Izaryle's Key

by Levi Samuel

  Mejra adjusted uncomfortably and sprung to her feet. “Gods, can ya’ not think so loud? Haven’t ya’ learned ta’ control yer’ thoughts?” She marched around the fire and knelt beside him to remove his gag.

  Stretching his jaw, Gareth opened and closed his mouth a few times trying to get his cheeks to feel right after being compressed for gods knew how long. “Thanks, and to answer your question, no. I haven’t learned how to do that. I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

  She grabbed a dagger from her waist and hooked the rope securing Gareth’s legs. Ripping upward, the braided hemp cut and his legs sprung free.

  “Yer’ hands and ankles stay tied until I can trust ya’. And by the way, it’s extremely rude ta’ watch a girl while she’s bathin’.”

  Gareth rolled to his side and sat up, stretching his legs on the dirt and stone floor. “In my defense, I didn’t know you were there until I’d already seen you. But what can I say? You don’t steal a quick glance at a masterpiece. You study it. You memorize every perfect curve and supple detail until it’s lodged in your mind permanently.”

  “Stealin’s stealin’. If ya’ wanted ta see me naked, ya’ should have asked.”

  “Huh? Well, Mejra, can I see you naked?”

  “No!” She shoved against him, pushing herself to her feet. “Keep it up, an I’m gonna gag ya again.” Returning to her stone, she took a seat and lifted the carved stick from the fire.

  The meat was a glossy, dark red. The thinner areas near the joints had begun to blacken, but it was far from burnt. Laying the cooked carcass on another stone, she pulled the spit from it and brought her dagger down, cutting the creature into two. Tossing one half over the fire, it landed on Gareth’s lap.

  He stared intently at the cooked meat. He was hungry, and it looked delectable. But his hands were bound. How was he going to eat?

  Mejra grabbed the charred lower half and bit into the juicy creature. Chewing intently, she kept watch on her prisoner. There was mild delight in seeing him so helpless. It was almost pathetic.

  Leaning her food against the piled rocks to keep it warm, she stood and circled around behind Gareth. “I’ll untie ya’ ta’ eat. If ya’ try anything, I’ll blast ya’ into next week.”

  Feeling his hands come free, Gareth grabbed the meat and took a large bite. It was a bit gamy, but the meat had an excellent flavor. Much better than the dry tack he’d had in his pack, days prior.

  Mejra laid a water-skin beside him and returned to her stone. Taking another bite, she watched the brutish, one-eyed man devour his food. “It seems I’ve found a way to shut ya’ up.”

  “Food’s good.” Gareth proclaimed between unnaturally large mouthfuls. Grabbing the water-skin, he pulled the cork from the top and took a long draw. “There’s much to be said about a woman that can cook.”

  “And if ya’ say it, you’ll find ‘yerself on da’ floor again.” She gave a light smirk, daring him to continue.

  “So, I’ve got to ask. Why’d you bring me here? You could had just as easily left me. And what the hell did you do to me? I’ve never experienced anything like that before.”

  “This area’s swarming with dreualfar. If I’d left ya’, there’s a good chance ya’ be dead. Couldn’t have that, now could I? As ‘fer da’ shell, it’s useful against our kind. It feeds on ‘yer physic energy. The harder ya’ fight, the stronger it gets.”

  “Our kind?” Gareth asked, taking another long draw. He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d last drank, and the water-skin was nearly empty.

  “The devonie.” Her eyebrow raised, curious as to his question. How could he not know about their people? “Ya’ don’t know wha ya’ are?”

  “I heard the name a few months ago. But no one could give me much information about them. For all I know, it’s just a big ruse. At least until I ran into you. It’s a little hard to plan a random meeting.”

  Laying what was left of her meat beside the fire, Mejra placed her elbows on her knees and leaned forward. “How is it ye’ don’t know about ‘yer people. I looked into ‘yer mind when I captured ya’, but it was too clouded ta’ see beyond the rage ya’ keep bottled up.”

  “There’s much about my past I’m unfamiliar with. About twenty-five years ago I washed up on shore. I’d been in some kind of shipwreck. I spent months on that island until finally a ship happened by. The captain took me aboard and taught me the ropes. A few years later our ship was attacked. My captain would have been killed, but I jumped in front of the sword and saved him. I woke up in a small village off the coast of the Reinir Sea. The woman that was tending my wounds was kind and beautiful. She nursed me back to health and the captain came back for me. He named me First Mate and allowed me to marry that woman. I served nearly another five years until I was awarded my own ship and allowed to return home to my wife. That was seventeen years ago. I’ve no memory of life before that.”

  “And the rage? It’s something we all carry. Some believe it’s the source of our power. If that were the case, ye’d be among the strongest of devonie. I’ve never found another that carries that much hatred inside them. In fact, if ye’ were ta’ learn how ta’ control it, ye’d probably be one of the strongest devonie ta’ live.”

  “My rage is what keeps me going. My wife and son were murdered by the dreualfar.” The mere thought of the vile creatures left a sour film in the back of his throat. He could feel his anger building once again, though there was no outlet for it here. He’d have to keep it in check. There was no sense in scaring away the first source of information about these ‘devonie’ he’d ever found.

  Mejra sat back, taking a more sensitive temperament. “What were their names?”

  Gareth refused to look at her. The memory of that dark temple flooded his memory. The bloodstained blue dress— his son’s cold, pale skin. Thus far he’d failed them. He’d killed thousands of dreualfar. But it wasn’t enough. More lived. Once he’d killed every last one, he would finally have his retribution.

  “Sorena and Aden.”

  “Wonderful names. If ya’ keep their memory alive, they’ll always be with ya’. No matter what’s going on in ‘yer life, or how ya’ feel, I’m sure they’re proud of ya’.”

  Gareth’s gaze locked on to her. “You don’t know me or my family. Don’t presume to!” He knew there was no reason to snap at her, but it made him feel better. Her beauty aside, she was a stranger. His life was none of her concern.

  “My apologies. I didn’t mean ta’ overstep. I simply wanted ta’ understand what happened ta’ ya’. I can tell ye’ve trained ‘yerself in the ways of our people. But it’s extremely crude. If I could find a way into ‘yer head, it’s possible I could teach ya’ a thing or two.”

  “I’m not some stray that needs your charity. In fact, I’m only here because you tied me up in the first place.” Gareth took a deep breath, realizing he was growing angry at the wrong person. Lightening his tone, he continued. “I didn’t even get to experience the fun part of being tied up.”

  Mejra stood and marched toward him. Drawing her dagger, she cut the bindings on his wrist and ankles. “’Yer free ta’ leave whenever ya wish.”

  “Look, I don’t mean to explode at you.” He paused, chuckling at his choice of word, considering the comments he’d already made. “My family is a touchy subject, one that’s been ruffled lately. I don’t mind spending time with a pretty woman. In fact, I quite enjoy it. Bondage and all. But if it’s possible, I’d rather not talk about my past.”

  “Aye, we can do that.” Mejra stood, returning her dagger to its sheath. “And now that ye’re a free man, what’s ‘yer name? I can’t simply call ya’ prisoner anymore.”

  “Gareth D’Averon.”

  “Well, Gareth D’Averon, what do ya’ say ta’ learning how ta’ focus ‘yer powers?”

  A massive roar echoed outside, shaking the ground violently. Several pieces of stone broke away from the walls, tumbling to the floor. The rock piles on either side of the pit c
ollapsed, sending bits of burning ember and ash into the air.

  “What the hell?” Mejra rushed toward the entrance, stealing a look outside. “Ya’ might wanna’ come see this!”

  Gareth took position beside her, looking out into the unnaturally dark sky. A near black cloud stretched across the horizon as far as the eye could see. Dark swirls rotated overhead, carrying heavy winds across the land. Trees uprooted, toppling over, while others took to the sky. There was no way of telling if it was day or night. The sky was completely blocked by the unusual storm.

  “We need to go back inside. If any of that stuff hits us, we’re done.” Gareth placed his hand on Mejra’s shoulder, urging her to follow. Returning to the hole in the ground, he was relieved to hear her footsteps behind him.

  Heavy drops of rain crashed into the earth, leaving thousands of tiny impact craters in the dirt. The walls shook and groaned, threatening to break against the gale.

  Jorin’otth listened intently to the wicked roar, tearing at the ceiling overhead. How such a storm came into being, he couldn’t understand. There was a fabricated power to it unlike any he’d ever felt before. As if every spell he’d ever learned had combined into one and was released upon the world. Such a thing seemed impossible, yet proof of it was beating on the door just outside.

  If only he had a way to collect it. Such a resource would undoubtedly prove useful in the days to come. His plan was nearing completion. He just had to keep the dreualfar general happy until he had what he needed. Opening the book, he pulled a small glass vial from his robes and removed the cork. Pouring the bright red liquid into the pages, he waited for it to disappear before speaking. “How can I harness the energies of this storm?”

  The red droplets reappeared into a collection of pictures.

  He quickly studied the images, writing the details on a piece of worn parchment. The design was simple enough. He just had to build the device before the storm was gone. Closing the book, he made a list of the materials he’d need. Tucking the folded parchment into his robes, he pulled the wooden door open and stepped out into the wind and rain.

  Making his way to the armory, he couldn’t help but notice the absence of patrolling guards. It seemed they’d abandoned their posts when the storm hit. That was certainly going to be remedied if he had anything to say about it. Tygrell would have blood if he learned of their cowardice. Not to mention the flaw in security. Anybody could have infiltrated the base while they were hiding. That was unacceptable.

  Working his way to the supply house, he pulled the door open, finding two of the dreualfar huddled just inside the door. They were drenched and shivering. He hadn’t noticed the air to be overly cool, but he was also a skilled mage. Weather rarely affected him in any regard. He hadn’t even realized the shield he’d placed around himself until now.

  “Get your asses back out there and stand your post. General Tygrell will have your heads if he finds out about this. And tell the others the same thing. I’ll not face his wrath for your failure!”

  The dreualfar shot an angry glare at the interrupting wizard. It was bad enough he was allowed to roam free, but to have to take his orders, it was enough to make you sick. Begrudgingly they opened the door and disappeared into the unnatural dark.

  Jorin’otth rounded the corner, pulling the wooden door open. Seeing the stairs disappearing into the underground room, he snapped his fingers. A ball of glowing light formed overhead. Carefully, he made his way into a large chamber filled, seeing the strange pieces of metal cluttered about. They were odd pieces, cast of an assortment of colors and thicknesses. The center of the room was filled by a long table. Hundreds of tools rested on its top, slightly rusted from disuse.

  Gesturing, Jorin’otth approached the table and set his crude drawling in the center. The glowing orb floated from him and to the lantern resting on the far side of the room. It flared to life before making its way to the mounted torches on the wall. One by one, the glowing ball emblazed four in total before fizzling out, leaving a well-lit room in its wake.

  Jorin’otth rummaged through the collection of instruments and devices, searching for anything he could use. Forming a large pile on the table beside his parchment, he went to work crafting a device.

  He tinkered for hours, studying the drawing he’d crafted from the book. What had been a pile of random scrap was now four packs resting peaceably beside one another. Each one had a pair of arms extending from the sides, supporting a net made of copper wiring. A thick cable ran from a metal tube at the base of the arms and into a collection of capped bronze tubes. He’d completed his machines. Now he just had to make sure they were going to work.

  Slinging one of the packs over his shoulder, he lifted another and carried them up the stairs. Setting them to rest beside the door, he returned, grabbing the final two. Laying them with the first, Jorin’otth opened the door, relieved to see the storm was still in full swing. In fact, it appeared to have gotten stronger. One of the stone walls had collapsed and several of the buildings were missing, little more than foundation stones and rubble where they’d been. He could see where one of the buildings had smashed into another. The pile of mortared stone was scattered about.

  Reapplying his shield, conscious of the effort this time, he stepped into the rain. Thick beads ran down the sides of the invisible sphere, battering against the impenetrable barrier. Making his way across the treacherous courtyard, Jorin’otth was relieved to see the dreualfar had returned to their posts, though they clearly didn’t share his joy of that fact. Approaching one of the waterlogged black-skins, he felt a bit of short lived remorse for her. She was smaller than most, and just as ugly. But that was the dreualfar for you. Gender was an irrelevant thing. They didn’t care who or what you were, so long as you were willing to die for their goals.

  “I need eight soldiers to accompany me. Send them to the supply house. I don’t care who you find for the job, just make sure there’s a guard at every station.”

  “Yes, Sir!” The female dreualfar offered salute, though she clearly had no love for him. Breaking the respectful gesture, she turned and disappeared into the night.

  Jorin’otth turned and made his way back toward the storage building. Stepping inside, he closed the door and opened the one to his immediate right. There was a large store room, complete with a heavy wooden table in the center. The wood was marred by hundreds of deep gouges and stains of red. If he had to guess it was a butchers table at some point, though its original use was irrelevant. Carefully, he gathered his machines and laid them to rest over the red stains.

  Hearing the door slam open, Jorin’otth watched a few dreualfar step into the hall. “In here.”

  Three had found their way to him. As far as he was concerned it was first come, first serve. Those that carried the packs would be protected from the storm, in theory. But just in case, he wanted to ensure he had backup if they didn’t survive the initial collection. It was better to let them die and get what he came for than to go out with the minimum and return empty handed.

  “Grab a pack. We’re leaving base for a while. And don’t worry about the storm. What we’re doing, you don’t have anything to fear.”

  The dreualfar slung the packs, having difficulty with the odd levers and sprockets protruding from the device.

  Jorin’otth made his rounds, tightening the straps and ensuring all the wiring was connected properly. So long as they remained intact, there was little concern.

  The door opened again, revealing more dreualfar.

  “I don’t care who, but one of you, put this on.” Jorin’otth held the last pack out for them to see it.

  One of the dreualfar rushed past the others and slung the device over his back.

  “Once we’re out of here, all you have to do is walk. If someone falls, grab the pack and keep moving. General Tygrell is offering promotions to each of you. Keep your heads up and pay attention and we’ll be back in no time.” It didn’t matter if the general knew anything about this expediti
on or not. He was in charge. And they believed him.

  Heading out from the deteriorating city, the group passed the crumbled outer walls and into the surrounding jungle. Jorin’otth couldn’t help but feel excitement. If this was proved successful, he’d no longer require the dreualfar to complete his mission.

  They marched for nearly an hour into the constant downpour. It was impossible to see anything, even with their heightened vision. Only the occasional lightning flash offered any visibility. Jorin’otth was pleased to see the bolts jumped into the netting as he’d intended. Checking the packs to ensure they were working correctly, the bronze tubes lining the front side were glowing faintly. It was working. All he had to do now was let them fill.

  Another bolt struck, hitting the net directly. The scent of charred flesh drifted through the air and one of the dreualfar collapsed to the ground.

  “Grab the pack!” Jorin’otth demanded. There was enough static in the air to fill the containers, but it was slow. Direct hits were what he needed. Though it seemed the dampeners weren’t enough to contain the charge. If only he’d brought more than eight dreualfar with him.

  One of the unencumbered dreualfar charged forward, ripping the odd device off his fallen comrade. Before he could sling the pack over his shoulder, another bolt hit, exploding into the ground. An earth-shattering boom echoed out, sending chunks of dirt in all direction and knocking them from their feet.

  Jorin’otth could feel the ground moving beneath them. Picking himself up, he glanced around. The fallen pack was in pieces, the dreualfar along with it. But that was nothing compared to the crack where the bolt had hit. And it was spreading. “On your feet. We have to move!”

  The remaining dreualfar scattered in the chaos. One tripped and fell into the growing chasm. He was gone before he knew what happened.