Izaryle's Key Page 14

  Frozen like a dear in torchlight, those bright green eyes glared death into his soul. Before he could raise his arms in defense, something solid smashed into him, obstructing his vision. He wasn’t unconscious. He could feel everything. He simply couldn’t move. Whatever had him constricted tightly around his entire body, preventing the slightest movement.

  Finding the anger he’d been holding onto, Gareth summoned his will, hoping he’d be able to see outside his body. It wasn’t working. The harder he pushed, the tighter the wrap got. He was having trouble breathing, though it felt like he was nearly through. If he could push just a little harder, he might be able to break free. Forcing every bit of will into the rage fueled sight, his lungs gave way and he blacked out.

  Demetrix stared intently at the shell of the man he’d known for so long. Ravion’s skin was pale and chalky. Beads of sweat soaked into the blankets covering him. If it weren’t for the thick bed beneath him, absorbing the moisture, there was no doubt the floor would be drenched. Ravion’s eyelids pulsed, as if his eyes were darting back and forth beneath the thin layers of skin, constantly in search of something unseen.

  Demetrix could feel heat rolling off the unconscious scout. Something had to give soon. Nobody could withstand such torment for long. He just hoped it would be the fever and not Ravion’s body that withdrew first.

  “How did it come to this? How does someone so strong fall so far?”

  Studying the curved longsword, still in his hands, he raised the weapon and laid it lengthwise beside his brother. If he was to die, it was only fitting his sword should go with him.

  “He’s stronger than I would have thought upon meeting him.” Kashien’s words were soothing and calm. “It’s often the strongest among us that fall the hardest. We don’t expect it from them, which catches us off guard when it happens.”

  Demetrix turned to look upon the seemingly young prince. “He’s always presented himself that way. How better to defeat an opponent than by allowing them to underestimate you?”

  “A common trait among dalari. It seems your brother was more akin to his people than he realized.” Kashien extended the eldarstone, dropping it into Demetrix’s hand.

  The power rushed through his body. Something was different. It didn’t react that way before. His eyes locked on the glowing blue stone, he felt connected to everything. He could feel the life force of every dalari in existence, each one throbbing right there in the palm of his hand. All he had to do was squeeze and he could snuff the light out of each and every one of them. Such power was not meant for a single being.

  “You feel it, don’t you?” Kashien asked, studying the younger man’s face.

  Demetrix took a deep breath, focusing on the dalari prince. He was both near and far, strong and weak. It took everything he had to determine what was real and what could be.

  “It’s everywhere.” Beads of sweat ran down Demetrix’s forehead.

  “I was afraid that might happen. At the cliffs, you used the stone, which opened you to its power. It’s also what fatigued you to the point of collapse. You find yourself at a crossroad. You could use the stone to restore your brother, but the stone’s power has already touched you. There’s a chance it could affect you much the way your brother is currently affected. You could claim ultimate power over our people and become one of the mightiest beings this realm has to offer. Or you could do this one task and walk away. I can’t say which will result from its use.”

  “How would I use it?”

  “It takes little more than a thought. Sadly, I can’t offer much more than that. I’ve only seen them used once before. That was one of the darkest days in my life.”

  Demetrix could hear his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted so desperately to take the power offered to him. He could remake the world. Eradicate the dreualfar for all time. He could even return to Irayth and defeat the nightkings and their armies. The people of both realms would be free of tyranny. Free to live under his rule. He would be their new god king and they would love him with every fiber of their being. And those that didn’t would perish beneath his wrath.

  He closed his eyes, forcing the thoughts from his mind. He wasn’t that person. He didn’t want to be that person. Taking a deep breath, he handed the stone back to Kashien and marched from the room. He wanted to help Ravion. But using the stone would result in the loss of himself.

  Kashien smiled, seeing the young dalari leave. “Stronger than I thought.”

  Stepping forward, he held the stone over Ravion. Closing his eyes, he felt the power grow. It wrapped around the unconscious warrior and himself. They were in their own world, secluded from all else.

  “Ravion, your brothers still need you. Your people still need you. You need to get up and fight!” Allowing the power retreat back into the stone, Kashien placed the eldarstone into his belt pouch and stepped away. He’d done all he could do. It was on Ravion now. Turning, he marched from the small room, thinking to himself. Such magics come with a price. It’s my duty to pay it. Now all I have to do is make sure no one uses the stone again.

  Tears ran down the child’s puffy, red cheeks. He sat in a pool of blood, clinging to his father’s cold, lifeless hand. His mother was a few feet away. Her dull eyes stared into him, draining the strength he once possessed.

  Ravion was frozen in fear. He was all alone, surrounded by the corpses of the people he’d lost. Beyond that, the smoky and ruined village of Winterhaven stretched a short way, disappearing into shadow. That’s all this place was. A land of shadow and death. He didn’t dare stare into the darkness.

  Figures moved within, faster than the eye could see. No, it was safer to stay here, in the small patch of dense and gray cloud cover. The one place where the sun didn’t dare shine, but the shadows stayed at bay.

  Wiping the snot from his nose, Ravion heard something behind him. Stealing a glance, he saw a figure standing at the edge, watching him. The man was faint, but clearly solid. There was a familiarity to him. The plated leather armor and black eye patch gnawed at his mind. He felt like he should know him. But the memory eluded him.

  The figure shook his head and turned, disappearing into the dark.

  “Wait!” Ravion called out. But it was too late. The man was gone.

  One of the phantoms flew past, slamming into his chest. He felt the pain rip through his body, knocking him to the dust and blood coated ground. Looking around, he was all alone. The bodies he’d grown accustomed to were nowhere to be seen. Even those he was holding had vanished. He couldn’t recall who they were. There should have been some importance to them, but that knowledge was missing, like everything else. Picking himself up, he knocked the moist dirt from his tattered clothing. The red smeared everywhere he touched, seeming to add more than there was before.

  “Ravion!” An elegant voice echoed around him.

  “Your brothers still need you. Your people still need you. You need to get up.”

  He searched the shadows, looking for any sign of company. Suddenly, as if the being had been there the entire time, he saw a man standing a few feet away from him. He was dressed in the finest garments he’d ever seen. The maroon and gold leather was polished perfectly and decorated masterfully by thin metal plates along the seams. A large, beautiful sword hung at his side. Its twin rested in his hand.

  “Get up and fight!” The man ordered, tossing the blade into the blood-soaked earth at the boy’s feet.

  Ravion bent at the waist, lifting the masterfully crafted sword from the muck. No sooner than his hand touched the grip, the blade shifted, shrinking into little more than a short sword. It fit his hand perfectly. Searching for the man, he was nowhere to be seen.

  Alone once again, Ravion felt the world around him awaken. Fear grew inside him. But the sword gave him strength. He watched the shadow surround him, closing the gap it had refused to cross for longer than he could remember.

  Phantoms flew past, lunging each chance they got. He was going to have to fight. If the darknes
s touched him, it’d tear him to shreds. Lifting the short weapon, Ravion watched one of the ghastly beings spring from the rolling clouds of smoke, headed straight for him. Tightening his grip, he swung. The blade cut neatly, splitting the misty fabric clinging to the translucent figure’s body. It crashed to the ground, showering him in a rain of dust.

  Chatter echoed all around, drowning out the slightest cognitive voice among the sea of noise. Some laughed, some cried, some cheered, while others whispered indistinctively.

  Ravion couldn’t help but feel like he was in mixed company. Emotions filled him, offering hope and encouragement, while others whispered doom and despair. Suddenly, he realized why they flocked to him. He was responsible for their presence. Each and every one of them was here because of him. It was a miracle they didn’t all want him dead.

  Seeing another phantom flying toward him, he lifted the blade, realizing it had reformed into a longsword. More than that, he was remembering things. Things he’d forgotten. Slicing through the ghost, he spun around and cut another, moving up behind him. The shadows closed in, nearly engulfing him. He had just enough room to move, but even that was quickly fading.

  Peering into the darkness, Ravion could see patches of light on the other side. In those patches stood hundreds of dalari. They were the voices he was hearing. They cheered him, urging him to fight. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t alone.

  Swinging his sword, he danced in the small circle, fighting off shadows and geists. One by one they fell to his blade, emitting light into his prison. He could see his father staring through the veil. A proud look on his face.

  The smoke shifted and swirled, forming into a massive fist. Slamming into the unexpecting dalari, Ravion flew through the air. Landing on his back, the darkness swarmed him. He was the fly just stupid enough to rest over a pond of hungry fish. Agony shot through him, ripping muscle beneath flesh. Another sharp pain erupted in his chest. Clenching at his breastbone, his heart tensed, as if an invisible grip was squeezing the life out of him. Staring into the shadow, helpless to its torment, he noticed something he never expected. A figure towered over him, comprised of shadow. Those large ram horns and masterfully carved daggers were unmistakable.

  Wincing through the pain, Ravion clinched his sword, swinging as hard as he could. It passed through the nightking, disbanding his mass. Rolling to his stomach, he climbed to his knees, feeling another pain in his back. He had to stay up or they’d kill him.

  Another figure appeared in the darkness beside him. Such beauty was a marvel to behold. How could he have forgotten her? That question would trouble him for the rest of his days.

  Senaria thrust her hand forward, blasting through the smoky figures around him. Spinning around, she drew her sword and attacked.

  Demetrix sprung from the dust of the dead phantoms, ready to lunge into battle.

  A massive cannon blast silenced everything, ripping a hole in the swarm.

  Ravion turned, seeing a motley alfar standing on the side of a ship, floating casually in the distance. He couldn’t recall any body of water large enough for a ship in these parts. Yet his eyes said otherwise. Squinting into the distance, Ravion noted the red peacoat and bandolier strung across his chest. His identity filled his memory.

  A silver cutlass hung from the alfar’s hip, its polished reflection burning away the dark. Smoke rolled from the discharged gun, shrouding the newcomer in a wispy haze.

  “Hey, ya’ ain’t killing all those black-skinned bastards by yourself!” Gareth shouted, stepping into view.

  One by one, companions joined the battle. Though Ravion knew they weren’t really there. Many of these people had never met each other, having come from all points of his life. Though what really solidified that assumption was when Krenin and Malakai showed up.

  He was used to the dead being here. But to have the living among them, this couldn’t be real. A warmth wrapped itself around him, offering embrace. Glancing down, Ravion noticed his tan vest sitting in its rightful place. It was so much more flexible and open than the black leather he’d spent the past couple of years in.

  A heavy breeze picked up and the shadow began to swirl. As quickly as his friends had appeared, they vanished, leaving him to finish the job. He knew who he was now. That left him in a better state than before. The overhead clouds parted, revealing a tear in the world. Seeing the shadow fleeing for the gap, Ravion glanced at his victims, still on the edge of shadow. The dalari were starting to fade, turning into thin strands of blue wisps. Like a massive spider web, they shot into the cyclone, turning it from a pillar of black to ash gray. The souls were leaving. He knew that now. And that was okay. He’d kept them prisoner long enough. All but three were free to leave. Seeing the nightkings among the spiral, he knew what he had to do.

  “Stop!” He demanded. The spiral froze, unable to complete another revolution.

  Marching toward the hulking figures of blackened smoke, Ravion ripped them from the rest. He couldn’t allow them to escape. They were too dangerous. Closing his eyes, he pulled the collected dark beings into himself, feeling them find their prison. His knees hit the dirt. It took everything he had to force them into submission. They were powerful, that was certain. But he took their mantle. It was his job to ensure they never returned to power. And that gave him power over them.

  Panting heavily, Ravion opened his eyes, seeing the inside of a tent. The dark vortex gathered overhead, tearing its way through the wood and canvas. The illusion spells splintered, raining fragments of false wood and shattered spells upon him. The clouds were darkening outside, beyond the exposed roof. Lightning flashed, revealing a brief glimpse of the storm he’d set into motion. It was difficult to tell what time of day it was due to the swirling clouds blocking the sun.

  Pulling himself from the sweat soaked bed, Ravion placed his bare feet on the dirt floor, recalling the fur rugs that lined it the previous time he was here. Grabbing his sword, he stood, feeling a strange power flow through him. The hardened blade contorted, as if the ridged metal had lost its firmness.

  Lifting it, the wobbly, fluid blade wiggled and popped, returning to its straight edge. Seeing the blade he’d grown to love, Ravion lowered it to his side and rushed toward the door.

  Hurried footsteps echoed outside, unfiltered by the large hole in the ceiling. Wind roared to life, battering against anything and everything in its path.

  Stepping from the large tent, Ravion looked upon the dalari city-camp in a new light. These people were truly miraculous, if only his mind hadn’t been clouded to that fact when he arrived. They went to work securing everything they could. A few of the smaller tents ripped away from their anchors and disappeared into the darkened sky. But it seemed the majority of the storm was happening outside the camp. If the calm in the center was testament, they were in the safest possible place.

  Chapter XI

  Calm Before the Storm

  Flickering lights and the sweet scent of meat roused Gareth’s senses. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw the rough stone of a cavern wall. He struggled to sit up, finding his wrist tied behind his back and ankles firmly secured to them. He’d been gagged, though it wasn’t nearly as efficient as his bindings. He clearly wasn’t going anywhere. It only stood to reason that his ability to talk was of lesser concern.

  Fuzzy memories floated into mind. The last thing he recalled was seeing that woman in the river. Throwing his weight to one side, he half rolled, landing roughly on his shoulder and hip. The pain was jarring, but at least he would be able to see a bit more than he could.

  A fire danced from the small pit, lined by several large rocks. They’d been piled on opposite ends and were topped by a thick, whittled stick that had been run through some kind of small animal. Gareth guessed it was rabbit, but he couldn’t be certain. Hearing footsteps, he strained against his binding, trying to get a better view of the entrance. Or what he guessed to be the entrance. From what he could see, the cavern wasn’t overly large, suggestin
g one, maybe two entrances at most. Either way, it was in his best interest to find out what he was dealing with.

  To his surprise, the woman he’d seen at the waterfall stepped through the natural archway and into view. Her red glow flared at his sight, nearly blinding him. She was dressed in simple linen garments, though they appeared to have been crafted recently. There were no stains or wear holes anywhere. Not even a frayed piece of fabric could be seen for that matter. For lack of a better word, they were pristine. Her thick, red hair dangled over her shoulders, revealing a natural curl now that it was dry. But what drew Gareth in the most was her emerald green eyes.

  She marched toward him, pressing the heel of her boot into the fleshy part of his shoulder. Giving a firm push, Gareth felt the tension grow on his limbs. They weren’t meant to bend that way. Unable to take much more, he struggled against her hold. She released, taking a step back.

  Gareth toppled toward her, landing on his stomach once again. He turned his head, watching the woman take a seat on a large stone beside the fire.

  “’Eis isn’t ‘wuite the introduction I ad in mine.” He declared over the rag stuffed in his mouth. “I’d hav’ ‘ought if e ‘ere gonna’ get to ta bondage so quick, I’d at leas’ know your name.”

  She reached out and turned the roasting animal to keep it from burning. “If I wanted ya’ ta’ speak, I wouldn’t ‘ave gagged ya’.”

  “’Oreplay. I ‘an get behin’ dat’.”

  She shot him a wicked gaze, daring him to continue.

  Gareth smiled as best he could. It’d been a while since he’d experienced anyone with such resistance. “Wat’s ‘our name?”

  Sighing heavily, she sat up, glaring her annoyance at the subdued devonie. “Mejra, okay? Now please shut up and let me think.”

  Laying there, Gareth couldn’t help but admire her beauty. The fact she was annoyed made her that much more stunning. He’d already seen her naked, so that was out of the way. The true question remained, what was she going to do with him? She could have simply left him there, lying beside the river. She had to have some reason for bringing him here.