Izaryle's Prison

by Levi Samuel

The air escaped his lungs. Ravion stared into the mirror seeing the nightking’s reflection approach. He crawled toward it hoping he could pull himself up.

  “I trust you’ve already read the book? I’d hate to have to explain this next part to you.” Rezerik kicked him in the ribs. The sheer force flipped him to his back. “I was never willing to pay the price to open the portal on this side. That's why I needed you, my kindred spirit. You’ll take all the risk while I receive all the reward.” Reaching down Rezerik grabbed hold of Ravion’s head and lifted, pulling him upright. Pressing him against the mirror's frame, he knelt in front of him.

  Ravion gasped, reclaiming enough air to speak. “You can’t make me!”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, dalari. I can and I will.” A wispy black smoke flowed from Rezerik’s mouth. It danced through the air as if it were sentient. Searching, it traveled toward Ravion forcing its way into his nostrils.

  Unable to move, Ravion felt the power spark inside him. It seemed familiar. Akin to how the dagger made him feel. The dagger! Looking down he could see the skin on the back of his hand start to darken. His hair grow began to grow. The few strands he could see started to fade. “No, I’ll never be like you!” Shaking himself, he forced the change to subside.

  Gareth slammed into the nightking, jabbing his curved blade up under the thick breastplate. Warm fluid ran down his hand, coating him in the darkest blood he'd ever seen. Forcing all his strength into the weapon, Gareth twisted and snapped the blade from the hilt, leaving it trapped inside the wound.

  Rezerik gasped, feeling the blade rip through his insides. Weakened from the exchange and the unexpected attack his power started to wane.

  Ravion stared into the wounded nightking’s eyes. “Want to know why I’m nothing like you?” He choked, feeling his body return to his control. “I have friends who watch my back.” Ravion slipped the kris from beneath his vest and jabbed it into the dreualfar’s temple.

  Rezerik's eyes crossed, feeling the blade pass behind them.

  Retracting the kris, Ravion pushed the dying dreualfar away. He stared blankly at the still form, dreading what he knew was to come.

  Gareth extended his hand and pulled him up.

  Ravion got to his feet. He watched the body explode, coating the room in the same black smoke he'd expelled moments before. It collected where the body lay. He knew it was coming. There was no stopping it now.

  Gareth went to work picking up the broken pieces of Ravion’s shattered sword.

  As if targeted, the smoke surrounded Ravion, forcing its way down his throat. He felt the power spread through him, though he controlled it, not the other way around. Exhaling slowly he turned, watching the mirror come to life.

  Gareth stood, hearing what sounded to be a rolling tide behind him. Turning toward the mirror, he noted the swirling vortex of energy. “Looks like the mirror’s open. Guess we can go home now.” Gareth handed the sword fragments to his brother.

  Accepting them, Ravion glanced at Demetrix, lying unconscious on the ground. He’d lost a lot of blood. Handing the kris to Gareth, he sighed. “Get Demetrix home and lock this in the vault. We can’t risk it falling into the wrong hands.”

  Gareth took the wavy blade, stuffing it into his cloak pocket. Pulling the unconscious archer up to his shoulder, he lifted him and walked toward the mirror. Pausing, he turned to look upon the seemingly stronger version of his friend. “Aren’t you coming too?”

  Ravion casually walked away from the mirror, refusing to look back. Calmly he spoke, letting his words resonate within the temple. “Sadly, no. There must always be a nightking. Maybe I can slow this Izaryle from reaching our world.” Passing through the enlarged doorway he raised his hands, giving a gentle motion.

  The stone crumbled, sealing the entrance behind him. A thick cloud of dust spread out, hiding the remnants of the ancient doorway.

  Epilogue

  And Then There Were None

  Thick layers of dust coated the trident carved table at the center of the council room. A stale, musty odor lingered in the air refusing to dissipate. A series of maps were unrolled and sprawled out covering on half of the once polished surface.

  Weight resting firmly against the solid top, Demetrix stared intently at the inked landmarks, straining his eyes to comprehend their meaning. "Where’s the battle taking place today?" He glanced to his informant.

  "Culhaven and Aeron were hit pretty hard. Many of the women and children were hidden within the fishing vessels, but most of the men were slain." William replied, wearing his lieutenant's badge proudly. The green background was in great contrast to the silver lined trident.

  "Are the wardens en route?"

  "They are, My Lord, though they were delayed in Gamora. We lost two detachments in the assault, but order was restored. They reported a day's travel from Fender's Spear. Enemy on the run. Unfortunately, they slipped away. There’s no telling where they’ve gone from there, but we'll find them."

  "Keep looking. There’s been enough death already. I won't have the people of these lands thinking we can't protect them. I also want a list of the fallen. It's our responsibility to ensure their families are taken care of."

  "It will be done. On another note, my progress into the Black Lotus is going well. They’ve used nearly all the coin I brought them. The war’s been hard, forcing them to lay down their weapons and focus on their people. It shouldn't be long before they’re back in business."

  “Very good. As per our arrangement, I expect a list of every hit. I don't want a gnat falling if I don't know about it."

  "Understood, My Lord!" William grabbed a rolled piece of parchment and a small brown bag lying beside the maps. Lifting the flap he stuffed both into his satchel.

  Demetrix watched the young spy gather his belongings. He would make a good leader one day, though he had much to learn. "Travel well, until we meet again."

  Standing tall, William extended his arm, awaiting his lord.

  Pressing against the gnarled cane, Demetrix took a step closer and gripped the man’s forearm. Feeling the return, they gave a light shake and broke the customary embrace. He watched the man scurry out the door.

  Gareth marched through, passing the lowly rogue on the way out. Nodding his acknowledgment he spotted Demetrix standing over the table, his focus returned to the maps. "Erik paid me a visit today."

  Refusing to look away Demetrix listened to his friend approach. The larger warrior's presence pulled memories of pain to the surface. "What’d he want?"

  "He expressed desire to retain his father’s arrangement with us. He wouldn’t put it into so many words, but he also has his sights on Krondar. I’ve got a feeling he’s after more than free trade."

  "I wouldn't put it past him. He's impulsive and a bit possessive. I fear it's only a matter of time until he shows his true colors."

  Gareth agreed, glancing at the maps claiming the young ranger's attention. "More attacks?" He leaned over, inspecting the marked areas.

  A heavy sigh escaped. Breaking his focus Demetrix glanced up, studying his friend's aging face. "Unfortunately. We haven’t even figured out who they are yet. Every emissary I’ve sent has been sent back less a body. The messengers are refusing to take the job even at a hundred krons.”

  Gareth chuckled, pulling an apple from his pouch. "I can’t say I blame ‘em. Hard to spend money when your dead." He took a rather large bite of the juicy red apple, crunching between words.

  “I can’t fault them for not wanting to risk it. In a polite world we’d all abide by the same standard rules. Don’t kill the messenger. Don’t leave your comrade behind enemy lines. Some people just can’t play in polite society.” Demetrix wiped a few drops of apple juice from his map.

  Swallowing prematurely, Gareth locked eyes on the young lord. “You got something to say?”

  Abandoning the table, Demetrix pressed against the cane, turning to face Gareth. “I understand he told you to bring me back, but— Oh, just forget it.”


  “No, you’ve got something to say, say it.”

  Demetrix sighed, fully aware this conversation wasn't going to end as he hoped. “I don’t understand why you let him stay.”

  “He does what he wants. I did what he asked me to. I can’t help that you’re pissed about me saving your life.” Gareth stated flatly, taking another bite of apple.

  “I just— forget it. I’d have better luck talking to a tree.

  Gareth shrugged. “Like you said, ‘Don’t kill the messenger’.”

  Demetrix stared long and hard at the warrior. Shaking his head, he forced the subject change. “Speaking of messengers, what do you know of a woman, Senaria? I found an old letter from her in Ravion’s things. She’s also listed in his will. I remember him mentioning her, but it was brief. Aside from mention in his journal, there’s no formal records of her elsewhere.”

  "Who?" Gareth asked, inspecting the half-eaten apple.

  "Senaria. From what little he wrote, she’s the leader of a group called Mul'daron. He was rather vague as to who they are. According to his report, it looks like he commissioned enough supplies to build a fortress for them. He used the same tactics we did building this place. So unless he built another Dreuslayer Keep somewhere in Krondar, there's a lot more to his lordship than he told us."

  Gareth turned around, looking at the drastol statue of the barbarian leader standing behind Ravion's chair. Scanning the others he looked upon Malakai, and trailed to Krenin, recalling the half-orc's fall. He glanced from his likeness, returning his gaze to Demetrix. “There is a keep, just before the mountain pass that leads to the coast. The people there, I took for alfar. They were the ones that found me after I lost my eye. There was a woman present that day. I never thought to ask, but I could tell he held her in high regard.”

  “That settles it. I need to make a trip to Krondar. If he sheltered them, he had good reason. I’d need to learn what that reason was if I’m to do the same.”

  Gareth licked the juice from his fingers. “I’d accompany ya’, but I have other matters to attend.”

  “Drinking and whoring aren't matters.”

  “They are if you're retired.”

  Demetrix shuffled the maps and parchment cluttered about the table, his aggravation growing in the chaos. There was so much to do and little time to do it. The world had changed so much in his absence, yet in many ways it remained the same. Finding the document he'd been searching for he pulled the forms from the pile, quickly rolling and shoving them in his pack. Krondar was a long journey and he didn't intend on forgetting anything.

  A knock at the council room door roused him. “Enter.”

  One of the guards stepped through the cracked barrier, snapping to attention. "Highlord Demetrix! Another emissary from Mount Thuran has arrived requesting your attention. Should I send him up?"

  Demetrix closed his eyes, sighing annoyance. Returning his attention to the guard he pressed against his cane and hobbled toward him. “I have more important matters to tend than some petty grievance from a land that wants nothing to do with us.” Shaking his head, he continued. “Show him the refectory. I'm going to end this once and for all."

  The guard turned and disappeared around the corner.

  Slowly, Demetrix made his way to the balcony and took position to see the man approach.

  The emissary strutted along the manicured pathway through the bailey. Head held high, he refused to give the slightest acknowledgment to anyone that didn't bare a noble status. His personal escort marched a few steps ahead while the guard Demetrix had spoken with trailed slightly behind.

  The escort stepped to the side, taking position inside the archway leading to the dining hall.

  The keep guard moved to the other side, allowing the man to enter alone.

  Stepping from the balcony, bracing himself against the banister, Demetrix guided himself down the winding staircase, studying the puffed courier.

  The man entered the refectory and took a seat, ignoring the few servants here and there.

  This arrogant pup was in the wrong place for such a superior attitude. That was one thing he wouldn't tolerate from anybody. In Marbayne, the poorest peasant was shown equal respect as the lord. It wouldn't change this day. Nearing the bottom step Demetrix spoke, letting his voice carry over the near empty hall. "What’s your name, emissary?"

  The man jumped, hearing the highlord’s voice. Spinning around he waited for the crippled man to reach the bottom step. Impatiently awaiting his approach he gave an exaggerated bow, more a show of protocol than respect. "Leandar Muales, My Lord."

  “Take a seat, Leandar. I don’t have much time, but since you’ve made such a long journey I'll hear your words." He suppressed a smile, mocking the man’s length of travel. Mount Thuran was perched in the mountains to the west of Marbayne. It wasn't a difficult or long trip, being reachable within a day.

  One of the servants rushed into the room and laid a golden platter on the long, oaken tabletop. It was covered in sliced meats and dried bread layered out to display each piece, while protecting the one beneath it. She bowed respectfully to the emissary. “May I take your cloak and cover, sir?”

  Another servant placed a silver goblet in front of the man, pouring a golden liquid into the cup. The man shed his layers, refusing to lower himself by speaking to her. The two disappeared as quickly as possible, watching for their services to be needed again.

  Demetrix pulled one of the chairs and took a seat, facing the messenger. "You must be parched from your trip down the mountain. Have your fill, we can talk afterward." Adjusting the wooden walking stick against his leg, he felt the pressure relieve slightly. Interlocking his fingers he rested them against his stomach and leaned back, impatiently watching the man stuff his face.

  The emissary gorged, leaving little room for anything else. A loud belch escaped his mouth and he pushed the platter away. The woman rushed over, claiming it. “Would you like more, sir?

  Leandar rubbed his belly, leaning against the high-backed chair. “No, my appetite is sated. I would, however like another glass of mead.” He held the goblet up, spilling a small amount of the syrupy liquid on her dress.

  She lifted the pitcher, lying not but a few feet away, and filled the cup. Laying it to rest once again she turned and disappeared.

  Demetrix stared his discontent at the man, silently containing his rage. This disrespectful, glorified messenger would only lower himself to talk to the hired help if he needed something and was rude about it at that. He waited for the man to take another long draw of the freshly filled goblet. Timing it, he spoke, forcing the man to answer with a full mouth, lest show disrespect to his superior. "Now that your appetite is sated, what is it your queen has ordered you to say?"

  Leandar searched for the words, thrown off by the invitation to dine. Buying as much time to swallow as he could, he cleared his throat. "My Lord, I was sent to inform you—." He retrieved a worn parchment from his pouch and unrolled it. Reading the missive aloud, he kept his eyes on the scribed words. "Demetrix Santail, with Lord Ravion’s absence and your right to succession granting you entitlement to the lands of Krondar, you are hereby in violation of treaty seven-two-seven signed by the Coalition of Countries, stating that no one man may assume lordship over multiple lands without the previous consent of the CoC. In light of this violation, I offer you compromise.” Leandar paused and swallowed hard before continuing. “Surrender the lands known as Marbayne to Mount Thuran or we will unleash our newest weapon against your city. If you accept these terms, you and your men will be allowed to live in peace without change to your lifestyle. You will fly the banner of Mount Thuran and submit to her majesty’s rule. Sincerely, Cuariss Feiara, Royal Consort to Queen Kallop Feiara.”

  Demetrix sat quietly refusing to show any gesture that would give away his thoughts. Swallowing his anger he carefully considered his options. Staring blankly at the messenger, refusing to blink, he watched the man shift uncomfortably in his seat. Decided on his r
esponse he calmly spoke, forcing his emotion into the pit of his stomach. "Your queen oversteps her bounds.”

  “My Lord, I have everything in order. All the details are with me. If you’d like to view the treaty for yourself—.”

  Pulling himself upright in the chair Demetrix raised a finger, silencing the man. “I know what the treaty says. My name is written upon the parchment, same as the other lords. There’s one small factor in which your queen has overlooked. Despite my title of highlord, which by definition states that I rule multiple lands, if she’d bothered to do any research past her greed, she’d note that I’m not the sole benefactor to the deed of Marbayne, nor Krondar.” Rising from his seat he forced the pain away, hearing his cane clap loudly against the slate floor. He felt as if the unhealed bones inside his leg were grinding against one another, threatening to tear themselves apart. It took every ounce of resolve to put full weight on the injured leg and pretend as if he weren’t filled with crippling pain. Refusing to show any form of weakness Demetrix stepped toward the man, towering over him. “Now yes, I rule Marbayne as a glorified steward, an appointed position by the council. But I do not own her lands. The Order does. It takes a majority rule of the council to determine any decisions. Of the five members, only two remain. Without full on war, resulting in the complete decimation of my people, you’re out of luck until the other seats have been filled. As for Krondar, Ravion’s Will did not grant me lordship over the barbarian peoples. That honor went to one, Senaria Mul'daron of Krondar. It falls to me to aid her in this duty. So with respect, I suggest you get your ass back up the mountain and give your queen a message from me.”

  Demetrix leaned in close, letting the pain fuel his rage. “If she ever thinks of sending a single man to my walls over this bullshit again, I’m going to personally march to that cesspit you call home and put a leash on the bitch myself!” His anger boiled like a poison trying to escape his body. Unable to stop himself he kicked the chair out from under the emissary, feeling the bone snap under the exerted pressure. "Get the fuck out of my lands!"