Izaryle's Key Read online

  “I’m sorry for waking you, Drog. I’m afraid it was unavoidable.”

  “Again, you say sorry. Not sorry. Be strong.”

  “You’re correct, my friend. Get some rest. You’re going to need it when we break out of here.”

  Demetrix held up the ring of brass keys for the orc to see.

  Dust flew up around his boots with each step. Rain had been scarce the past few weeks and the blistering heat was drying out the once healthy soil. Marching through camp, Gareth approached the command tent, regulating his steps against the subtle incline. Reaching the flap, he pulled it aside and stepped inside.

  Trendal sat at an elegantly carved table, reading what could only be assumed as reports. He didn’t bother looking up from the stack of tattered parchment. “Good morning, Gareth. What can I do for you today?”

  “I wondered if any patrols were mobilizing. Thought I’d accompany them.”

  “None today, I’m afraid.”

  “Tomorrow then?”

  Trendal laid the detailed notes to rest atop the parchment and stared intently at the eye-patched warrior. “Every morning, you come to me requesting permission to join my men. Tell me, why are you so eager to go into combat, not that I’m complaining. Consider it a professional curiosity.”

  “I’ve spent the better part of my life learning the most effective means of exterminating dreu. It’s what I’m good at. The more I kill, the less threat they represent to the people of these lands.”

  “So, you’re not secretly hoping you’re going to find your self-proclaimed brother on one of these runs?”

  “I can’t say that. I know he’s alive. We just haven’t looked in the right place yet.”

  “It’s been a month already, Gareth. If you’ve grown so accustomed to the ways of the dreualfar, you should know they rarely keep prisoners that long.”

  “I’m aware of their methods. I spent some time in their captivity myself. I’m all too familiar with their ways. But I can’t give up looking for him. At least until I have proof one way or the other.”

  “Your devotion is admirable. But I’m afraid no more units will be moving until after the new moon.”

  “You expect me to wait another two weeks before you’ll let me go out again?”

  “I expect you to exercise patience. We have a lot to deal with here. After your brother’s disappearance, we delayed moving the camp. We couldn’t risk having our main force out in the open. That delay has resulted in over usage of resources in this area. Our supplies are low, and with this unexpected heat our water supply is drying up. Not to mention the epidemic that’s befallen the wounded. Each day more of them are slipping into a coma like state. It started with the mortally wounded but now the affects have taken hold of ailments as minor as a broken bone. We have to see to our own if we’re going to win this war. But I promise you, once the camp has been relocated, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to exercise your chosen skill set. Until then I ask that you be patient. I’ll call for you if I have any reason to send out a patrol.”

  “I understand.” Gareth turned, hastily making his way from the tent. He wasn’t happy about the announcement, but he couldn’t condemn the captain for looking after his own. Had he accompanied Demetrix in the first place, perhaps he would have been able to keep him safe. Or at the very least he would have had answers. Rounding the corner, he noticed Ravion looking over his shoulder.

  Ensuring he was alone, the dark scout ducked through the entrance to the triage tent and disappeared inside.

  Gareth watched for a long moment. What’s he looking for? It’s almost as if he’s making sure he isn’t seen. Like a thief in the night. Something wasn’t right about it. Decided on his course of action, Gareth marched toward the large tent. He was going to see firsthand what Ravion was up to. He clearly wasn’t going to share his extracurricular willingly. The two hadn’t said ten words to each other since he broke the news about Demetrix. And what few conversations they had were brief and pointed at best.

  Approaching the wide flap doors, Gareth reached for the draped canvas. Hearing footsteps on the other side, he paused, seeing Ravion step through the opening. His eyes had a faint glow. The same glow he saw the day they found that band of scouts.

  “What are you doing here?” Gareth asked, refusing to lower his gaze. The glow faded, leaving the dalari’s usual blue iris’ showing.

  “Checking on the sick. What are you doing?” Ra’dulen snapped, annoyed that the larger warrior had been following him.

  “I saw you go in. Figured I’d see if you wanted to do a perimeter check. Trendal says they’re moving the camp soon and won’t allow any units to move until that’s complete.”

  Taking a deep breath, Ra’dulen let a calm wash over him. “Thank you for the offer, but I have other duties to attend. Perhaps next time.” He stepped past the broad man, narrowly brushing his arm.

  “Hey!” Gareth spun around, watching the seemingly younger man pause. “You haven’t said two words to me in weeks. And suddenly you’re too busy to accompany me? What the hell are you doing every day? It sure as hell hasn’t been working toward getting us home.”

  “I don’t own you an explanation.”

  “You don’t owe me a god damned thing. But I’m asking anyway, as someone you once called a friend. What are we doing here? In this camp? There’s an army of dreu out there. And somewhere in that army, they have Demetrix. Please tell me why the hell we’re sitting on our asses here when we could be out there making a difference!”

  “Gareth, perhaps you haven’t noticed, but we’re not home. We can’t rush into battle with our heads stuck in some foolish revenge plot. Back home, sure we did some pretty stupid things from time to time. But we had a system in place. If we got hurt, there was always someone that knew who we were. There was always someone to help us. We don’t have that here. And until we do, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to go running head long into battle without a care in the world. I have life altering duties I must see managed. If I fail, the world ends. I get that such a higher purpose doesn’t take precedence in that tiny little brain of yours. But my decisions affect more than just me. Maybe you knew what that was like once, long ago. But you lost your family. You failed. Don’t drag me down that road with you!” Ra’dulen turned and marched off, his anger risen with the outburst. He wanted to feed again. But Gareth was getting too close. He’d have to give him some time to wander off and circle around. That was the only way he was going to be able to return to triage.

  Gareth watched him storm off. His anger burned to his core. But there was more than hatred in Ravion’s words. What he said had one purpose. And that was to cause pain. This was an attack unlike any other. Gritting his teeth, Gareth watched his once friend fade from sight. Hearing that familiar ringing in his ears, he felt his power grow. His fist trembled, barely able to restrain the forces inside him, begging to be released. He wanted so badly to let them loose. But restraint was what was needed here. If he let go, this would certainly be Ravion’s last argument. His once friend clearly had some issues. Killing him wouldn’t fix that. Taking a deep breath, he let his rage simmer. It was a good thing Ravion hadn’t stopped. He needed to cool down and seeing the pompous ass the man had become wasn’t going to let that happen.

  “Wake up!”

  Demetrix slowly opened his eyes, seeing the guards standing outside his cell. Glancing at the orc in the cell next to him, he gave a gentle nod, hoping his message was received. Pulling himself to his feet, Demetrix approached the door and turned around. Carefully, he rolled the waist band of his twill breeches, ensuring the hidden dagger would stay tucked away.

  The door clicked and squeaked open. The two guards stepped inside to secure the prisoner. Forcefully pulling his arms into place, they locked the manacles around his wrist and yanked him around to face the entryway.

  Demetrix felt the cold iron against his flesh. Relaxing his arms, he let the guards drag him into position for transport. The dense stone was uncomfor
table against his bare feet, but that was the least of his concerns. Stealing another glance to the only friend he’d made in this place, he was relieved to see Drog nod his understanding.

  The guards led the way, guiding him along the dark corridors by the short chains attached to him. They rounded the corner and took him down a flight of stairs, through the wooden door of the stock house. In minutes, they were marching through the courtyard.

  The chilled evening air passed through his loose garments with ease. Aside from the extremely light wind break, he may as well have been wearing nothing at all. The muddy ground squished between his toes as he walked, feeling small rocks jab into the bottom of his feet. Approaching the machine hall, Demetrix looked the wooden and steel contraption outside the large stone building. Several orcs were chained to a series of wooden beams, connected at the center on a pivot. They briskly made their way around, completing revolution after revolution. The ground was worn down nearly a foot from where they’d been walking circles around the guided device. From what his orc friend had told him, the dreualfar were using them to power the machine. It had to be in constant motion, otherwise it couldn’t generate enough energy to complete the transfer. If nothing else, that was reason enough to free the orcs. If the dreualfar couldn’t power the dark device, they couldn’t create any more of the abominations.

  The dreualfar guards led him to the reinforced door at the center of the large wall. Several hoses passed through the upper levels, where the stones had been knocked out. Opening the door, they pulled him inside.

  As much as he hated being hooked to the machine, and what the dreualfar were doing with the prisoners, it didn’t do any good to fight. If anything, he needed to conserve his strength. If everything went according to plan, they wouldn’t have the chance to use it on him ever again. Demetrix approached the wooden chair where he’d sat many times before. Carefully, he reached into his waistline and unrolled the top band, securing the dagger. He positioned the blade against the underside of his arm and turned to take his seat, hoping the guards didn’t notice. Feigning defeat, plopped down, aided by his guides.

  The guards quickly strapped the leather bands. Placing the iron skull cap over his shaved head, one secured the chin strap while the other tightened the pointed screw protruding through the device. Ensuring he was secure, they left.

  Demetrix watched the two dreualfar leave. Jorin’otth didn’t want anyone else in the room while the machine was active. It made it impossible for anyone but him to operate it. What better way to preserve oneself than being the only one capable of performing the job? Testing his binds, Demetrix was certain they were secure. But he had to check. The chair was extremely uncomfortably, but he’d grown to expected such. Keeping his left arm pressed against the wooden arm rest, concealing the dagger, he slowly walked it closer to his fingers. It needed to be ready when the time came.

  Demetrix waited impatiently. Usually the hydralfar was delivering some kind of over-inflated monologue by now. Something was wrong. He’d never been left completely unattended before. Jorin’otth was always awaiting his arrival. Come to think of it, none of this seemed right. The six chairs resting on the other side of the room were empty. What were they going to do with him if not make more of the vile hybrid creatures? Demetrix worked the dagger into his grip and began sawing at the strap around his wrist. He’d have to be careful. Not only was he chancing cutting himself, but if the hydralfar saw the dagger, his hopes of escape were gone. And by extension so was Drog’s. The orc had no way of knowing if the escape was compromised. To fail meant granting the orc’s execution.

  The door swung open revealing a familiar figure.

  Captain Vaniar stepped into the torch lit room. A sadistic grin showed through his unkempt facial hair. Slowly walking toward the restrained dalari, his intentions became clear.

  Demetrix pulled against the cut binding hoping it would break. He had little chance of defending himself against whatever the vile captain had in store for him. To his dismay, the leather held strong. Pressing his arm against the blade, he felt the metal bite in. A little pain was worth hiding the stolen weapon.

  “I guess you’re not so special now. Poor little highlord, trapped and all alone. I’ll bet you’ve already begun to wonder what’s going to happen to you tonight.”

  “The thought crossed my mind. Where’s Jorin’otth?”

  “The general’s pet was called away. It’s a shame really. You should have known better than to attempt an escape. I can’t help the fact that you had to be put down during the fight.”

  Demetrix squeezed the dagger. Does he know? Did Drog betray me? Watching the spiteful dreualfar approach, Demetrix flexed his wrist, slowly working the blade. He hoped the movement wouldn’t show, but the dreualfar captain was apparently too focused on his vendetta to notice.

  Altering his path, Vaniar approached the machine and started turning knobs. “I hear this thing has to be calibrated just right. Otherwise it leaves the host twisted and deformed. I wonder which one of these is best for you?”

  The base began to rotate, aided by gears and counterweights.

  “Have you ever seen what happens to someone when there’s nowhere for the power to travel?”

  “I can’t say I have. Though I believe you’re messing with things beyond your understanding. Do you really think they’ll believe I was killed trying to escape when the effects of this machine are as easily identifiable? They’ll know how I died and I’m pretty sure someone will tell Jorin’otth the truth.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Half the guards served under me. The other half know what’s best for them. I’ll kill you and no one will be the wiser as to how or why it happened. Let’s see, if memory serves, it was this one!” Vaniar pressed the lever, watching several bolts of lightning jump from one hose to the next. It traveled down, reaching the iron cap atop Demetrix’s head.

  The restrained dalari felt his body convulse uncontrollably. Screaming his torment, unable to silence himself, he felt his vision fade in and out. It was too much. Trembling, he felt the tip of the dagger puncture the wrist strap. Finding what little rebellion he could amidst the shocking jolts, he locked his fist around the blade and twisted. The razor-sharp edge tore through the leather and his arm popped free.

  “What the— how the hell did you get that in here?”

  Demetrix took aim at the torturous dreualfar. He knew his body wouldn’t obey him much longer. He was already going numb. Forcing every ounce of will into this one action, he flung the blade at the lone dreualfar. Unsure if it hit or not, his body gave out and he went limp. If this was death it was soothing. The shocking pain left him and his vision slowly returned as a bright white light. Details began to focus. He was in the room, strapped to the chair. Vaniar lay dead at the base of the machine. The dagger had plunged through his hand and locked it against his throat. Taking a deep breath, Demetrix weakly reached across his body, fumbling with the buckle on his other wrist. In moments, he was free.

  Pulling himself to his feet, he stumbled, crashing to the stone floor. He had to get his body in check and fast. If the dreualfar discovered him, all would be lost. Crawling toward the machine, he got to his hands and knees. Plucking the blood covered dagger from the dead dreualfar, Demetrix pulled himself up, using the machine as a support. Bracing himself, he leaned over Vaniar and began unbuckling his armor. He’d need it if he was going to fight his way out. Pulling the armor on, he adjusted the straps and positioned the dreualfar’s sword. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as his own, but there was little chance he’d ever see it again.

  Looking around, Demetrix knew what he had to do. He grabbed hold of Vaniar’s legs, weakly dragging the dead captain across the rough floor. Reaching the chair, he lifted him as best he could and strapped him in place. Laying the cap atop his head, he rushed to the other chairs. The hoses were too short to reach Vaniar, but perhaps he could put them in the machine.

  Testing their reach, he wedged the six skull caps into the
center cavity and removed the blue stone resting upon the pedestal. The fist sized stone glowed from his touch, granting him a strength he didn’t know he possessed. While he didn’t know what it was, it was clear the dreualfar didn’t need it in their possession. Stuffing it between the layers of armor, he wrapped one of the hoses around the lever and began to pull. The lever slowly moved and sparks began to jump from one hose to the next. Tying it off, Demetrix moved as far from the machine as possible. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but it was a good idea to stand clear if it exploded.

  A loud grinding echoed from the center and the wedged caps began to glow a bright red. Lightning jumped from one hose to the next. The smell of burning flesh filled the room as Vaniar’s corpse burst into flame. The hoses pulled tight, straining against the metal hangers holding them off the floor. One by one they broke free, getting sucked into the center of the machine. Growing louder, a vibrant glow grew between the two large funnels.

  Demetrix shielded his eyes, unable to look at the bright light any longer. Taking shelter beside the wall, he watched the machine spin faster and faster, ripping the knobs off by the flailing hoses protruding from the center cavity. It was coming apart piece by piece. And suddenly, the entire device exploded, sending large pieces in all directions.

  Picking himself up from the rubble, Demetrix noticed the far wall had been blown out. He knew he had to move fast. The dreualfar were certainly going to come and inspect the disturbance and it was best they believe the corpse in the chair belonged to him.

  A large explosion shook the walls, sending a blinding light through the small overhead windows. Drog stood from his bench. That had to have been the signal Demetrix told him to wait for. Grabbing the ring of keys from the pile of straw he’d used clean his back side, he reached through the iron bars and stuck one of the keys into the lock. It wouldn’t budge. He tried another, and another. Finally, the lock clicked and the door came open. Drog returned to the bench he’d used as a bed longer than he could remember. Flipping the aged wooden seat to its top, he slammed his meaty foot into one of the legs, breaking it free.