Izaryle's Prison Page 12

  “Damn your reasons! I was but a boy when you showed up. But I remember your face like it was yesterday.” Thrusting his palm forward, another burst of energy erupted. The spell flew straight into the weakened man.

  The force surround him. Ravion tried to withstand it, but it was too powerful. His feet left the ground, launching him backward several feet. Landing hard on his back, Ravion rolled and jumped to his feet. “That's the last one you get!”

  The man laughed at his taunt. He was already defeated, he just didn't know it yet. Pointing his palms together, fingers nearly touching, the man summoned the energies inside himself. A ball of flame formed between his hands. The further he separated his hands, the larger it grew. Bringing them overhead, he flung forward and launched the torso-sized fireball at his target.

  Ravion watched the flaming sphere soar toward him. He didn't have the agility to dodge it currently. He was too weak to run. Out of options, he did the only thing he could. Ravion side-stepped as best he could and twisted, letting the flame graze him. He could smell the heat burning into his clothes, but to his surprise it didn't hurt. The ball flew past, narrowly brushing him upper body and face. It exploded behind him, engulfing one of the dilapidated wagons lining the road. Marching as quickly as he dared, Ravion watched the man summon another fireball.

  “You won’t be so lucky this time!” Flinging the newly formed ball, he watched in anticipation.

  Ravion continued forward. There was no way he could dodge. He was too close. Holding his breath, the flame collided head on. His clothes burst into flame, warming him in the chilly morning air. It felt good, as if the remaining illness was burning away in the heat. He was getting stronger. Closing his eyes, Ravion felt the flame wrap around him, shrouding him in their comfort. He could feel the aura of his people. It felt brighter, stronger, as if it was absorbing the magic of the spell and strengthening him. The warming energy reached his core, burning away the last of whatever plagued him.

  The fireball crashed, exploding upon his chest. Instead of burning him to a cinder, it twisted and fell apart, as if it had been dispelled after detonation. That was impossible! He stared dumfounded at his opponent. How'd he do it? If the fire couldn’t hurt him, he’d have to use something less nobody could withstand!

  Townspeople came running, hearing the commotion. They crowded around the pair, hoping to get the best show. Packed shoulder to shoulder, they watched the spectacle, silently cheering their unarmed savior. He was out matched in every way, yet he always prospered. If he could survive this final day he'd be their new lord. Such a prospect was both reassuring and frightening. They'd been unregulated so long, how much of their lives would change? Yet it was exciting to witness the trials first hand.

  His dexterity returned. Ravion held his pace, hoping to use it sparingly. He didn't know exactly what made him feel better, and there was no sense in wasting the second wind to find out. “You're running out of time. When I reach you, this will be over.” Truthfully, he didn't want to hurt the man. He had no quarrel with him, aside from his attempted murder, but that was a technicality. It seemed most people wanted to kill him these days. But he wouldn't allow this man to stop him. If it came to it, he'd do whatever he had to in order to survive.

  The man flung his hands forward letting his magics loose. A dark liquid appeared on the ground beneath Ravion's feet.

  Ravion slipped and slid the syrup-like substance, but he didn't fall. Unfortunately, it slowed him drastically. Which meant he had more time to be targeted. The thick oil beneath his feet felt akin to walking on glossy ice with hardened soles. Each step forced him balance or risk falling. At least the oil didn't seem to stick. That was good in the fact that he wouldn't have to clean it off his boots.

  Reacting on impulse the mage formed another fireball. This one didn't have to be huge or special. Launching it into the grease, he watched it ignite with ease. The flame spread like wildfire engulfing the entire area in a burning magical heat.

  Flames flared to life reaching chest height. Ravion felt the wind tear through the holes in his clothing. Much more of this and he'd have to finish this fight naked. He was fortunate that the heat didn't bother him. It was a welcome surprise. Carefully making his way through the flaming oil, Ravion stepped onto the dirt patting the charred holes in his clothes, hoping to save them a bit longer. “This is your last chance. You'd better not mess up.”

  “You arrogant prick!” Closing his eyes the mage forced every ounce of will into a single, deadly attack. He had to ignore the approaching man. Any distraction would take away from the full effect of his spell. He could feel the torrent of magical energies flowing around him. Just a bit longer and he'd have his revenge.

  Ravion watched the dark power swirl around his opponent. He wasn't sure what was happening, but he knew it wasn't good. It was as if the world around them was being destroyed. The air darkened and the ground cracked, ripping itself free. The jagged chunks crumbled, disappearing into the void. Only the man at its center, could be seen. The tear in reality grew ever closer, swallowing everything in its wake. “You're losing control! Abandon your spell or it's going to kill you!” Ravion pleaded.

  He heard the words echo in his mind. Don't listen to him. He's trying to distract you. Kill him. Claim justice for all you've lost! Pressing the spell ever larger, the man felt the energies reach their full potential. He was almighty. Nothing could stop him now. Opening his eyes fear enveloped him. The dark energies continued to grow, pulling at him. What have I done?

  Ravion backed away. The power was unstable, threatening to devour everything. He had to do something. If it continued to grow, there was no telling how much damage it would cause. Quite possibly, it could suck the entire city into the void. Looking around, Ravion spotted one of the rail post of the broken fence beside him. It was lying in the dirt, but looked solid enough to help. Snatching up the rough-cut lumber, he fed it into the void, keeping hold on the end. The swirling current drew it toward the center. “Put aside your anger and grab hold. It's going to kill you!”

  “Then I'll take you with me!” Grabbing the thick post, the mage yanked, pulling the unarmed man into the sundered darkness. Taking victory in dislodging his enemy, the man lost his balance and tumbled into the tear. His body was ripped apart and gone before he had time to scream.

  Ravion felt the draw pulling him further into the rift. He had nothing to grab hold of. Nothing to stop himself. Surrounded by shadow, he felt a familiar presence. As if a hand pressed into his back, he stopped moving toward the rift. A broken light appeared in the heart, growing brighter by the moment, similar to how his aura reacted to the magical flame. “Kane?”

  “You can't be here. You have to find a way to get me out!” The armored warrior stepped into view. He looked stronger than ever, standing proud in the twisting energies. They wrapped around him, licking the glowing light.

  Ravion felt the pull soften, though it was far from gone. “How'd you get here?”

  “We don't have time to discuss that. I'm trapped on the other side. I tried to escape, but he pushed me back down. Get out of here and save me!”

  Glancing at the broken aura, Ravion noticed it pulsed, drawing in the shadow. A ring of normality formed around the armored warrior, as if the two were canceling each other.

  That gave him an idea. “I need to absorb it!” Ravion declared. Focusing on his own aura, he let the power rush through him. It wasn't as he'd imagined it would be. The chaotic energies of the void both fed and drained his innate magic. He was growing stronger, but fatigue was starting to set in. Letting his thirst expand, Ravion opened his eyes. The rift shimmered, seeming weaker by the moment. Suddenly, it faded and snapped shut, disappearing from existence and sealing Kane inside. The current subsided and the darkness disappeared revealing a large ring of barren earth where grass had once been.

  Cheers reached his ears, the unharmed spectators singing their praise. “Ravion! Ravion! Ravion!”

  Taking a deep breath, he let out
a sigh of relief. He just hoped no more showed up today. He wasn’t in the mood. Glancing around, a familiar face greeted him. The man stepped forward, silently parting the mob of excited spectators. His white and purple robes were clean as ever, moving as if they defied the winds. “Well done, Ravion.”

  The exhausted dreuslayer dropped to his knee, locking sight on the ground in front of him. “Baron Perrimen, you honor me with your presence. If you're here to challenge, you know as well as I that I would never fight you, even in friendly competition.”

  Perrimen placed his hand on the kneeling man’s shoulder. Lost in the lengthened, red hair he stared at the back of his head. “Find your feet, Ravion. I’m not here for competition, nor am I the baron. You know I've not held that role for a very long time.”

  The young dalari stood and looked upon his friend. “Then why, may I ask, are you here?”

  The aged, yet youthful wizard smiled. His voice echoed around them as if magically amplified for all of Krondar to hear. “This man has fought valiantly, would you say?”

  The crowd erupted in cheers of agreement and praise.

  “He’s bested every opponent that’s had the courage to face him!”

  Again the citizens erupted.

  “The Rite of Godrick has long been seen as the supreme law of Krondar. As a nation of strength, so too should you be led by strength. I believe I speak for all of us when I say that this man has shown us the essence of strength, not just of muscle, but of mind as well. The rite states seven days of trial. And this man has survived to his seventh. So I ask you, fair people of Krondar, will you allow this man to be your lord? A fair and strong man in every sense of the word. Will you allow him the honor of standing at the head of your ranks? To guide, direct, and watch over you. Will you allow him the privilege to call Krondar his home, a land where he can build and, gods willing, raise a family for generations to come?”

  The roar was deafening. The very ground shook from their chants of acceptance.

  “As a citizen of this harsh, yet fair land, and former Baron of Dalmoura, would you allow me the privilege and authority to label this man, Lord of Krondar?”

  Everything from bread to coin rained from the sky, showering the city in tribute of the naming. Never before had they seen one take the throne. One who had the ability to walk through magic unscathed meant a strong ruler who would see them to victory. For the first time in their lives they saw hope. Hope meant a greater life than simple survival.

  “Ravion Santail, I ask that you take a knee!”

  The dreuslayer obeyed finding it amusing that moments before he was asked to stand.

  Perrimen extended his hand letting the energies of the world around him twist into a faint blue light. They entwined, growing out and solidifying. In the blink of an eye an elegant longsword, etched by the most fantastic looking runes, rested in his hand, outstretched above the kneeling man. “By the laws of this land and the citizens that inhabit it, I name you Lord of Krondar, Master of Barbarians!” Tapping his shoulder with the ethereal blade, Perrimen alternated to the other, ceremoniously dubbing the man before him.

  The crowd went wild at the naming of their new leader. Many broke from the group to begin preparations for a grand festival. People fought for the right to host the events, arguing over the most trivial of details.

  The well-dressed wizard waved his hand, dismissing the weapon. A silver crown with a red leather lining took its place. “Please rise, My Lord.”

  Ravion stood, feeling the felt-lined crown fall into place atop his head. A sense of pride washed over him. He watched the flock rush toward him, begging to drape their finest garb over his ruined clothes.

  Perrimen turned toward the scattered union. “My people, eat, drink, be merry. Your lord has finally presented himself!”

  Several large men carried a thick, wooden throne from one of the buildings. Desire heavy on their faces, they laid it to rest a few steps from their lord, holding position and awaiting his word.

  Ravion looked over the throne. It was rough and unforgiving, much like the land it resided over, but it would serve its purpose. Marching toward the seat, he spun around and claimed it. Despite its rugged appearance, it was surprisingly comfortable. Though he didn’t intend to get used to it. The position was an honor he'd gladly serve, but standing on ceremony alone was a useless tactic. He was not going to be a ruler of words. He'd lead by example and be a ruler of actions.

  Perrimen approached the throne giving a respectful bow. “My Lord, Ra’dulen. I bring a gift for your naming.” He reached into his over-sized sleeve and retrieved a finely crafted wooden box. It was long and slender, engraved across the seams by hundreds of tiny runes.

  Ravion stared blankly at the mention of the name. No one had called him that since he was a boy. “My Lord, you’ve extended me enough gifts this day. I fear another may push the boundaries of overcompensation.” The sudden lack of ambient noise caught his attention. Ravion glanced around, realizing the townspeople were frozen in place, mid-action. Returning his attention to the wizard, he noted only himself and the man remained free. “I've seen such magics only once before. You've learned much in your absence.”

  Perrimen didn't say a word. Offering the narrow box he gestured for the man to take it. “That statement holds more truth than you'll ever know. As for this box, let me rephrase. What resides inside is not so much a gift as it is a curse. You're one of a very select few I can trust to keep such an object. It will call to you. It will plead to twist you. You must not let it. You must keep it safe, for if word of its existence spreads others will seek it.”

  Ravion took the container, staring at the runes. Had he not recognized the etchings he would have though them little more than decoration. “It’s written in Eldar?” Silence answering him, he glanced up, seeing the evaporating orange glow. Silently reading the scripture, the words of the ancient language returned to him. Five there were. Five there shall always be. Let none rise above. But should they, flee! The box sprung open revealing a thin, wavy blade of black and purple. Ravion closed the lid and stuffed it beneath the layers of fur clinging to his shoulders.

  The world around him broke its hold and the townsfolk returned to their tasks, unaware of their lost moments.

  Chapter X

  Once Lost

  The crude boat glided gently along the top of the murky, green water. Krenin plunged the pole into the soft bed pushing himself further along. His eyes searched the surrounding forest. He hadn't seen any sign of company, but couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched. Hoping it remained that way, Krenin pressed again. The boat lunge forward, deeper into alfaren territory. The hearty orcs of the north knew better than to travel alone. He knew better than to travel alone. But what choice did he have? Ensuring his trident badge was visible, he pressed on, hoping it would warrant investigation if he encountered the wood folk. Krenin couldn't recall how long he'd been gone. While time stood still in the arena, the seasons had changed since his last visit to the wondrous forest of Evinwood. It remained beautiful, but there was an unsettling dreariness he couldn't shake. It was as if the trees were less inviting than he remembered, warning him in their silence.

  Ahead a large tree had fallen, blocking off the wide waterway. Several smaller limbs had collected against it, forming a barrier across the surface. Guiding his boat to bank, Krenin stepped onto land for the first time since he'd found the river. He'd traveled nearly three days following the water’s edge before he'd came across the landing. Had it not been for word of his victory against the dragonkin, Drognau, he had no doubt the orcs would have parted with the small punt. As it were, reputation and coin opened more doors than he could ever know. For the first time, as far as he knew, a half-orc was revered among his kind. And the name just happened to be his own.

  Pulling the wooden device to shore, Krenin searched for an area to cross. The thick tree, even in its current state, had to be at least forty-foot tall and there was no telling how deep it had buried when i
t fell. He couldn’t recall any such blockage when the orcs brought him this route, gods knew how long ago. Glancing at the debris, the broken limbs were fresh. The wood hadn’t yet dried. And the dirt around the impact site had yet to sprouted grass. That meant it had to have recently fallen. He couldn't help but feel it was an intentional dam. The tree appeared strong, aside from the areas the bark had ripped away during its fall. It was as if someone simply cut it down to block the river pass, greatly delaying travel and offering several ambush points along the way. Of course he was no expert on trees, or anything else for that matter. There just seemed to be something fabricated about this. It seemed too intentional and planned to be anything else.

  Sighing heavily, Krenin pressed his booted foot against the flat rim of the boat and stepped down hard. The curved bottom edge rolled, lifting the square shaped nose into the air. Krenin grabbed the rope runs along the sidewalls and pushed his arms through. In a moment, the punt was slung across his back like a wooden shell. Securing the pole he pressed it into the ground and made his way inland, hoping to find a way around the natural wall.

  Hours passed and not so much as a slight low area presented itself. Krenin considered trying to climb over, but there was no denying he’d spend more time cutting foot holes than it'd take to reach either end, likely the top as the trunk seemed to be subtly tapering. This had to be the largest tree this forest had to offer and he hadn't even found the leaves yet. The snap of a twig roused his senses. Spinning around, Krenin’s brown deep-brown eyes searched the dense woodland. Surely the alfar weren’t so foolish as to alert him to their presence. “I know you're here, somewhere. I am Krenin of Marbayne. Ally of your people, I ask for help. Show me where to cross.”

  A smooth, elegant voice echoed from the trees, closer than Krenin thought possible. It had a familiar sound to it, yet he couldn't place where he'd heard it before. They all sounded and looked the same to him.