by Levi Samuel
Vaniar ran his blackened fingers through his overgrown beard, staring intently into the fog. He wasn’t sure how many remained alive, if any. It’d been nearly an hour since the last arrow fell. That meant the enemy had either exhausted their supply, or they were waiting for something. He scanned the left flank, seeing his men in position. It was unlikely the dalari were foolish enough to expend all their arrows. That meant anyone seeking to approach was walking to an early grave. But a few spare arrows were no match for a horde of crushing soldiers. Throwing his fist into the air, he silently called his men’s attention. Gesturing, his fist shifted into a blade and he signaled forward.
The dreualfar company roared to life, charging into what was left of the mist covered riverbank. Screams and sword slashes echoed from the cloud.
Calmly marching forward, Vaniar stepped into the fog, able to see a short distance ahead of him. It seemed he was right. A few of his men lay dead from well-placed arrows, but his command wasn’t flawed. The majority of the dalari laid among his fallen soldiers, cut down from the swords of his men. But a few remained alive. And better yet, they had the dalari in custody.
Vaniar marched to the head, finding the highest-ranking soldier he could. “Sergeant Grunil. Congratulations, you’re the new lieutenant. How many were you able to claim?”
The newly promoted lieutenant snapped to attention hearing his name. “All but three fell during the battle, Sir. This one here has the insignia of an officer.” Grunil dug his heeled boot into the captured dalari’s back, forcing him into the dirt.
Captain Vaniar knelt beside the exhausted dalari. “What’s your name?”
Lieutenant Talaek glared his rebellion at the empowered captain. Spitting a mouth full of blood at him, he refused to speak.
Vaniar stood as tall as he could, demanding the attention of those around him. “Lieutenant Grunil, why did you lie to me?”
“I’m sorry, Sir. I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“You said there were three survivors. Why do I only see two?” Without pause, he stabbed his sword into the prone dalari’s back, glaring his disapproval at his new lieutenant.
“My apologies, Sir. It won’t happen again!”
“It better not. Bring me the next one.”
Grunil signaled toward the cliff face.
Two dreualfar marched into view, dragging a bound dalari. He wore dirty green leather, trimmed in brown. Even for a scout, he was dressed like a noble. One of the dreualfar carried a broken bow of matching color and an empty quiver. They dropped him in front of the captain, taking guard on either side of him.
Vaniar stared at the wounded dalari for a long moment before speaking. A steady flow of blood ran from his left eyebrow. He’d taken a decent sword slash across the chest, but it appeared as if his armor absorbed most of the blow. What caught his eye the most was a badge hanging from his waistline. It was a gold and black trident set into a shield and stitched to a thin piece of blackened leather, much like that of skin. “And just who the hell do you think you are? You don’t look like any scout I’ve seen.”
Demetrix stared intently at the dreualfar commander. He didn’t know enough to give anything important away, but it was good to remain quiet either way. There was no sense in forfeiting a potential advantage he might have if they thought him more important that he really was.
Lieutenant Grunil jarred the well-dressed dalari in the side. “The captain asked you a question. You’d do well to answer him!”
Demetrix looked over his shoulder at the younger dreualfar. Turning back toward the captain, he spoke in undercommon, “I am Demetrix Dreuslayer. Highlord of Marbayne. You’d do well to release these men and I. Once my brothers hear of your abduction, I can promise there won’t be any place to hide.”
Vaniar felt a smile on his face. He found it strange this dalari knew how to speak his tongue, broken as it was. It seemed wherever he learned it, they clearly hadn’t mastered the dialect. “Dreuslayer! Marbayne! I’ve never heard of you, or your brothers. I doubt I have much to fear. Though I do find your warning amusing. Who would have ever thought to name a city such? Tainted beware. That’s clever.” Vaniar brought his fist down, feeling the dalari’s jaw crack beneath his knuckles. “Secure them to the others. We’ll learn more once we reach the Twenty-First Division.”
Chapter VI
Stolen Magics
Raising the flap to the outside world, morning rays of sunlight assaulted his eyes. Gareth looked around the bustling city camp, surprised by how well adjusted these soldiers had become. They appeared as if they weren’t currently in the middle of a war. Life was simple. They went about their lives, day in and day out, seemingly oblivious to the threat right outside their warded borders.
Such a thought was clearly an illusion. He knew full well these men and women were aware of the danger. They simply chose to focus on life rather than the prospect of death. It was an admirable outlook, if somewhat foolish in his opinion.
Reaching into the sky, Gareth stretched his back. He’d grown accustomed to the comfort of a soft bed. The canvas cot he’d been allowed to rest on, while comfortable for what it was, left him tense from the firm pressure it applied. He found it odd. The tent he and his brothers had been granted during their stay had been magicked, making it nearly as nice as their keep back home. What should have been little more than one medium sized sleeping quarter became a fair sized single level house, complete with three separate bedrooms, a fully furnished common room, a study, and a privy. If he hadn’t been impressed by the few other tents he’d visited, he certainly was now. It was no surprise they were able to house ten thousand strong in such a small area.
Marbayne’s population was just over half that, and the land was nearly twelve times the size. If he was into magic, it’d be good to learn how they cast the spells. Or at the very least, it’d be nice to take a few of these tents with them.
Scanning the massive camp, Gareth memorized the layout. He locked eyes on a blacksmith’s forge across the road and slightly diagonal on the left. To his immediate right, a small turbine was set up beside a thin structure. If he had to guess, it was a miniature windmill, grinding grain into flour.
Looking across the city-camp, he recognized several of the tents for what they were. This place was so much more than he’d initially thought. Then it was little more than a large camp. But now that he’d been here a few days, it had everything he’d expect to find in the grandest of cities. And it was a fraction of the size.
Seeing the tavern he’d visited a few days prior, he started that way. He wasn’t a part of this war. And while he desperately wanted to limit the number of dreualfar this area held, he knew it impulsive to go into battle alone. And contrary to popular belief, he certainly wasn’t a fool. A familiar figure stepped into his peripheral vision. Reacting on instinct alone, Gareth spun around, his hand locked on his cutlass and ready to draw the blade.
Trendal stared upon him, unflinching. A mild smirk was fixed upon his face. It reminded him of the cocky nature Ravion had displayed over the years. Hands folded in front of him, the dalari captain stood tall and proper, as if he had some vital information to convey. “Master Gareth, I wondered if I might be able to have a moment of your time?”
“So long as I’m stuck here, all I’ve got is time. What do you want?” Gareth locked his blade back into its sheath and released his grip.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, a few days ago we dispatched a small group of scouts to a particular region south of here. It’s our plan to move the camp in the coming days as we’ve been here too long already. The enemy is beginning to reference our location. But to undergo such a large task, we have to ensure the way is clear. We want to avoid any unnecessary encounters during the trip. As I’m also sure you’re aware, your friend, Demetrix was one of the scouts we sent on this mission. I’m reluctant to say, they should have been back yesterday. While I can’t say if they remain alive or not, I urge you to keep hope until we find out one way or anoth
er. I’m leading a team after them today and I thought, considering your attachments, you and your friend, Ravion, would like to accompany me.”
Lost in the words, Gareth felt his rage build. He’d been looking for a reason to slaughter the dreu, not that he needed one, but now that he had one it was going to be a bloody afternoon. “Give me a moment.”
Trendal nodded, holding his position.
Gareth turned and marched the few steps toward his temporary lodging. Stepping inside, he marched through the common room and toward the room Ravion had claimed their first night. Lifting the flap, he stared into the near empty chamber. The only evidence of occupation was Ravion’s pack resting on the cot, seemingly untouched. Turning, he made his way back outside. Trendal remained where he’d been standing. “I’ll go with you. Ravion hasn’t been himself the past few days. I fear he won’t be joining us.”
“Understood. We depart the west gate at noon.” Trendal spun gracefully on heel and marched toward the city center.
Dark blood splattered the leafy underbrush of the dense forest. The morning light made the soupy fluids stand out in contrast against the glossy green leaves and dull brown limbs.
Ra’dulen dropped the withered husk. It cracked, impacting the ground. Glancing at the others littered about the forest floor, he sniffed the air in search of more. To his displeasure, he was all alone. Inspecting his hand, it continued to shake. These few dreualfar weren’t sustaining him. He needed something stronger. Something with magic. Taking a deep breath, an unsettling calm overcame him. He knew where to get what he needed. The hard part was going to be reaching it without Gareth getting in his way. Closing his eyes, he envisioned the path to camp.
The magics swirled around him, twisting reality for the briefest moment. Opening his eyes, he was standing on the path, just outside the hidden city-camp. Stepping between the thick, vine covered trunks of two large trees, he was standing at the southern edge, overlooking the makeshift city.
Marching toward his purpose, Ra’dulen snaked through the roads and between tents until he saw what he’d been looking for. Glancing around, realizing nobody was paying attention to him, he stepped through the entrance and found himself standing in a rather large room of dalari.
They were each laid out on individual cots, covered in thick, green woolen blankets. The majority were asleep, but a few appeared cognitive of his presence.
Ra’dulen looked around the triage tent, searching for anyone who watched over the sick and wounded. Seeing none, he approached the closest conscious dalari. Taking position beside the man, he stared into him. “Why are you here?”
The dalari man had an aged look about him. He faintly stared up at the visitor, eyes heavy despite all the sleep he’d gotten in the past few weeks. “Arrow to the chest.” A hoarse cough escaped, exhausting him further.
“Don’t they have healers capable of helping you?”
The soldier shook his head. Too feeble to speak further, he pulled at his blanket, revealing his bare chest. The wound was festered and yellow around the edges. Black veins expanded in all directions, stretched out across his chest and wrapping around his sides.
“Poison? Do they not have an antidote?” Ra’dulen asked, glancing at the others, starting to take notice of his presence.
Coughing again, the wounded soldier pulled his blanket back over him and fell limp.
“Don’t worry. I believe I can help.” Ra’dulen extended his hand over the unconscious man’s chest. Pulling at the forces within, he watched the wispy strands collect and move toward his throat. It began to escape, slowly at first, bubbling out like steam over a boiling pot. Ra’dulen pulled the strands, taking them into himself. This was stronger, purer than anything he’d found in a while.
The tremors inside him began to subside, leaving a calm and clear resolution. Watching the last bits of blue and black smoke escape, Ra’dulen pressed his fingers against the dalari’s juggler. His pulse was weak, but he was still alive. Pulling the blanket down, he inspected the wound. It was closing. The black tendrils were gone, allowing what appeared to be a clean wound to seal.
Turning around, he saw four others staring at him. He was already feeling better. If only he could get it to last for a while this time.
“Who else wants to be healed?”
Mild drizzle made the early evening gloomier than usual. The sun was half visible on the horizon, preparing to retire to the night. The last bits of orange glow illuminated what appeared to be a fork in the distance.
Gareth wandered along behind Trendal and the few others he brought with him. It had been a long and uneventful journey. Not so much as a sprained ankle had granted excitement since they’d set out. Now here they were, out in the open, stranded in the middle of nowhere with night falling upon them.
Trendal stopped at the fork. Kneeling down, he inspected the imprints in the mud. The constant rain had washed away much of the evidence of traffic, but this road was teeming with signs of movement. “I can’t make out which set belongs to who. But I’m certain they came this way. It looks like they went to inspect the ford. More than that, a considerable number crossed this point a few days ago. This way.” Trendal jumped to his feet and took off at a much quicker pace.
The river roared through the landscape, creating a constant echo in the distance. It was clearly higher than usual, though evidence of its normal level was lost beneath the surface.
Gareth approached the captain, stopping a few steps behind him. A slender wooden shaft caught his attention. Stepping off the wide trail, he reached into the matted grass and plucked an arrow from it. Spinning it in hand, he recognized the fletching. The head had been broken off, and a black stain clung to the splintered grain.
“This belonged to Demetrix.”
Trendal scanned the arrow, his vision trailing off in search of something else. “They were discovered here. A large force pursued them east. I’ll bet we find many more arrows between here and there.” Without another word, the dalari captain darted along the riverside. He pointed to a mound of dirt. And then to the bark of a leaning tree.
Noting the areas the captain had pointed out, Gareth saw remains of arrows, notched cuts from bladed weapons, and the occasional scrap of torn cloth. A battle clearly took place here. But where were the bodies? A battle such as this would have yielded at least a few. “Anyone else find it strange we haven’t seen any bodies? Even if scavengers dragged them off, there should at least be a few signs of fatalities.”
Trendal slowed, keeping his eyes on the trail before him. “You’re not wrong. I’d imagine any bodies would have been dumped into the river. If it’s been raging like that for more than a week, there’s no telling where they could have ended up.”
Reaching the shadow of the cliff face, Trendal stopped. “They made a stand here.” He reached down, pulling something from the trampled weeds. The carved wood was wrapped in decorative, thin leather and bound together by thick, green sinew. The two broken halves were joined by a single, braided and waxed string.
Trendal gathered the broken bow, turning to hand it to Gareth. “I believe this belonged to your friend.”
Gareth stared at the ruined weapon. Anger flooded him, but there was something else keeping it from boiling over. He felt loss. Like a void had opened inside him allowing his rage to siphon off to less dangerous levels. “He was my brother!” Reaching out, he took the broken bow, certain of its owner. Pressing the two halves together, he wrapped the string around it, tying it into place. Stuffing it into his pack, he glared at the surrounding landscape, searching for any evidence that Demetrix was still alive.
“We’ll make camp here. In the morning, we’ll inform Kashien of what we’ve discovered.”
Tormented screams echoed through the night, removing any possibility of sleep. Demetrix couldn’t help but wonder if that was by design. Keeping your prisoners exhausted prevented them from having the strength to revolt. It also weakened their minds, making them more susceptible to interrogation.
He stared across the barred cell to the others littering the room. It was unclear how long they’d been here. But one thing was certain, they didn’t look well.
Aside from starving, their features were sunken and pale. What appeared to have once been tanned skin of various shades was now alabaster. Even their hair was leeched of its color. Something dark had been done to these few. Adjusting his position, he realized his backside had gone numb from the hardened floor. Unable to get comfortable, he slowly stood, trying to ease into the change. It was painful, but it had to be done. Leaning against the barred wall, he looked into the other cages about the room. All the humans were grouped into one. They didn’t appear to suffer the same afflictions the dalari had.
Hydralfar were in another cell, equally well aside from their lack of food and attention. One of the other cages housed what appeared to be some variant of orc. They looked like the orcs he’d grown accustomed to in Dalmoura, but these were much larger. Like those of Irayth. Only their skin wasn’t marred. And instead of gray, they were brown. He’d seen the dreualfar usher a number of the orcs out several times throughout the day. Shortly thereafter, they’d return with an equal number in their stead. If anything, it seemed they were being scheduled as work horses. Which explained why they were the only cage that was fed several times throughout the day. The others were given a single large bowl of slop per cage to share. It was up to the strongest to fight for food.
Hearing footsteps echo down the stone corridor, Demetrix watched the wooden barricade open, revealing several figures cloaked in shadow. They stepped into the dungeon, illuminated by moonlight beaming through the single overhead window. Now that they weren’t crowded in the narrow hallway, he could make out their features. The dalari scout he’d been brought in with stood among the figures, weak and disfigured as the others in the cage were. The remaining group was comprised of two dreualfar and one hydralfar. He recognized one of the dreualfar immediately as the one that brought him in.
