Izaryle's Key

by Levi Samuel

  Ra'dulen took a step toward the man, feeling the walls pull at him. He couldn't shake its crippling grip, stronger than any he'd felt before. It was as if the stone was siphoning his essence, slowly draining him. “Speak your purpose, d'zhuni. I’ve matters to attend.”

  The armored figure gave a respectful nod. “I thought you’d like to know your brothers have fallen into a trap. There’s no stopping it, but this doesn’t mean they’re helpless. With your assistance I can redirect it, preventing their certain doom.”

  “They're more than capable of handling themselves. I don't have time to babysit. My responsibilities are in Irayth.” Ra’dulen stared into the man's face, his concerned expression somewhat troubling. It was as if the man saw something he did not. “I don't know what you were hoping to achieve. The nightkings must fall. That’s the only way I can weaken Izaryle enough to ensure he doesn’t come to this world. I cannot weigh the lives of my brothers against every soul on Ur.”

  The armored man exhausted a heavy sigh, comprehending the young nightking's reluctance. “I understand your concern. Were I in your position, I'm sure I'd make a similar choice. But this is not a simple matter of rescuing them and returning to your throne. If you don’t intervene, more than their lives will be lost.” He casually approached the nightking and extended his hand. “Let me show you.” A moment's hesitation passed, awaiting permission to touch him.

  Ra'dulen nodded, feeling the grain of the leather gloved fingers contact his forehead. Thousands of images flooded into his mind. Worlds clumped together, twisted between realities. Timelines and locations intertwined, losing him almost immediately. Small bits began to collect, forming into a single cognitive thought, though not his own. This belonged to someone long dead. And then another took place beside the first. One by one they fell in line, filling his mind with moments long past. The revealed memories played out in his head, leaving a cold sweat clinging to his face. Processing what pieces he could fit together, the young nightking found several conflicting points.

  One set of events revealed the world as he knew it, trailing linear from the dawn of Ur to its present day. There was entirely too much detail to fully comprehend what he was seeing, but the highlights were easy to pick out. It was as if those were the key moments that defined the world. They were unique moments in time that the rest of reality was founded on. And just as its comprehension began to settle, everything changed.

  Another timeline overlaid the first, tainting its reality. Ra’dulen watched the known events fade away, replaced by the altered variants. One by one they disappeared, carrying him toward destruction on a scale unfathomable to his understanding. Feeling the cataclysm wash over him, the visions faded, leaving him panting and exhausted.

  “What the hell— was that?” Ra'dulen asked between labored breaths.

  “That was but a glimpse of the danger to which I speak. Your mind is not capable of processing the full extent. Even the fraction I showed you was potentially too much, but you’re stronger than most.”

  The fatigued nightking stood in silence, gathering his strength. Between the room and the visions, he could barely lift his arms. His mind racing, he exhaled softly, calming himself before he spoke. “If I don’t go, everything comes crashing down?”

  “In more ways than one.”

  “And if I go?”

  “Aside from rescuing your brothers? Should you succeed, everything will be restored as it should be. Though, you’ve no need to return to Irayth.”

  Ra'dulen arched an eyebrow, studying the man's statement. “Oh?”

  “There's nothing further you can achieve there. The resistance has established a foothold in the northlands. The tide has turned. Without you, they’ll continue to grow in strength. But if you return, you’ll only stifle their advancement.”

  “Why would my presence slow them?”

  “Ravion, for all you've learned you're still just a pup. You've defeated three nightkings. That's a feat in of itself. No one could have predicted that. But let me ask you a question. What do you think is going to happen when that power you've been sucking up starts to change you physically? What happens when you lose control?” He paused a moment, letting his words sink in. “I can’t say whether you’ll hold for a thousand years or you'll fall tomorrow. The exact moment eludes me. What I can say is people often respond poorly to one in your position. Many already believe you've been corrupted. Agents of shadow hope to exploit you. And the resistance fears you. I urge you to take a step back and let the events happen as they will.”

  “I see.” Closing his eyes, Ra'dulen straightened his posture. Sighing heavily, he continued. “What do you need of me?”

  “It’s not just you that needs to act. Your brothers will have their parts to play as well. However, we've hit a small pocket of luck. This is one of the rare instances where you simply have to be in the right place at the right time. Everything else will fall where it belongs.”

  “Listen here, d'zhuni. I get that you churchy types like to be rather vague in these types of encounters. But bear in mind that you summoned me, not the other way around. So please, can you be a little more specific? If I’m going to take you on your word I’d at least like to who or what I’m looking for. And let's not pretend that I don't recognize the sigil of Ozmodius on your shoulder.”

  The armored man smiled slightly, thinking through his response. “I work for a group that— surveys certain events.” he paused, picking his words carefully. “A particularly powerful being has found a way to evade my organization. This in and of itself is of minor concern. The problem comes in the fact that he's using his knowledge to 'stir the pot', so to speak. Hence the threat we've already discussed. I don’t necessarily need you to capture or defeat him. In fact, the less you have to do with him the better. What I need from you is to do what you do. You and your brother have certain specialized skills that few others possess. Therefore, being in the right place at the right time with these skills will be enough to flush him out. From there I'll step in and deal with him.”

  “Why do I have a feeling that this isn't going to be anywhere near as simple as you say?”

  “I’ll give you one word of advice. Don’t linger on what was. Such thoughts tend to hinder what is and what will be.”

  “What’s that supposed to mea—” A golden light wrapped around him, blocking out all other senses. It grew brighter, near blinding. Spreading out, Ra’dulen saw shadows in the distance. Then it faded, revealing his brothers staring up at him.

  Demetrix had puffy bags under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept for days. His shoulder length hair was unkempt and his facial hair had grown unruly. He seemed somewhat out of place in the elegant, green and brown armor wrapped around his restless and crippled form.

  Gareth, on the other hand, seemed well rested. He wasn’t wearing his customary armor, but his twin cutlasses remained ever at his sides. Something caught his attention, something potent and magical. He could taste the lingering effects of the spell. Searching for its source, a familiar scent wafted past his nostrils. His eyes locked on the kris, completely stealing his focus.

  Why does he have that? It should be locked away. Forcing his mind away from the welcoming blade, he sniffed out the magic he'd felt. How they hadn't noticed it was a complete mystery. Its stench was that of honey, begging to be tasted. If that doesn't scream trap, what does? Stepping from the light, Ra'dulen found himself standing on the council table.

  “What the hell are you doing here? And what’s with the hair?” Gareth studied him, lost in the event.

  “As usual I’m saving your asses.” Ra'dulen jumped from the table and approached the bald man. Reaching beneath his cloak, he ripped the dreuskin sash off his belt. The carved badge, stained in gold and green flashed into his memory. He'd forgotten that he once wore it as well. Studying the badge, he waved his hand over the sigil. A golden rune boiled to the surface, displayed brightly for all to see.

  “How’d that get there? Nobody ever touches my b
adge.”

  “You went to bed with a girl last night. Did you think to lock it up before hand?” Ra'dulen stated coldly, recalling the lingering images of his brief history lesson.

  “Well, no— I was a little exhausted afterward,” Gareth paused, thinking it over, “Damn it, I liked her too.”

  Demetrix couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t take it personally. It’s hardly the first time a girl has tried to kill you.”

  “No one asked you!” Returning his attention to Ravion, Gareth continued, “What's the rune do?”

  “I'm not sure exactly. It's crude, made in haste.” He sniffed the badge, as if it were a fine wine giving off hints to its secret ingredient. “It was made with blood from both of you. My guess, it was supposed to activate when the two of you came into contact.”

  “How’d they get my blood?” Demetrix scratched his head.

  “I can’t say.” Ra'dulen reached down, pricking his thumb on the edge if his sword. Feeling the metal bite in, he pressed the bloody thumb into the badge binding himself to it. Tossing the cursed item onto the table, it disappeared into the glowing, golden light.

  Casually, he turned and walked toward the window overlooking the courtyard. Peering out, he studied a bluebird, frozen in mid-flight just outside the window. Its wings were outstretched, ready to carry it elsewhere were it not for the magics holding it stationary. It was close enough to snatch out of the air if he so desired. Ignoring the bird, he looked at the people below, wondering if they were aware of the world around them. It was unlikely. He'd seen the aftereffects of time magic before. Those affected by it never seemed to take note.

  Turning away from the stone and wood trimmed window, a statue, carved to his likeness, stood against the wall behind his chair. Slowly approaching, he took in the details of the drastol figure, studying the cold face.

  Feeling his brothers’ gaze on his back, he spoke. “The curse has already taken hold. There’s no stopping it now. However, there is a solution. An alternative you might say. This thing looks nothing like me. I hope you didn’t pay to have it constructed.” His gaze shifted to the other two statues resting behind their empty chairs. Malakai and Krenin looked near identical to their memories.

  “What’s the alternative?” Gareth asked, a newfound concern in his voice.

  Looking up from his thoughts, Ra'dulen turned to face his brothers once again. “Alternatives don't mean much if you don't know the original path. I don’t know the specific details as to how it will happen, but the short form I was able to gather says that neither of you will survive. Shortly thereafter, our world will be lost.”

  “That’s kind of deep. Are you saying the two of us are responsible for the world’s survival?” A light smirk formed across Gareth's face.

  “Don’t be a fool. This is merely a byproduct of your incompetence. The only benefit it offers allows us to reach the core of the problem!” Ra'dulen snapped, marching toward them.

  “Call me a fool again and you and I are going to have a long, hard talk.” Gareth felt his powers aching to be set free, though he didn’t want to use them against his friend and brother.

  “Both of you calm down. He didn’t know she was going to curse his badge. We’ve all made mistakes and we’ve always found a way out. What do you need us to do, Ravion?”

  Ra'dulen glared at the larger warrior for a moment longer, daring him to refute. It felt so long ago that they'd fought together. Redirecting his attention toward his younger brother, he let his irritation wash away.

  “The details were fairly vague. Basically, we're going to piggyback off the curse. Using its power, we’re going to go somewhere else. I don't know where. I just learned of this a little while ago. Either way, it'd be a good idea to grab your gear. I don't know how long we'll be gone.”

  Ra’dulen glanced at the glowing light, feeling the portal begin to weaken. “We need to hurry. The portal is about to fade.”

  Demetrix pushed off his cane, limping toward the weapon rack beside the door. Securing his quiver and bow he double checked the arrows and swords concealed within. Snatching his cloak off the hook, he pulled it around himself.

  Gareth flung open the wardrobe, letting each moment chew at his anger. He'd nearly forgotten what it was like to let loose. Pulling his armor overhead, he tightened the buckles and snatched his pack off the floor.

  Waiting for the others, Ra’dulen pulled a crumpled and folded piece of parchment from his cloak. The black waxed seal was cracked around the edges, but the sigil of a raven remained clear in the center. Silently reading the name one final time, he laid it on the table. Watching them approach, he glanced at the wavy blade tucked into Gareth's belt. Trailing up, he found the larger man's single blue eye. “The dagger has to stay”

  “What if we need it?”

  “We won’t. It’s too dangerous to risk taking with us.”

  “We can’t risk leaving it. Erik is searching for it. How long do you think it’ll take before he comes knocking on our doorstep?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I will not allow it to go with us. I’d risk him finding it before allowing it to fall into the hands of an enemy we don’t know. Erik is limited by his imagination. He can be manipulated. Some enemies cannot.”

  Gareth sighed. “Fine!”

  Pulling it from his waist, he flicked his wrist as if he were going to launch it into the floorboards from where he stood. To his surprise, it froze the moment it left his hand, floating harmlessly in midair.

  “You’re not going to need your cane either.” Ra'dulen gestured to the gnarled wood supporting his brother.

  “But, my leg?” Demetrix stared in confusion. “The healers haven’t been able to mend it.”

  Ravion extended his hand, letting a green light flow from him. It wrapped around his right leg, encasing it in the mystical energy. As soon as it fully encompassed the appendage, the energy faded from view.

  Demetrix felt the pain recede. It was still present, but less demanding of his attention, as if his leg had been carefully compressed to pull everything together. Slowly testing his weight, a renewed excitement washed over him. For the first time in over a year he put full pressure on it.

  “It’s not healed, but it should allow you to move unhindered.”

  Extending his arms, Ra'dulen let the golden light surround him. It spread to the others and engulfed them all.

  “My Lord? I just—” William's voice echoed through the empty room.

  Candle light flickered off the canvas walls of the large tent. Several figures stood in the low-light, surrounding a thick table covered by a huge map. Small statues made of aged brass rested in various locations on the marked terrain, denoting occupied areas.

  General Tygrell stood at the head of the table, staring intently at the hydralfar directly across from him. His thick, muscular arms bulged against the sleeves of his fitted tunic. His hair was cut short, trimmed flat across the top and tapered to fit his square jawed face. “You realize how insane that sounds, right?”

  “I understand it’s a lot to take in, but I assure you it’s entirely true.” The hydralfar reached into his pack and retrieved a thin tome.

  Laying it atop the map, he pushed the glimmering black cover across the table, knocking over several of the positioned statues. “General, I’ve traveled to the far reaches of Ur and back again to bring this book to you. I wouldn’t have done all that if I wasn’t completely certain in my claims.”

  Tygrell took the book, gesturing to one of the other dreualfar to repair the damaged markers. Flipping to the middle seemingly unconcerned about what he would find, he stared at the thick, blank pages. Returning his gaze to the figure before him, he closed the book and laid it to rest. “This doesn’t offer proof to your claims. For all I know it’s simply a blank book. But let’s say I believe your story. How does this change anything?”

  “If we find the ones who can read it, it'll give us detailed instructions on how to end this war. Once that happens your people will have no nee
d to fight. Izaryle will wash over this land and your enemies will cower in fear before his might. You'll be revered as the general who brought an end to the war and gave your people the status they deserve.”

  Tygrell looked the pale figure up and down. His clothing was unlike any he'd seen before, but he was extremely fluent in their dialect. That meant he’d spent time with the dreualfar. That was enough to warrant an audience. But to allow him free reign among his army? He was delusional if he thought he could simply walk in and demand such. The hydralfar were no friend of his. They’d spent the last hundred years in a constant state of war against them. No, there was no way he could trust him. Even if he was dreualfar. It wasn't their way. He couldn’t trust his own son. How could a stranger expect any different? “I’m sure you believe what you say. But you still haven’t answered my question. We free Izaryle, great. The war is over and my people look to me to lead them. That’s all after the fact. You can’t expect me to redirect my armies on the word of a hydralfar. To do so on no more than that would have me overthrown and executed long before anything you have to offer can come to pass. But I’m not without reason. As ludicrous as your theory sounds, I’ll allow you ten men and two weeks. Bring me proof of your claims and I’ll reconsider my position. Fail me and you’d better hope my men kill you before I get to you.”

  The hydralfar smiled. The general was clearly not stupid, but his intelligence was irrelevant. It was his position that was required, not the man himself.

  “I see you're no fool, General. I respect that and, please, call me Jorin’otth. I am, after all, trying to build a friendship here. I understand your reluctance. But I can do you one better. Once I’ve offered proof, I’d like a temporary position as your advisor. Give me three months in that position and I believe you’ll see the value in what I have to offer. If you aren’t confident and seeing drastic results by then I’ll lay my head on the chopping block and you can execute me as a traitor.”

  Offering his own life for failure? This could work. I wish more had his assurance. Taking a deep breath, Tygrell considered his options, “Bring me proof and we’ll discuss this further.”