far side. No sooner than his boots touched the slick surface his feet came out from under him. He landed hard on the narrow ledge and toppled over the side, disappearing into the darkness below.

  Krenin sighed, seeing the orc vanish. “Be careful, we can’t afford to lose you all!”

  The next orc waved his understanding. Pulling against the rope he quickly descended and stepped onto the bridge, careful to keep his footing. He froze, feeling the bridge shake violently. Looking back he saw the crossway began to crack. He was too far away to run for it, not that it would do him any good. He was more than likely to slip and fall over the edge. Pausing, he waited, unsure what to do.

  Sarok slid down the rope, feeling it bounce under his weight. Curious, he squeezed, stopping himself midway. He looked up to see if the one of the others had mounted. The braid twisted in his hands, slowly spinning him around. Hearing the ice crack he watched in horror as it stretched across, splitting beneath him. He had nowhere to land and it was unlikely he could go back up, at least not without adjusting his grip.

  An echoing pop radiated through the chasm and the bridge disappeared into the abyss, his brother along with it. “Pull me up!” Sarok shouted to the two remaining orcs. He felt them grab and lift. Rising nearly a foot he felt the rope stretch beneath his grip, triggering the thought of his demise. Glancing down he saw the other end disappear into the shadow.

  Krenin stared out watching the fear ridden face of Sarok, dangling helplessly halfway down the rope. He heard it pop like a whip, ripping it free from the tree at the top. The rope shot out, the frayed end slicing through the air. One of the braids caught his face sending pain through him. He hit the ground, unable to contain it. Watching the rope disappear into the darkness he realized exactly what had happened. “This was a trap!” Pulling himself to his feet Krenin reached up, feeling the blood on his fingers. Licking it, it tasted of vengeance. He lifted the harness from the snow and turned toward the dark tunnel. “Let's go. The others no use to us now!”

  The carved tunnels dissipated taking the form of bricked stone. Before long they were marching through what appeared to be a part of the castle dungeon. The occasional scones reflected the labyrinth of corridors and passageways, but it was eerily quiet. Aside from the sharliet they hadn't seen another soul since arrival, though that was partially by design. Voices meant trouble so they avoided them when they could.

  “I wish we’d found him before going after the rod. This place gives me a bad feeling. It makes me feel guilty for failing to free him.” Demetrix stopped at the doorway, listening for any movement. Continuing past he scanned the distance, an arrow at the ready.

  Ravion ducked under the collapsed beams lodged against the wall. “We're all feeling that way. It's like the stone is whispering doubt, making us weak. Just ignore it. We'll be home soon enough. Besides, there was nothing we could have done differently. I’ve replayed it in my head many times. If we’d rescued him first, we would have had orcs on our tail the entire time. I doubt we would have been able to handle both orcs on top of the guards. Not to mention the amount of death we would’ve had to deal were that the case.”

  “Sometimes a high body count has its advantages. For starters, people don’t want to get in your way. If we had the reputation to back it up, I doubt the magistrate would have been as apprehensive with her aid.” Gareth smiled recalling the fear he’d placed in the woman.

  “Even we can’t stand up against a full army in unknown territory— Wait! This way.” Ravion pointed down one of the adjoining passageways.

  “How do you know?” Demetrix redirected to take the lead once again.

  “I’m not sure exactly. I just feel it. Like the book is telling me.”

  “That damn book’s talking to you now?” Gareth raised his eyebrow, concerned.

  “Not exactly. It communicates with me, but not in the traditional sense.”

  “In what sense then?”

  “I don’t know. I just feel a connection. Like I know what the pages say before I read them. I don’t know how to explain it. I just know the mirror is this way.”

  “Do you think it’s wise to take directions from a book that tells you what to do?” Gareth stared at him, waiting for a response.

  “It’s not telling me what to do. And it may not be wise, but it’s all we’ve got right now. I don’t see what the big concern is.”

  “The big concern is I don’t want you flipping sides in the middle of a fight. Corin knows what that cursed book would tell you to do. And I'd hate to have to mess your pretty face up.” Gareth laughed.

  “As would I. I wouldn't be able to get your ass out of trouble, were that the case. Besides, I don’t think it can possess me. It just communicates with me through— emotion.”

  “Well if you get a wild hair up your ass and feel you have to express emotion with your sword, warn me first. I’d like the opportunity to fall on my own blade.” The larger warrior gave a light chuckle, ducking one of the settled rafters.

  Demetrix rounded the corner and stopped. “Guys.”

  Ravion froze, staring down the long corridor and into the open doors at the far end. He could feel the mirror staring back at him. “This all seems a little too easy.”

  “I agree. Weapons out?” Demetrix raised his bow, ready to fire if needed.

  “Weapons out.”

  Ravion and Gareth drew their swords and slowly followed the youngest of them through the dark catacomb.

  Reaching the chamber they stared in awe at the sights before them. The twelve pillars lining the side walls lay broken on the floor. They recalled the ancient temple realizing this was nearly the same, aside from the dilapidation. The usual ever-changing faces were fearfully blank, radiating a sense of dread. The ancient runes were worn away showing little more than minor etches in the crumbled stone. The onyx temple seemed drained of its ore leaving the once masterfully carved stones in ruin. The
y looked as if they would crumble with the slightest touch.

  Continuing through the room they headed toward the mirror. Ravion searched the murky image just ahead. A familiar voice echoed through the ancient chamber.

  “I see you’ve made it.”

  Ravion spun around seeing the aged man. “Krizere? What are you doing here? I thought you were captured.”

  “Well, not exactly. I had to make you think I was detained. There was no way the keeper would have given you the book if he knew I was working with you. And I think we can both agree that I couldn’t just tell you everything up front. That would have revealed too much of my plan. And revealing too much, too early, is a good way to fail. If I haven’t learned anything else in my years, I’ve certainly learned that lesson.” He opened his arms, offering greetings. “I’m glad you’re here. And I apologize for my deception. You’re a little too clever for your own good. Had I given you more than a piece at a time you would have found some way to derail my plans and I couldn’t have that.”

  “Ravion, what’s going on?” Demetrix steadied his bow, unsure if he should release his arrow or not.

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I know something.”

  Gareth stormed toward the elder man. “What in the hell is the big deal about sending us on this wild goose chase. You got Krenin captured with your damned test. Now he's dead. Your hair brained schemes have cost us dearly. Got us traipsing through—” He suddenly was flying through the air. Slamming into the far wall, several of the aged stones crumbled beneath the force. Hitting the floor Gareth rolled over and began to pick himself up.

  “Does he ever shut up?” Krizere smiled, keeping his hand in front of him. “Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. I was about to give formal introductions.” Waving his hand his appearance altered. The earth tones of his simple, yet well-made clothing, faded away to be replaced by black and silver robes. His armor flared out, locking itself around his growing form. The jagged leather covered him from neck to knee. Vicious spikes formed on the pauldrons, arching out to threaten anyone who got too close. His hair drained color and elongated leaving a platinum white in its place. The humanoid features twisted and grew dark. Within a heartbeat the once pale skin was black as night, revealing two glowing green eyes “Rezerik is my true name, but you may call me Nightking.”

  The sight of the dreualfar sent Gareth into a rage. Strength renewed, he jumped up, glaring his hatred. “I was ready to kill you before. Now I’ll be takin’ pleasure in the task!”

  Ravion's hand shot up, stopping the enraged warrior. “Gareth, hold. There’s something different about this one. He’s not like the others we’ve faced.”

  “He’s a dreu, how much different can he be?” Drawing his swords, Gareth anticipated what he was going to do.

  “We can’t risk rushing in half-cocked.” Ravion pleaded, wishing he could keep his eyes on both of them at once.

  “Ravion, we’ve got bigger problems.” Demetrix motioned to the entrance.

  Krenin and another orc stepped into view.

  Krenin marched toward the center of the room. Barely containing himself he plucked the ruined harness from his shoulder and launched it onto the floor. A bellowing battle roar echoed from him shaking dust from the walls.

  “Krenin, I don't know what you've been through, or what you've faced, but you need to quit fuckin’ around and get over here to help us.” Gareth waved the half-orc over.

  Stretching his lips around his tongue, Krenin spit their harsh language at the short-haired man. He was a warrior, that much was clear, but he was going to die just the same as the elf-man. “Don't dare speak my name. Do it again and I cut it out!” He raised his warvich gesturing the action. Without hesitation he charged, bringing his sword down upon the large man.

  Demetrix fired, sinking his arrow into the gray orc. Nocking another he watched him approach.

  The orc plucked the first missile from his gut. Snapping the thin wooden shaft, he dropped it. Raising his sword, he stomped toward the small archer.

  His aim true, Demetrix released a second shot, watching the arrow plunge into the orc's eye socket. The force rocked his head back and he crashed to the floor.

  Ravion drew his longsword, advancing toward Rezerik.

  “Are you sure you’ve got what it takes to handle me? You have no clue what I’m capable of. I might be more than you’re prepared to handle.”

  “It’s a risk I’m going to have to take. You’re in between me and getting home.”

  “Funny you say that. You’re in the exact same position.” Rezerik extended his hand. The air around it shimmered briefly and a heavy morning star appeared in his grip. Letting the weight of the head fall he used the momentum to carry the mace around.

  Ravion deflected the blow, feeling the impact in his arms. He flew backward landing hard against the wall. Forcing the roll he stopped on his hands and knees. Realizing his sword was missing he searched the room. It lay at the nightking’s feet.

  Scanning the room Demetrix watched Ravion slam into the wall. He reached into his quiver, grabbing his shorter blade. Flipping it around so the edge was facing up, he hooked the notched pommel over the string and drew back as far as he dared. Releasing, he saw the sword fly straight toward the dreualfar.

  Rezerik wrapped his morning star around, knocking the projectile away from him.

  Gareth charged, ducking the spiked head of the morning star. He slashed into the blackened armor, but couldn’t tell if it penetrated or not. Slashing again, he stole a glance at his brothers. Demetrix needed his help. Forcing his hatred aside he disengaged and charged Krenin, knocking him aside.

  Demetrix nocked and fired another arrow. It disappeared overhead, knocked off course from an unexpected impact on the lower arm of his bow. Seeing a green hand he hooked the bottom around the half-orc’s wrist and twisted, binding it in the string. Releasing his bow Demetrix pulled his remaining sword, letting the half-full quiver fall to the ground.

  Ravion charged forward and dove, grabbing his sword. He rolled avoiding the deadly spikes headed toward him. Kicking himself out of the way, the stone crack beneath the powerful blow. Using the opportunity to his advantage Ravion jumped and stabbed as many times as he could, watching the enchanted blade glance off the nightking’s armored ribs. It refused to allow the narrow blade through.

  “There’s a reason I chose you, Ravion. You possess something your companions don’t. It’s not that you’re dalari.”

  Ravion paused, backing away from the dreualfar.

  “Yes, I know of the dalari. At one time I was counted among their number. Long ago before I felt the call of Izaryle. That’s not it. I choose you because you’ve tasted power. You can relate. In fact, in a different lifetime you and I might have been kindred spirits.”

  “I’m nothing like you. I’m not controlled by power. I was strong enough to control my thirst. You— You’re just a coward afraid to let go of something that will never be yours. Not truly anyway.”

  Rezerik laughed. “Well, there you are right. This power will never be mine, but I’ve got the next best thing. Once I get home I’ll be the vessel for Izaryle. What’s the old saying? If you can’t beat them, join them. I’ll be sure to eradicate every last dalari in your honor when I return.”

  Ravion felt a pang of guilt swell within his chest. Swallowing hard, he raised the sword and stabbed. The sword's tip pressed firmly against the unnatural armor. He saw the blade flex as he had hundreds of time before. This time it buckled and snapped, sending jagged pieces back toward him. He collapsed, feeling his will crack like the unbreakable sword. An armored hand grab him, easily flinging him across the room. He crashed only a few feet from the mirror.

  Seeing Ravion fall Gareth abandoned the half-orc and charged, hoping to reach him before the nightking landed the final blow.

  Twisting his warvich Krenin cut the bow in half, freeing his arm. He glared at the young archer. This filthy excuse for a warrior had killed too many orcs. It was time to dull
out punishment. Raising his warvich he flipped the blade, angling the pick so it would sink into his weak skull. Gazing upon the weakling one final time, Krenin let the blade fall. What was that? His eyes locked on a small leather sigil at the man's waistline. It was colored green and had a black trident carved in the center. He knew that mark! Memories rushed into his head. A man's face came to view. Malakai? The realization hit him. Jerking the blade he felt it connect. With growing fear he glanced at the archer, feeling his guilt subside. The blade had missed its mark, though it hadn't missed entirely.

  Demetrix felt the pop long before he heard it. Pain shot through him, too great to truly comprehend. He stared at his destroyed leg, unsure what to do. It was twisted and mangled beyond repair. The shattered bone where the pick had buried itself was little more than a gory paste. The vicious weapon had torn him from knee to foot, the blood-soaked pick protruding through the bottom of his boot. Warm blood flowing freely, a numbness set in leaving his vision fuzzy and blurred. His head hit the stone floor and darkness overcame him.

  Gareth stopped himself. Stuck between the fate of his brothers. Spinning around, he slammed into the half-orc, landing atop of him. He punched, feeling his knuckles tear open against the rough stone floor. He was free of thought and anger, though the power clearly flowed through him. A resounding pop echoed in his head. But it had no meaning. He punched again, the half-orc’s head whipping the other direction. Staring at the green body, a thick bulge formed in his neck. What have I done? He grabbed Krenin's shoulders, pulling him up. Trying to rouse him, he knew it was no use. His head hung limp. Sighing heavily he laid him down and picked up his swords. Demetrix was wounded, but he was out of harm’s way for the moment. Ravion didn't have such luxury.