Izaryle's Key Page 11

  Securing the makeshift club, he made for the exit. The outer door had a different style lock than that of his cell. Finding the one key different than the others, he stuck it in the hole and twisted. The lock clicked. He was fortunate in the fact that he and Demetrix were the only two prisoners kept in this room. They were considered high priority compared to the rest. Demetrix for his usefulness in attuning the machine and him for being the chieftain’s son.

  His father died the day the dreualfar invaded. But so long as he was alive, the orcs would obey their captors. If that leverage was lost, they’d have a full-on revolt on their hands.

  Drog was surprised to see the guards weren’t at their post. Perhaps the explosion drew more attention than desired. If that was the case, Demetrix would need help. The orc ran down the corridor and skipped the stairs two at a time. Reaching the lower level, he cautiously peeked outside the wooden barricade. The dreualfar were surrounding the ruined building. Flames bellowed from the wooden supports and the generator wheel was broken, one half lying in the dirt while the other hung several feet in the air. At least two of the orcs appeared to have been killed in the explosion. Such was unfortunate, but there was no avoiding it. Closing the door, Drog turned and made his way down the first-floor corridor. Finding the mass cells, he stepped inside.

  A lone dreualfar stared at him in confusion, resting against a small wooden stool.

  Raising his makeshift club, Drog charged the unsuspecting dreualfar. He brought the jagged wood across the creature’s face. Its neck cracked from the impact and it flew across the room, slamming into one of the empty cells.

  “Drog?” One of the orcs questioned, pulling herself to her feet.

  “We getting out of here. Dreualfar not take our home any longer!” Drog rushed to the cell and fumbled through the keys, finding the right one.

  Opening the door, four orcs stepped out and grabbed anything they could use for weapons. Drog looked at the remaining humans and dalari. Only a few of each remained, having been lost from the experiment or corrupted and moved to the training block. Weighing his options, he quickly unlocked the cells and turned to join his brethren. “We kill anything that not friend!”

  The orcs grunted their agreement. Charging out the door, they made for the entrance. War cries echoed in the night as the small band of orcs descended upon unprepared dreualfar.

  Drog slammed his club into the nearest black-skin, launching the creature from its feet. Continuing through, he ran for the broken generator. He wrapped his large hands over the tiny keys and went to work unlocking the shackles on his remaining brethren.

  Demetrix climbed through the hole in the wall. He was relieved to see the orcs in combat. That meant Drog had believed him and there was a chance at escape. Seeing one of the dreualfar just ahead of him, he drew the polished, yet neglected scimitar and drove the blade deep into the creature’s spine. It let out a yelp and collapsed. Withdrawing the blade, he searched out his next target.

  Morning light crested the tree line surrounding the besieged orcish city. Smoke and dust rose from the destroyed structure. Flames spread to the broken generator and onto the next building. Several dead and dying dreualfar laid in the dirt covered streets, bleeding from various wounds. A number of the orcs had fallen. And a few of the humans had escaped and taken up arms against their oppressors.

  Demetrix made his way around the rubble and into the large building opposite the machine hall. Stepping through the door, he froze, lost in the sights before him. Nearly a hundred of the black-skinned hybrids stared at him from their overcrowded cages. Several bodies laid dismembered at their feet, gore and bone displayed beneath them. If he didn’t know any better, they’d resorted to cannibalism and picked off the weakest of their number.

  The creatures watched him intently, hunger in their eyes. Not one made the slightest movement in the dark chamber.

  The sight sent a chill down his spine. Not so much as a blink could be seen among the imprisoned army. Just thousands of glowing, green eyes staring blankly from the dark, locked on his every move. He could feel their desire. They’d tear him to pieces if they had the chance. Allowing their existence was too dangerous. There was only one thing he could do. But how? Looking around the room, he noticed the torches mounted on the walls. A decent sized pile of straw lay beside the door, used as matting for the cells. A stack of barrels rested against the far wall. A plan came to mind.

  Marching across the room, Demetrix stabbed the blood-stained dagger into one of the casks. Retracting the blade, he sniffed identifying it as oil. It wasn’t enough to burn them alive. He’d have to bring the entire structure down atop them and hope it was enough weight to crush the cages. One by one, he wheeled the barrels around the room, placing them as close to the wooden supports as he could get. Spreading the straw over the floor, he poured oil from the open cask, making a trail to the door. Securing one of the unlit torches, he located a flint and steel and sparked it a few times until it flared to life. Letting it catch fully, he took position at the entrance. “I know none of this was your fault. If anything, it’s mine and I’m sorry you have to pay for my mistake. I hope you’re able to forgive me.”

  Demetrix tossed the burning torch into the oil-soaked straw. The flame travel across the room increasingly fast. Unable to look upon the blank faces a moment longer, he stepped out the door, listening to the first cask explode.

  In minutes, a heavy, black smoke rolled from the rafters and the roof ignited. Not so much as a scream echoed from inside the burning structure. Just the roaring fire and occasional pop of a cask.

  Demetrix watched the building collapse in on itself. A large explosion erupted from within, sending a wave of energy over him. For the briefest moment, a sense of dread settled in his stomach. Shaking it off, he watched his mistake burn away. The city belonged to the orcs once again. And that meant he was free to return to his brothers.

  Chapter VIII

  The Clash of Titans

  You need more! Take it! It’s yours! Get up and take it! Now! Ra’dulen’s eyes shot open. He was lying on the elegant cot in his sleeping quarters. A cold sweat clung to his forehead. Sitting up, he glanced around the room, uncertain what he was looking for.

  Fire danced from the hearth on the far side of the large chamber. It provided little more than a faint glow in the darkness.

  The whispers crept back into his mind. You can smell it. All that power in the air. It’s stronger than anything you’ve encountered in this world. But you’re not strong enough for it. Not yet. You know what you have to do. It’s time to do it.

  He wasn’t sure what time it was, though from the feel it had to be early morning. He’d grown accustomed to the lack of sleep at some point in the past couple years. It was a weakness. One his enemies could exploit. The less he had, the stronger he was. Pulling himself to his feet, he grabbed his tunic from the back of the chair and tossed it over his shoulders. Quickly pulling his boots on, he grabbed the curved longsword resting beside the bed and secured it to his side. Time had come. It was time do what no other could.

  Approaching the door, he pushed the flap aside and stepped into the living quarters. To his surprise, Gareth was sitting in the thick, leather bound chair, watching the heatless fire dance in the pit. Quietly, he made for the door. He had nothing to say that hadn’t already been said.

  “We’ve been friends a long time. I don’t know what’s happened to you and I’ve reached a point that I no longer care. That being said, if our friendship ever meant anything to you, I have one question to ask. Where are you going?” Gareth refused to look away from the flickering flame.

  “Out.” Ra’dulen stepped through the doorway and disappeared outside.

  The sun was just beginning its rise. A distant orange glow eating away the shadows of the night, illuminated the vibrant details of the canvas tarps and wooden posts of the massive camp. The streets were barren, only a few guards within sight, finishing their nightly patrols.

  Ra’dulen sc
anned their positions. He’d spent the better part of a week memorizing their schedule for moments such as this. Judging from the sun’s rise, there would be a shift change in roughly ten minutes. Once the change happened, he’d have just under a minute to make his way from the south side of the command tent, across the trade square, and into triage without anyone seeing him. That would give him about fifteen minutes before the healers made their morning rounds.

  Making his way toward the command tent, he kept watch on the guards. There was little to worry about as far as they were concerned. They were simply a precaution to keep in mind. Gareth on the other hand— He’d become somewhat a thorn in his side. He was too nosey for his own good. Once his task was complete, he was going to have to do something a little more permanent than simply pissing the brutish warrior off. Reaching the back side of the command tent, Ra’dulen paused, awaiting the final minutes for the guards to finish their rounds. Seeing their groggy replacements stagger into the open, prepared for the laborious day that was to follow, he darted down the hill and through the collection of tents at its base. Wrapping his way around the side of one of the long canvas walls, he shot across the street and ducked through the unattended entryway.

  Hundreds of dalari rested peaceably in their cots. A few lanterns were staggered here and there, illuminating the large room in a soft, blue light. It was calming and tranquil, as if its purpose was to promote healing as well as provide sight.

  Making his way to the center, Ra’dulen spun around, taking in the sights around him. It didn’t matter if any of them saw him this time. This would be final visit. Raising his arms, he let the siphoning energies erupt from his fingertips. Strands of energy shot out in all directions. He was connected to all of them, and they to him. He could feel the lingering pain inside each one, fading away into nothing. Wisps of blue smoke pooled in the air, drawn from the prone mass of dalari lying throughout the room. It collected into thick, bulging clouds and floated coercively toward the lone dalari nightking. Pulling the power into himself, he could feel his body growing stronger by the moment. Another minute and all of it, the combined power of this ancient race, would belong to him.

  Gareth scanned the streets. Not much was going on aside from the occasional guard making rounds, or the random bird enjoying the morning’s light by pecking at the dirt. It was another morning, just like all the rest. So why was Ravion sneaking through camp? Following the shell of the man he once called friend, Gareth was careful not to get too close.

  There was no sense in drawing attention to his presence. Ravion was too smart for that. He’d simply alter course and turn the entire escapade into a game of follow the leader. Instead, it was best to keep his distance. Maybe then he could figure out what was going on.

  Gareth stopped, watching Ravion pause at the edge of the command tent. He was waiting for something. Seeing the guards break away from their usual paths, he knew it could only be one thing. Shift change. As suspected, Ravion broke into a sprint, charging down the hill toward the collected structures comprising up the trade square. Reaching the bottom, he ducked between two of the smaller tents and disappeared from sight. Gareth thought about following, but from where he stood there was no place Ravion could go without being seen.

  A moment later, his old friend appeared out of the other side and ducked into the triage tent. This was the second time Ravion had shown interest in the wounded soldiers. That wasn’t coincidence.

  Glancing at the fresh-faced guards, Gareth made for the second largest tent the camp had to offer. It was unlikely he’d find himself in their aim for inspecting the large structure, but there was no sense in taking chances, at least not yet. Carefully making his way past the trade center, he approached the sealed door where Ravion had been moments before. His hand hadn’t fully extended to move the flap when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Something wasn’t right. Cautiously pulling the flap to the side, he stepped through. Visions of the past echoed into sight.

  Ravion stood in the center of the room, his arms outstretched, drawing huge clouds of stolen power from the sick and dying around him. It was almost as gruesome as what he’d done to the mage shortly after their arrival. In many ways, this was worse. These people hadn’t done anything to him, yet he was draining them. The only notable difference was these victims weren’t being drained of life. They were being drained of something else entirely. Unable to look at their unexpectedly blank faces, Gareth clenched his fist. He couldn’t watch anymore. Ravion had to be stopped. “Ravion Santail, you’ve betrayed your people. You’ve betrayed your brothers. By the laws, set forth by The Order, I find you guilty of crimes against the realm. It’s time to answer for them!”

  Ra’dulen drew the final strands of energy into himself. Dropping his arms, he let the acquired power find its place. Opening his eyes, he stared across the room at Gareth. “Now’s not the time!”

  The power infused words boomed into his ears, threatening to drop him to his knees. Glowing, pupil-less eyes stared intently upon him, burning into his soul. Though it was more than just Ravion’s. Every pair of eyes in the room was upon him, burning white, silently mocking him. Gareth felt his rage boil. Using it, he formed a shield around himself, deflecting the overbearing powers radiating from their amplified host. Resolved, he envisioned his invisible grip flying toward his friend. If he could stop Ravion, maybe he could figure out what he’d done here.

  Ra’dulen felt the unseen attack headed toward him. The feeble attempt brought a mild smirk to his face. He had no time for such games. Enwrapping the energies around himself, he vanished in a glow of orange. The watching eyes of his victims snapped shut with his departure.

  Gareth felt his grip snag something unseen. He didn’t know what. It was firm, but it wouldn’t last long. Placing his fingers against one of the drained dalari, he couldn’t find a pulse. That either meant they were all dead, or it was too weak to feel. Either way, he didn’t have time to determine which. Following his psionic fist, he saw a thin sliver of orange floating harmlessly in the air, trying to close around the invisible hand wedged in its seam. Forcing his will into the invisible hand, he pulled the tear apart, opening what appeared to be a window into the outside world. In fact, it seemed to be right outside the door. Taking a deep breath, Gareth stepped through, letting the hand dissipate. As expected, he was standing right outside the triage tent, not ten feet from where he’d been moments before. Searching the streets, he spotted the dark-dressed dalari, disappear behind one of the tents.

  Ravion moved at a full sprint toward the west wall. Seeing a stack of wooden crates beside the road, he thrust his hand forward, launching them from this path. They smashed to the ground, spilling their contents into the road. Heads of cabbage, plump gourds, and a number of potatoes rolled across the path. It wasn’t much, but perhaps it’d slow Gareth if he pursued. The warrior would die, but not until his job was finished.

  Refusing to let Ravion escape, Gareth charged after him. He was less concerned with the produce and more concerned by the dalari in the street working to clean up the mess. He couldn’t slow. If he did, Ravion would be out of sight. Picking up the pace, Gareth jumped. He couldn’t explain how, or even why, but somehow, he sprang further than he ever had before. It was as if he reached peak height and simply kept going. Hitting the ground, he was surprised at how soft the landing was. His joints didn’t feel the impact at all. And best of all, Ravion hadn’t gained much ground, though he was naturally faster. If he was going to catch him, he’d have to cut him off.

  Several confused dalari watched in earnest. Strange feats were not unheard of, but to see them first hand would have had the elders in awe. The excitement echoed through the streets, drawing more witnesses to the spectacle. Guards studied the racing men, uncertain as to the reason for their escapade.

  Rounding the corner, Gareth realized his old friend had gained ground. Nearly ten feet by his estimate. If he didn’t do something quick he was going to lose him. “Stop that man!”
Gareth shouted, hoping the guards would balance the quo. To his irritation, they turned to look rather than act. Apparently, they were only useful when they weren’t needed. The road to Trendal’s tent was just ahead. If he was lucky, the captain would hear all the shouting going on outside his door and investigate. “Trendal, something unforgivable has happened. Get Kashien!” The words escaped him before he realized what was happening. More than that, a response echoed in his mind.

  “Understood!”

  The booming voice behind his ears was more intrusive than an open door in the backroom of a pub. He felt possessed. For the briefest moment, someone had stepped inside his mind and seen everything he kept hidden from the world. Shaking the unsettling feeling off, Gareth pressed on, seeing the dalari captain rush from his chambers in full battle gear. Sprinting as fast as his body would carry him, Gareth reached the gate.

  The guards laid on either side of the road, unmoving and pulseless.

  Gareth couldn’t see any blood, but they clearly weren’t responsive. If he had to guess, Ravion did the same thing to them that he’d done to those in the tent. As if his thoughts were heard, their eyes shot open, revealing those frightfully blank eyes he’d seen in triage.

  “You’ll never catch me, Gareth!” They sounded in unison.

  There was no doubt who the message was coming from. Abandoning the possessed bodies, Gareth burst through the gate. A familiar orange glow hovered steps away, fading from view. Out of options, he mentally grabbed the edges and ripped it open. He had no time to think. Action was the only thing that drove him. Diving through the elongated hole in the world, he crashed into the dirt and foliage of the forest floor. Rolling several times, he came to a stop. Slowly picking himself up, Gareth saw his old friend standing on the edge of a large rock. A dark storm cloud rolled in the distance, moving ever closer to them. Getting to his feet, he realized the rock was protruding out over a towering drop off. They were at the edge of a cliff. Silently cursing his fear of heights, he watched the man for a long moment. “What’s all this about, Ravion?”