Izaryle's Prison Read online

  He watched the power flow into a green gem, stolen from Shadgull. Its taint slowly flowed into Remle upon his throne. The crown, taken from the man himself, lay hidden in the cellars of Shadgull City's fortress, awaiting a time it would be found and placed atop the next lord, ready to corrupt him. Every scene played out revealing a small seed of darkness, ready to sprout up and pollinate the world. Even Mortimus, his mentor so long ago, had inadvertently been killed by the shadowed form of himself.

  “No!” Kane’s vision returned looking upon the creature that had stolen his face. Anger, regret, despair, it all flowed through him. A mix of emotion, swirling about, tested his sanity. Am I responsible for it all?

  Lythus didn't give him time to process. Continuing on he leaned in, nearly whispering to the defeated man. “Once I’ve reclaimed your body, the first thing I’m going to do is slice Ravion's throat from ear to ear. He was a useful tool, but his usefulness has reached its end. Gareth on the other hand— He's an excellent puppet. All I have to do is suggest the dreualfar are involved and he’ll fall into line.”

  Kane couldn't take any more. He had to put a stop to it. Drawing his short sword he stood, raising the blade. “You underestimate me.”

  Lythus laughed. “I've already proven your weapons are useless against me. What do you hope to gain?”

  Kane slid the blade under the leather straps along the side of his armor. Slowly dragging the keen edge, it cut. The great sword fell free, disappearing into darkness without a sound. He pulled the breastplate free letting it fall from him. To his surprise it didn't vanish as his weapons had. It seemed to glow a faint light, repelling the shadow around it. “You aren't the only one who's learned how to manipulate the shadow.”

  Closing his eyes, Kane focused on the warmth inside him. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. Thoughts of Ravion and Gareth shot into his mind. He couldn't be having this conversation had it not been for them. They were the sail keeping him moving. A bright light erupted from the discarded breastplate, burning the darkness away. Even with his eyes closed Kane could see its radiance. Wrapping his hands around the warm glow he opened his eyes, seeing the pulsing great sword in front of him. The blade was made of the purest white light. Its hilt and pommel equally brilliant. For the first time since he'd arrive in this place, he felt hope.

  “That's not possible!” Lythus studied the summoned blade. How could such a weapon exist in a place of darkness? He'd spent more time in the shadow than most, yet he'd never seen anything close to its purity. Only the gods were capable of harnessing such raw power. But which one? The answer filled his mind, sending a slither of doubt through him. Deidre! Silently, he called to the god. I know you're here! Magic like that doesn't just spring up from nowhere.

  As if answering his call, a booming voice echoed in his head. “You've disappointed me, Lythus. You've abused the powers too long.”

  “What right do you have?” Lythus shouted into the shadow, feeling his anger and fear rise.

  “I have every right. You've crossed the line. You've enslaved this child of arcane since he was a boy. You've mixed the magics, both mine and hers. And then you have the audacity to step into my realm and question my authority? It's time you learned your place, wyrm!”

  Kane slashed in, watching the beaming blade slice through the shadowed man's leg. Blood seeped from the wound soaking into the thick, black pants. “It seems I've found a weapon that will do the trick.” There was a joy in taunting the man that had gone through so much effort to do the same.

  Be on your guard, Deidre. When I'm finished with this fool I'm coming for you. Lightning fast, Lythus drew his sword and jabbed in, bending at the waist. The slightly curved blade rocketed toward Kane, aimed at his chest. Twisting his hips he watched the glowing weapon fly overhead, missing him.

  Kane abandoned his strike, bringing the lower half of the blade up to deflect the incoming stab. He heard steel ring out as he knocked the weapon away from him. He side-stepped, dodging a wide blow. Kane counted time between attacks. Finding a window, he calculated. It was more than likely a trap designed to draw him in, only to have him too close to block. Counting through his routine, it never closed. It was a long shot, but he had to take it. He just had to be careful. Traps were something this being was all too skill with, and he didn't intend on being victimized again. Feigning right, the sword outstretched and aimed to stab mid-chest, Kane rapidly dropped the tip and lunged in.

  Lythus saw the decoy. He smiled. The bait was taken. Although the blinding light was effecting his perception. He was too close to shut him out. Unable to defend, a sharp pain shot through his stomach. Lythus glanced at the glowing blade, buried in his gut. The links of his chainmail glowed red, burning into flesh. The molten metal hissed and skirted, falling away from the sword that may as well have been forged from the sun itself.

  Kane pushed his shoulder into the defeated doppelganger, ripping the sword upward. It split him with ease, tearing the rings apart like a hot knife into butter.

  Lythus stood stunned, helpless to the damage befalling him. Weak, his sword slipped from grip. It fell to the shadows disappearing from sight as all the others had.

  “I told you, you underestimated me!” Staring deep into the dying figure's eyes, Kane ripped the blade free, watching the imposter fall to his knees. Thick, onyx blood poured from the gaping wound. Kane felt a slight pleasure at the sight. He had more reason than most to hate the man, yet he felt pity more than anything. Though something inside him told him there was more to it than what the dying man had claimed. Those secrets would have to remain lost. He owed vengeance to the people of Dalmoura, and gods knew how many others long before his arrival. Steeling himself, Kane spun, swinging the blade as hard as he could. It sank deep into his neck, passing through flesh and bone, exploding out the other side in a sickening pop. The force of the blow sent the body toppling over. The head bounced several times, coming to rest a few feet away. Set in his victory Kane watched the final fall of his enemy's chest, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. The sword shrank, disappearing into a foggy gray. He looked around watching the fog dilute the darkness. As if carried away on a light breeze the body faded from sight.

  A powerful voice echoed around him, leaving a strange comfort in the mist. “Well done, my son!”

  Kane turned to see a large wolf on the edge of the evading shadow. The wolf approached, growing larger by the step. It was nearly dire in size and still growing. Stopping a few feet away, it shifted. The gray hair retreated revealing peach colored skin. Taking weight on its rear legs a man stood and approached the final few steps.

  He stood several inches taller and had long, brown hair pulled into a tail. A dark-brown reinforced leather jerkin covered his chest, and matching bracers covered his long-sleeved tunic. He was unarmed, despite the empty sheath resting loosely at his hip.

  There was a familiarity to the older man, but it was one he couldn't place. Kane studied the bright blue glow radiating from him, noting the similar traits he shared with Ravion. In fact this man looked like an older, stockier version of his friend. “Who are you?”

  The man gave a light smile, both comforting and reassuring him. “My name is Marquel Santail. I’m your father.” He gave a shallow bow reminding him of the way Ravion had at their introduction, and hundreds of times since.

  He knew it to be true. There were too many similarities between them, though doubts flew through his mind. Hoping his question wouldn't warrant offense, Kane looked deep into the man, searching for answers beneath the surface. “Forgive me, but how am I expected to believe this? I've been in this place a while. I'm familiar with the tricks the shadow plays. This wouldn't be beyond the realm of possibilities.”

  “No forgiveness needed. You've witnessed much and for that, I'm sorry. I'm also afraid that any proof I can offer would come from a form you've no reason to trust. It seems we're at an impasse, one which requires a choice from you.”

  “I— I don’t understand?”
r />   “I desire my son's return. Many years ago a dragon corrupted him. When the beast entered his body his mind was tainted. It wiped all memory from him, leaving a blank slate of who he formerly was. Fortunately he was found by a noble gentleman who instilled in him morals and virtue. Were it not for this man I fear to think of who he may have become. You have been successful in defeating the beast's corruption. But I assure you, it is not dead. When he told you, you were one in the same, he wasn't lying. It was the corruption that created the emptiness, later filled by an old man's virtues. That became the man you are today.” Marquel paused, placing his hand on Kane's shoulder. His eyes trailed from the man before him and onto the fog covered floor. “It pains me to say this, but the corruption cannot be shed until the memories have returned. Until you relinquish my son's body, Lythus's corruption will live on.” Bringing his piercing brown eyes to meet the younger man, he continued. “You must both fall before you can truly rise.”

  Kane sighed heavily. He was beginning to understand what the man was saying. “What happens once the corruption is gone?”

  “For you, I'm afraid I don't know the specifics. But my son will reemerge. For Lythus, he's in a weakened state currently, both here and in the physical realm. If nothing changes, he'll regain his strength and continue his path. If you cast him out, he may rise again one day in the physical realm. But that's a problem for another time. He's currently of no threat to the lands you call home.”

  “I don't know much about dragons, having only met a few. But why would such a beast go through the trouble of possessing your son. Moreover, what would he hope to gain from it?”

  “Sadly I'm unable to answer these questions, as I don't fully know. I can tell you that as one of the eldar races, there is more potential in you than you realize. Of the five eldar races, we are each gifted in our own way. Dragons have the gift of foresight. For all I know he saw something in your life that drove his actions. Whether he achieved his goals or not is uncertain. Even the clairvoyant have their limits.” Marquel paused a moment, giving a gentle smile to the confused, yet resilient man. “So, may I please have my son back?”

  A heavy sigh escaped him. Kane nodded, summoning the focus he'd found earlier. As before, he felt the power form in his hand. It wasn't nearly as strong as it had been. Opening his eyes he glanced at the summoned dagger, forged of a rolling smoke. Finding reassurance in the man's eyes, he spoke. “I suppose it had to happen sooner or later. If you’re telling the truth, everything will be alright. If not, at least I won’t be stuck in this place any longer.” Flipping the small blade toward him he plunged it into his chest, feeling a sharp pain erupt like a thousand needle pricks against his bare flesh. A loud pop echoed in his mind sending doubt throughout his body. Dropping to his knees he felt cold. His body weakened, shaking uncontrollably.

  Marquel caught him, kneeling beside the dying form. Holding him as best he could he stared into his eyes, hoping to bring comfort among the flood of pain and fear.

  Kane stared into those deep, brown eyes finding concern for his well-being. That was enough to convince him it wasn't a trick. The reassured smile faded of doubt. It didn’t hurt as much as he’d expected. Instead it was more of an uncomfortable numb. It started in his fingers and toes, slowly working its way toward his center. He couldn't feel his body. He was little more than a floating, fading head in a sea of fog. His vision was rapidly failing, leaving black blotches here and there. Each thundering heartbeat left another patch. He watched the man disappear and then himself. Once again, he was surrounded in darkness. This time it seemed different. He couldn't see anything. Not even his own body. He was but a thought lingering in an endless ocean.

  A blinding light roused him. Memories flooded his mind. Opening his eyes, his childhood in the grove outside Winterhaven fell into place. He recalled Meaius sweeping him up, giving him a dagger. One by one his memories took their place, mixed with those of his lost years. There was so much time he'd missed. How was it possible he could have forgotten so much? The final pieces settled into place, his father's face came to him, and then his mother’s. Ravion watched over him, annoyed by his antics. He smiled, recalling he'd only acted out because he'd wanted to be just like him. Finally, his sister came into view. She was beautiful in her own right. If only he'd been able to find her. Wiping the sorrow of his failure away, he took comfort in her memory. Perhaps one day he could make it right. “I'm sorry for doubting you, Father.”

  Marquel extended his hand, pulling the young dalari to his feet. “I'm just glad you're yourself again. I wish it could have happened much sooner.”

  Demetrix took his father’s hand, gathering his bearings. He glanced at his naked form, unsure how he'd ended up that way. “In this pace my will is law?”

  Marquel chuckled. “To a degree. There are limitations in the void. But for the most part, yes.”

  Nodding his understanding Demetrix closed his eyes, extending his arms. The warmth of clothing grasped him, wrapping layers of cloth and leather around his frame. Inspecting the green and brown armor covering him from shoulder to knee, he smiled his approval. A quiver hung from his side and two slender swords rested in separate compartments beside his arrows. An elegant bow ran down his back, waiting to be strung. The curved wood was wrapped in dark brown leather with green runes running the length of the arms. The waxed string had an emerald glaze to it.

  “I’m happy you were able to find yourself, my son. I wish I could spend more time with you, but I fear I must return to the void. There is much I would have of you, but your life is your own. Ravion has made strides to return our people to their former glory. He's on the right path but he’ll need your help.”

  Marquel started to fade. Hurrying his pace he added what little he could. “The alfar are spread thin and many have forgotten the old ways. They'll offer no resistance to the return. The Santail bloodline is but a fraction of our people. We take the aspect of the wolf. With your coming of age you are to carry the wolf as your brother does. Each of us carries the aspect of another animal. Your brother is the raven. Your sister, the phoenix. You, my son, are the hawk— ever watchful and wise. You'll need these tools in the coming years. Use them wisely and do not forget your people. I also wish you to know, your sister bore two children, twin girls. They'll fi—”

  Demetrix watched his father fade into nothing leaving him alone once again. Taking a deep breath he felt a warmth he'd long since forgotten. The fog slowly drifted away revealing the council room floor.

  Chapter XII

  Mirror Mirror

  The fractured aura surrounding the restrained man pulled itself together burning bright. Demetrix struggled to move against the leather binds securing him. The toppled chair rested on its back, forcing him stare at those surrounding him.

  “Looks like he’s waking up.” Gareth glared at the bound man hoping their plan had worked. His grip tight around his sword he prepared for the worst.

  Ravion watched intently, amazed by the healing glow. Its intensity burned brighter than any he'd seen before. Kneeling, he placed a hand on the man's chest. “Are you yourself?”

  Demetrix felt a reassuring calm from the touch. Locking eyes, he stared into his brother’s face. “More so than I’ve been in a long time. Though I'd imagine you need proof before you'll release me.”

  Ravion smiled. “That would be preferred.”

  “You go by the name Ravion. Though in our tongue your name is Ra'dulen. Which translates to raven-wolf. If this isn't enough to verify a greater sense of personal knowledge, my birth name is Demetrix Santail, son of Marquel. I was born early-spring in the village of Winterhaven upwards of two-hundred and twenty-eight years ago.”

  Ravion froze, unable to process what he was hearing. Questions raced through his mind. Leaning in close so the others couldn't hear him, he spoke just over a whisper. “Only one from that point in my life could know any of that. Believe me when I say, if you’re lying to me, you and I are going to have issues!” Ravion pulled the ta
il of the central strap, unhooking it from the buckle.

  Krenin lifted the chair setting it upright, while Gareth went to work unbuckling the other straps. He tossed them roughly on the council room table.

  Within moments Demetrix was free of his binds. He pulled himself up, standing on his own two feet for the first time in what felt like years. “Ravion, my brother, fear not. I speak truth. The age of dalari draws near. But first, I need a tailor. I feel dirty just wearing this tainted garb.” He ran his hands over the chainmail the possessing dragon had dressed him in.

  An overwhelming pride swelled within Ravion. Lost in his emotion he grabbed his younger brother, hugging him tightly. “I'm glad to have you back! I feared I'd never see you again.” Releasing his hold he stared hard, feeling the bond he hadn't experienced since childhood. “Your clothes can wait, we’ve much to discuss.” Returning to his seat, Ravion grabbed the satchel. He opened the flap and removed the black book from within. Gently placing it upon the table in front of him, he sat quiet, awaiting the others to take their seats. “We've already discussed the nature of this book in private. From what little I've been able to learn it serves as a sort of guide to the creation of this realm. I haven't found all its secrets, nor should I. That much knowledge is too great for any one man to possess. Gareth, would you mind repeating where you came across this book?”

  Recalling the day it came to his possession, the bald warrior squinted his single eye at the shimmering binding. “I tripped over the bag when I was fighting the dreu that took my eye. I've explained how I got it many times, but none of it makes sense. It's almost as if the bag grabbed hold of me and held on for the ride.”

  Ravion opened the book to expose the blank pages within. Flipping from one to another, he showed the empty contents to those in the room. “You alluded that you were able to view the writing on the pages. Would you mind explaining how you managed that?”