by Levi Samuel
“Demetrix Santail. I must say I’m somewhat surprised to find you here.”
He didn’t recognize the voice, nor the face for that matter, but it was clear the hydralfar knew him. Or at the very least, knew of him. He’d been careful not to state his surname, a tactic picked up from Ravion, which meant this race traitor had to either be familiar with him and his brother, or he was a different threat altogether.
“I’m afraid you have me at an impasse, as I don’t recall ever meeting you.”
“Let’s just say our paths have come close to crossing a time or two. But where are my manners? My name is Jorin’otth. And I must say I’m excited about this unexpected turn of events. If you’d be so kind as to accompany my companions, we can begin.”
The less familiar dreualfar unlocked the cage door and pulled it to the side. Guiding the weakened dalari into the cell, he removed the manacles from his wrists and shoved him inside. Turning his attention toward Demetrix, he extended the iron bands, inviting the dalari scout to come willingly.
“Why would I willingly subject myself to whatever torture you have in store for me?”
“It’s the illusion of choice. You’re coming one way or another. I just thought I’d give you the opportunity to do so freely.” Jorin’otth removed the rod from his robe and extended it. It elongated into a runed staff with a glass ornament on top.
A strange sensation washed over him. Realizing he was no longer standing in the cell, Demetrix struggled against his bindings, finding his arms, legs, chest, and head strapped to a rather uncomfortable wooden chair. A metal cap was secured to the top of his head and several sharp points pressed into his skull.
He scoured the room franticly, searching for any sign of what just happened. He could see a number of hoses stretching from himself and secured into several hanging stands. From there they connected to the top of a strange looking machine that filled the majority of the room. The top portion tapered out like that of a grain silo, while the middle was extremely narrow and had a relatively small gap where a fist sized stone rested in a clawed basin. The bottom portion was similar in shape to the top, but instead of one set of hoses, several sets stretched to more hangers. The whole thing looked like some monstrous version of an hourglass. He followed the hoses down to six chairs filled by unconscious humans and hydralfar.
“I apologize for the manner in which you find yourself here. I can only imagine the fear such a realization could have on you.”
Demetrix followed the words, finding the hydralfar traitor standing over him. “What the hell’s going on here?” He struggled against the binding, hoping he could find a weak strap or loose board.
“You’re going to take part in a little experiment I’ve been working on. I’ve had relative success thus far, but hopefully, with what I know about you, I’ll be able to calibrate the machine to your specific genetics. A miscalculation results in what you saw back in the cell. It still works but I can’t get nearly as much out of them. I’m hoping that changes now.”
“Let me out of here or I swear by the gods that I’ll kill you!”
“Come now, there’s no need for idle threats.” Jorin’otth gently pricked the side of his neck with a small needle-like instrument. Carefully carrying it to the machine, in hope of preserving the drop of blood clinging to the tip, he let it fall into a tiny metal funnel mounted near the midsection. The single drop rolled down and landed on the top of the stone. Jorin’otth began twisting knobs. Several sprockets began to spin, shifting the alignment of the top and bottom pieces. Checking to ensure they were positioned correctly, he pulled a lever mounted on the side and watched in earnest.
Demetrix felt a crippling pain overcome him. Not even his leg hurt as much as this did. It felt like his insides were being ripped out and twisted apart. Nothing mattered except the pain. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, unaware of what was happening, not that he could have controlled himself even if he was.
Jorin’otth smiled his relief. Unlike the others, Demetrix wasn’t reacting physically to the draw. Finally, he’d found the secret. This would allow him to extend his sessions with all the others. Which would yield greater results than the single session he’d been able to achieve in the past. One for one wasn’t a bad conversion, but why settle for less when you could get twenty to one? Glancing at the glowing blue stone, he watched the siphoned energies travel down the leads and into the beings strapped in the other chairs. Their skin began to darken, turning almost black. Their base features remained, leaving them trapped between forms. They weren’t dreualfar. And they weren’t what they were before. They were something else entirely. He’d done it. He’d found the secret of creation. If that didn’t make him a god, what would? Proud of his success, he released the lever, allowing the energies to retreat to the closest host.
Marching across the chamber, he went to work unscrewing the probes from Demetrix. The young man had granted him astounding results. He had to ensure he was taken care of. If his next experiment didn’t yield the expected results, he’d need to use him again.
Demetrix felt the straps release. He tried to fight. Tried to flee but his body was unresponsive. He couldn’t lift a finger to defend his own life. What the hell was that? He tried to give the thought voice, but it wouldn’t comply.
“He’s ready to be taken back to the cell!” Jorin’otth shouted to no one in particular.
Demetrix sat there, wondering how long he’d be paralyzed. A moment later two unknown dreualfar appeared on each side of him. They pulled him to his feet, forcing him to half walk. He lost his balance, finding his weight supported by the vile creatures. Catching movement out the corner of his eye, he saw the newly formed beings begin to stir. They struggled against their bindings, fighting to get free. How could something so unnatural come from me? The dreualfar pulled him toward the door, removing them from his vision.
Against his will, he staggered from the chamber. Taken back at how large this place actually was. The architecture was familiar in many ways to many of the human cities, but it was much cruder. The stone buildings were large and thick. Jagged edges protruded for the curved walls, and the rough oak framework was exposed where the stone couldn’t cover. Were it not for the infestation of dreualfar, he’d guess himself to be in an orc city. Which, considering he’d never seen one, made the entire prospect seem foreign. But there was no mistaking orc craftsmanship when you saw it.
Fire crackled in the hearth, occasionally exploding against the chainmail curtain that shielded the flame from the wooden interior of the magically altered tent. A single lantern rested upon the desk, illuminating the large room brighter than a single lamp should have.
Ra’dulen sat at the desk scribing what little information he’d been able to gather since arriving at the camp a few days prior. The ink flowed perfectly from the tip of his quill. There were no globs or overly dry marks in the text, despite having dipped it only once since he began. Laying the quill to rest, he lifted the thin vellum from the stack in front of him and quickly read what he’d just written.
As best I can tell, these dalari have missed many of the major setbacks my people have endured. I’ve been careful not to raise too many suspicions, as I don’t know what that would mean to their society.
General Kashien has been of great assistance, though I’ve found it somewhat difficult to gain an audience with him. I suppose that’s to be expected considering the war we’ve found ourselves in, as well as his status. I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve met him before. Though I know I haven’t. There’s not a face I’ve seen that’s escaped my memory, yet I feel a kinship toward him. Similar in nature to the way I remember feeling about Demetrix before I learned he was my brother. Though I can’t allow these thoughts to consume too much of my attention. I’m certain he knows more about this dreu army than he’s saying. Each time I’ve attempted to make a connection between the dreualfar and the abundance of dalari in this camp, he changes the subject or mysteriously has more pressing matters
to attend. While I don’t miss my position, I must admit it was nice having the authority to demand answers when I needed.
In other areas, I believe I made a mistake by allowing Gareth to see me drain that mage. Had I been thinking clearly, I would have ensured he was distracted when I let loose. I won’t make that same mistake next time. I need to find a way to evade him. He’s become ever watchful since that day. I count the minutes until he shows up to check on me once again. The entire process has become tiring. If only Demetrix were back. Perhaps he’d provide distraction long enough for me to slip away unseen.
This morning, I did something I’m not particularly proud of. The effects the dreualfar have on me aren’t lasting as long as I’d hoped. At this rate, I’ll have to drain an entire city to keep the cravings at bay. Though I believe I’ve found a suitable alternative. The wounded dalari have a higher concentration of magics lying dormant inside them. I’ve found I can siphon it off, which keeps me sated for the time being, while allowing my victim the pleasure of a healthy body.
It’s a bit of an unfortunate trade, but we’re both getting something out of it so I suppose I have nothing to regret. I just need to ensure I’m not found out. I have a feeling it would be difficult to explain my actions to anyone asking questions.
Feeling the outside breeze wash through the illusionary room, Ra’dulen waved his hand over the incriminating missive. The ink boiled from the fibers and disappeared, leaving a clean page where the writing had been. Quickly grabbing the quill, he paused, watching his hand shake vigorously. Closing his eyes, he forced himself calm. Drawing the tip against the page, he went to work scribbling notes.
“Ravion?” Gareth stepped through the arched entryway. Seeing the dark scout, he walked to the other side of the table and positioned himself so he could look upon the man with his good eye. Unslinging his pack, he let the weight pull against the overlapped drawstrings binding the top together. Reaching in, he pulled the broken bow from inside. The two pieces were wrapped tightly together by the forest green string that had fired so many arrows.
“What happened?” Ra’dulen glanced from the bow and back to his scribble decorated page. Only now did he realize he’d been writing in eldar. Crossing the ancient words out, he laid the quill to rest and stared at Gareth with empty eyes. He saw the man’s lips moving, but his attention was elsewhere. The desire to feed was growing inside him. If only there was a nightking here to kill. That would sate him for at least a week. Breaking his distractions, he found the man’s words.
“—was supposed to have returned two days ago. Since we hadn’t heard anything, we set out yesterday, in hopes of discovering what happened to them. We found signs of a battle at the river’s edge and followed it for a while until it ended at a cliff face. There, we found this. No bodies were present. Though the way the river’s flowing, there’s little chance we would if they were dumped.”
“Maybe he should have exercised a little more caution.” Ra’dulen stated coldly.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Both of you throw yourselves into dangerous situations time and time again, with no thought to what your actions might bring. I’m tired of being asked to save your asses every time I turn around!”
Gareth tossed the broken bow onto the desk, watching it scatter the pile of loose vellum. “Okay, first off, fuck you. Nobody asked you to do a damned thing. He’s your brother and I thought you’d want to know what happened. I don’t know if he’s dead. I don’t know if he was captured. I simply know he was in a fight and lost his weapon. Secondly, what the hell is your problem? You know what, I don’t care. Just figure it out and quit being such a dick!”
Gareth grabbed is pack and stormed from the study.
Chapter VII
A Way Out
The chill of the iron bars felt good against the back of his head. The long hair that had once sprouted from the scabbed and bruised areas had been shaved away, leaving short, patchy stubble in its place. Demetrix closed his eyes, allowing the lingering pounding in his brain to fade in the cold. Hearing the cell door behind him slam open, he pulled himself up and stood. Turning to face the now occupied cell, he waited for the dreualfar guards to leave. He watched the large brown orc stagger across the small cell and take a seat on the simple wooden bench the brute used as a bed.
“Long shift?” Demetrix asked, contorting his mouth to pronounce the orcish words.
“Longer than most.” The orc replied, pulling the tattered tunic from his torso, revealing a series of new lashes over old scars. “They push us twice as long since your turn in the seat.”
“I apologize for that. I didn’t know what they’re doing was possible. When I get out of here, I’m going to destroy that damn machine. No one should have that kind of power.”
The orc let out an audible scoff. “You speak like any of us get free. Only way out is death.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I understand you’ve suffered much in this place. But trust me when I say we will get out of here. My brothers won’t leave me to rot.”
“You apologize too much. Don’t be sorry. Be strong. That the only thing that’s going to break you free.”
“And when I’m free, I’m going to save your people.”
The orc closed his eyes and rotated himself to lay on the narrow plank. “Torok Clan beyond saving. If you find way out, get far away. The creatures you help create worse than their masters. Don’t stay for somethin’ already dead.”
Demetrix fell silent. Partially because he knew how rare sleep came in this place. To deny it to one he considered a friend was a cruel punishment. What was more concerning was the fact the orc wasn’t wrong. In the past month, he’d seen things many would have believed impossible. And now that they weren’t, it felt wrong to willingly participate in these experiments. What the hydralfar was doing was a crime against nature. He had to be stopped before this army he was building got free. The dreualfar were bad enough. They had no appreciation for life. To release these— these things upon the world, there would be no forgiveness for that.
Footsteps echoed off the stone floor outside the door. A moment later, the reinforced barricade swung open, revealing the dreualfar captain Demetrix had grown to despise. The captain took delight in his pet. He’d been awarded many honors for the capture of one so useful.
Demetrix watched the dreualfar step into the room and stagger up to the cell. He leaned against the bars, the stench of alcohol radiating from him.
“Can I help you, Captain?” Demetrix hated giving the creature such respect as addressing him by his title, but the captain had revealed a weakness to him. If he could exploit it, he would.
Vaniar looked upon the captive dalari, his head bobbing back and forth in a desperate attempt to focus.
“Wha’ maks’ ‘ew so special?” His words slurred, trying to compensate balance.
“I assure you, I don’t know what you mean.”
“You sho’ up, ‘dwessed in such fancy armor, demandin’ title and ‘sthatus. I bring ‘ew here and suddenly ‘ew’re the most valuable ‘pwisoner of ‘em all. ‘Wha maks’ ‘ew so special?”
“If I didn’t know any better, I believe you to be complaining, Captain. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you receive quite a substantial reward from the hydralfar for my procurement?” Demetrix approached the staggering captain, remaining as docile as possible. There was no sense in allowing the captain to lash out over a foolish error of judgement.
“Andsomely rawrded. Wha’s ta’ stop me from stickin’ a sord in yeur gut? All I see is ‘anudder dalari. Nothin’ special ‘ere.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Captain. I don’t know what delusions you have about me, but I can assure you I’ve done nothing to warrant such disdain. If you have a problem, I’m certain it’s of your own making.”
Vaniar grabbed the bar, pressing his face between the gap in them. Vaniar spit his discontent at the imprisoned dalari, “’Ew listen here, dipshit. Everyting’ was g
oin’ on fine until you showed up and brought me into this shit. Now I’m stuck here. No command. No station. Little more ‘dan one of ‘ew, stuck in a cage!”
Feeling the salvia splatter across his face, Demetrix took a large step, stopping just out of the captain’s reach. “If that’s the case, might I recommend you seek employment elsewhere? I hear the dalari army is seeking informants.”
Vaniar lunged into the bars, his arm extended, trying to get ahold of the blurry figure in front of him.
Carefully, Demetrix stepped into the angry dreualfar’s reach, allowing himself to be pulled against the bars. Calmly, resisting just enough to keep the captain from biting him, he reached through the cell and secured a dagger stuffed in his waist.
“Guards. A little help here. I’m sure Jorin’otth would be furious if you allowed his prized captive to become damaged!”
Two dreualfar burst into the room. Seeing the powerless captain, they grabbed his arms trying to break his hold.
Quickly, carefully, Demetrix snatched the key ring off one of the guards and stuffed both keys and dagger into his breeches. Reaching up, he squeezed the captain’s hand between the thumb and forefinger, forcing his grip to weaken. Breaking the hold, he stepped away from the wall, allowing the guards to deal with the intruder.
Seeing his prize escape, Vaniar swung on one of the guards, knocking him to the ground. Rolling his shoulder, he shook the other off and stormed from the chamber shouting. “Dis isn’t ober!”
The guards picked themselves up, looking confused as ever. Ensuring Demetrix was unharmed, they took their position outside the room and sealed the door.
“What all that about?” The orc was sitting up, watching the spectacle.
