Izaryle's Prison Page 18

  Rezerik stared at the intimidated man, taking in the stench of his cowardice. It was a smell unlike any other, but it told him more than enough about the young sharliet. “Good. Send the entire fourth brigade as reinforcement. I need them distracted while I take what I came for.”

  “As you wish, My Lord.” He threw his hood overhead and turned to disappear back into the darkness.

  Demetrix stepped back, readying the dagger to strike fast and hard if needed. The door clicked then opened wide revealing Gailon.

  “We can’t hold them off any longer. If you’re going to leave here, you have to go now.” The human commander stepped aside and opened the door across the hall. “All of your belongings are in here. Get what you need. I’ll lead you to your friend.”

  They rushed into the room and locating their effects. Quickly securing them they followed after Gailon, hearing the sounds of battle closer than ever. The corridors wrapped around, forming a maze in the large keep. They passed through a narrow stairwell lined with stone and mortar. The bottom was sealed by a reinforced wooden door.

  Several brass keys jingled from a large ring in Gailon’s hand. He fumbled through them, selecting the correct one. He pressed it into the lock and turned. The door clicked and sprang open.

  The dank smell of mildew and stagnant air assaulted them. Stepping into the damp dungeon floor, the chill of the underground soaked to their bones reminding them of long forgotten pains.

  “Your friend is this way.” Gailon gestured toward the iron cells lining the stone wall.

  Following their guide they rounded the corner and spotted Krenin shackled in the center of one of the small cells. He hung limp, his arms stretched overhead by two thick chains securing him to the upper runs of the cage. He was stripped of everything save his breeches. They were held in place only by his muscular hips. He bore several lashes across his back and shoulders, each one coated in layers of dried blood. His bare feet were outstretched, the tips of his toes narrowly touching the cold, stone floor, due only to his collapsed state.

  Gareth rushed toward the cell, pulling at the door. Turning toward Gailon he found his anger, begging to be unleashed. “Open it!”

  The human fumbled with the keys. Unlocking the cell, he stepped aside, pulling the door with him. Krenin peeked through his heavy, swollen eyelids, spotting his brothers. He tried to pull himself upright, but the chains sapped him of strength. He couldn’t lift his head, let alone his entire body.

  Ravion stepped into the cell and grabbed the shackles holding his wrist. “Do you have a key for these?”

  Gailon reached into his pouch and pulled a small round tube with several barbs protruding from the end. “Here you are.” Tossing the key to Ravion, he turned and made for a large chest on the far wall.

  Gareth and Demetrix pulled the exhausted half-orc up, taking the weight off his chains. Ravion twisted the strange key, releasing the shackles. Helping him to the bench, they placed him against the wall to regain some of his strength.

  Gailon returned holding a leather bag over his shoulder. “Here are his things. I apologize for the inconvenience and condition in which he’s being returned to you. While I don't condone the actions of my men in this regard, you have to understand the fear my people have of orcs is not misplaced. I couldn’t risk having him loose inside the keep.”

  Gareth jumped up, stopping inches from the man's face. “I don’t give a damn about the fear of you or your people. You’ve mistreated my friend and I’ll not stand for it.”

  “I understand your discord and I'm truly sorry for the afflictions he’s suffered under my command. I did not give the order to have him beaten. I simply wished him restrained and questioned. Some of my men get a little carried away at times.” Gailon held out the bag, refusing to back down from the enraged bald man.

  Ravion stood, accepting the bundle. “Come on, Gareth. There’s no sense in making another enemy when the odds are already stacked so heavily against us.”

  Gareth held a moment longer, staring his rage deep into the unyielding commander. Knowing his true implications were received he turned, directing his attention to his weakened friend.

  “I cannot undo what’s been done. But I'm man enough to admit when someone has been wronged. I offer payment for the blood that’s been shed.” Gailon drew his serrated sword, bringing it to rest in front of him. “It's a poor comparison. But I hope this will help to forgive the wrongs that were done here. I claimed this blade from the first orc commander I ever defeated. I’ve carried it into every battle since. It’s served me well and I now wish it to serve you.” He spun the serrated blade around letting the pick slide into its pocket of the sheath. Pulling the leather and wood scabbard from his belt he handed the sword to Ravion. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to return to my men for our final stand. You’ll find a wooden door under the bed of the last cell. It’ll take you into the forest north of here. I wish I could give you more assistance in your quest, but it seems this is where our paths must end. Good luck on your task. May Elalon's grace guide your way.”

  Chapter XIV

  A Way Home

  The scent of charred wood was thick in the morning air. Billowing clouds of smoke filtered through the leafless trees in the distance, making the perpetually dark sky seem even darker. The earth shook for miles from the sheer mass of troops clamoring over the decimated site. The dreuslayers stood atop a hill at the forest's edge watching the swarming army overrun the shattered keep. They looked like tiny, black ants in the distance.

  Ravion stared at the blazing beacon, listening to the echo of war cries in the distance. A pang of guilt overcame him. He regretted leaving them to their fate. But what assistance could he offer against an army he knew nothing about? If he'd stayed it was likely he'd be among the dead. There was no fear of death, quite the contrary, but he also wasn't foolish. Rushing headlong into eons of conflict wouldn't be the answer to any of his questions. Glancing around he found the faces of his brothers. Something told him they were thinking the same as he. “Gailon told me the orcs would overrun the southern lands if the keep fell. I wonder if any of them made it out?”

  Gareth slapped his hand on Ravion’s shoulder. “There’s nothing you could have done. This isn’t our home. We don’t know the beasties of this land. I’m sure we'll have many chances to learn ‘em. But for now we need to get out of here. We're already in over our heads. No sense in waiting for the tide.” Gareth released his friend and bent to help Krenin find his feet. Throwing the meaty, green arm around his neck, he lifted.

  The group walked for what felt like hours, though there was no true way to tell how long it had been. The clouds wouldn't part long enough to give them the slightest idea of where the sun was. It wouldn't have done them any good anyway. This land was unlike any they'd seen. Direction was difficult at best. None of the usual identifiers seemed to exist here. Moss grew on all sides of the trees, not just one. They hadn't stumbled upon any pool of water to try the leaf trick. And without the sky, the stars patterns were hidden. That was provided they could identify them here, where ever here was.

  Reaching a thinning between two patches of trees and a vast plain on the other side, they gently laid Krenin down to rest.

  Ravion leaned against one of the gray-barked trees, looking out into the waist-high grain. It grew in thick bundles of thorns that seemed to stretch across in all directions. One thing was certain. It was going to be difficult to cross, much less travel in a straight line. A dreadful feeling crept into him. His hand on the wicked dagger he snapped around, searching the clearing behind them.

  “That’s the third time you’ve done that since we left the woodlands. What are you looking for?” Gareth pulled himself up and looked the same direction, not finding anything.

  “I’ve got this lingering feeling we’re being followed. I can’t explain it.” Running his fingers through his lengthening, red hair, Ravion let the notion pass and turned toward their destination. “We should keep moving.”


  “Aye.” Gareth searched the area once more, ensuring there was nothing there. Shaking his head, he pulled Krenin to his feet, securing the weakened orc.

  Demetrix moved into position on the other side, easing the weight on the bald warrior. There was no telling how much longer they needed to walk and it seemed foolish to let him exhaust himself when they could be ambushed at any moment.

  Ravion sliced through the thick bristles, clearing a path through the field. He hated using his ancestry weapon for such mundane tasks, but it was better than shredding their clothes on the needle-like protrusions. Listening to the dry stalks snap under his boots, he pressed on.

  Darkness came and went several times, cycling the seemingly short days in the barren field. Food was scarce, but they'd managed to find a few rabbits to sate them on their journey. Their waterskins were nearly empty, having been rationed two days earlier to conserve it until they found a stream. It was turning into an onerous task. One which seemed would never be filled. Nearing exhaustion they climbed a large hill overlooking a spanning flatland.

  The cool breeze carried the sound of civilization. They stared down at a large, walled city. A steady line of wagons and horsemen waited at the closest gate. A handful of orcs stood in front of the portcullis, blocking entry. Two of the brutes dug through the wagons and saddlebags looking for anything of value. Leaving half the contents lying scattered on the ground one of them waved the wagon through, granting entry into the city.

  Krenin leaned against the walking stick they'd found for him. He was bruised and sore, but his strength was returning. Feeling his stomach rumble from hunger he eyed the gate, awaiting his friend's opinions. They always had some idea when it came to this kind of thing.

  “This may prove difficult.” Ravion took in the sight, memorizing the layout as best he could from the higher ground. “Any ideas how we're going to get into town without drawing too much attention? I doubt they’d let us pass with Krenin in tow. Granted he’s not like them, they may see him as a sign of weakness and kill him on sight. Or worse, force him to join their army.”

  Gareth squinted, trying to make out the details. He hadn’t mastered perception with his single eye yet. “Aside from the orcs, do you see anyone wearing armor or carrying a sword?”

  Ravion shielded his eyes from the dull glow of the clouds, hoping it would somehow grant him a clearer image. “No. Just the orcs.”

  “Exactly. If this was Marbayne and we were at war would you allow armed and unknown men through the gate? Let me be more direct. Would you let a band of dreu through the gate anytime if they were armed?”

  “I see your point.” Ravion silently considered his options.

  Demetrix surveyed the line. “Why don't we just sneak in? It wouldn't take much. Just cause a distraction and walk through. I'm willing to bet the horses are half-spooked as is.”

  “I doubt we’d get close enough without being noticed.” Ravion glanced at Krenin. “He kind of stands out. We'd need to disguise him. Maybe if they don’t see his skin we can pass him off as a large human.”

  The half-orc rose against his staff. “Krenin only half-human. They not fall for that. Tusks too big.”

  Ravion dropped to a knee, opening his pack. He pulled a tattered, brown cloak and tossed it to the half-orc. “If we're quick, that should keep the attention off you until we can get close enough to cause the distraction. Do you think you can move quickly when we tell you?”

  “Me think so. Legs are still heavy, but should be able to walk. Fast if need to be.”

  Gareth pulled the jagged sword from his back. “Here, put this under your cloak. If this doesn’t go as planned we’re gonna to have to fight our way out. We can’t go in there with one man unarmed.”

  Stuffing his swords deeper into the quiver Demetrix slid a leather flap over the top, hiding them from sight. Pulling the pin in the middle of his bow, he folded it in half and slid it into another compartment. Making sure it couldn't be seen, he pulled his cloak around him and locked the golden clasp on the front. “It’d probably be in our best interest to hide all weapons and armor. Like you said, there's no sense in drawing unwanted attention.”

  Gareth nodded, pulling his swords from their sheath. He found the hidden pocket stitched between the thick layers of his blue and green cloak. Carefully sliding them into place, he secured them so they wouldn't move. Patting himself, he made sure their outline couldn't be seen before glancing at Ravion. The young dalari scout stood fast, an amused expression clear on his face.

  “What? I don’t hide my weapons. If need arises I’ll figure something out. Are we ready?” Refusing to wait for their confirmation, he marched down the hill.

  They slowed their pace staying as close to Krenin as possible without drawing attention. If he lost his footing, or his cloak fell open, their whole plan would fall apart. Joining the rear of the line they studied the people around them. As far as they could tell they were all human. A few had cloaks over their heads, making their race a guess.

  The stench of manure and dried sweat radiated through the crowded street. These people were barren, lost in their mere existence, never really living. It seemed they had nothing more than the desire to survive. They made themselves slaves to more than the orcs. They were slaves to their cowardice. It was no wonder the orcs had claimed so much of their lands. All these people had to do was stand up and fight, but they never would. It was a hard path. They sacrificed everything and received nothing in return.

  Gareth and Krenin slowly made their way around the far side of the line keeping their eyes on the patrolling orcs. Ravion and Demetrix took the inside. Nobody said a word. It was as if they were too defeated to stand up for themselves.

  Demetrix glanced around, finding one man's eyes. He looked away the moment they made contact. Demetrix shook his head. If he were the type, he could take anything he wanted and there was nothing these people would do about it. It was pathetic. Sighing his exhaustion at the concept, he returned to his task.

  Keeping his eye on the others, Gareth nodded. Signaling his intent, he guided Krenin to within a few steps of the open gate where they waited.

  Demetrix watched the orcs carefully. They were abusive beyond need. They destroyed nearly everything they touched, taking pleasure in it. He watched one of them slap an old woman, knocking her to the ground. He kicked her in the stomach, laughing his dominance away. Another approached, taking position over her. Pulling his member from his armored pants he relieved himself atop her, aiming the golden liquid at her face. The dalari ranger stood in shock. How can these people accept this treatment? They have a choice. They just have to make it! Chaos erupted behind him. Spinning around, Demetrix noticed one of the wagon hands lying in the dirt. The basket he'd been carrying was busted and the apples that had filled it were scattered about. A sudden shove into his shoulder sent Demetrix to the side. Narrowly catching himself, he watched one of the orcs force his way through.

  The brute cracked a whip. The leather tip exploded across the boy's face, splitting flesh and exposing a sea of crimson fluid.

  The crowd snatched up the loose fruit as quick as they could, hiding it away from the orcs.

  Demetrix was lost in the sight of the boy. He couldn't have been much older than twelve. Pain shot through him, watching the orc bring his plated boot down atop the boy's head. He was dead. There was no denying that. Closing his eyes he turned, hoping to be out of this infernal place as soon as possible. He glanced to Ravion. Receiving the signal, Demetrix slipped the jagged rock from his sleeve and prepared himself.

  Ravion watched his brother move into position. Returning the gesture to Gareth, they were all ready. Ravion quickly sliced the leather harness securing one of the horses to its wagon and gave the final signal to his brother.

  Demetrix stole a quick glance around making sure no one was watching. Certain of his stealth he jabbed the tip of the sharp stone into the horse’s hind haunches, burying it in the muscle.

  The horse reared and kicked,
launching the near empty wagon into those behind it. The remaining straps caught, yanking against the unsettled mount. The wagon master tumbled to the ground, unprepared for the sudden jolt. In pain and feeling entrapped the horse bucked and kicked, toppling carts and scattering their loads. People scattered, trying to avoid the frenzied beast and spilling carts. While orcs swarmed in an attempt to contain the chaos.

  Gareth and Krenin rushed toward the gate letting the mass confusion hide their entry. Ravion ducked one of the flying carts, narrowly dodging a wood and steel wheel to his head. Looking around he spotted Gareth at the edge of the market. Quickly joining him, he searched the docile square, ensuring they were out of immediate danger. “It’s kind of gloomy isn’t is.”

  Demetrix stepped through the gate, closing his eyes. He heard the horse draw its last breath. The sound of steel piercing flesh was one he'd never forget. It was unfortunate they killed the beast and even more so that his actions had led to its death. Reaching his brothers, he glared his disdain to Ravion saying more in silence than he could in words. Ravion gave a half-hearted smile, acknowledging his understanding.

  Letting the weight off his shoulders Demetrix glanced around, searching the barren market. The few items on display were of little to no value. “How can they live this way? These people have spent their entire lives in fear. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were random hangings to keep the population at manageable numbers in the event of a revolution. What are we even doing here? We don't know where to go or what to do. Hell, even if we figure out what we're supposed to be doing how are we going to get home?”

  Gareth kept his cloak pulled tight, ready to draw his swords at a moment’s notice. “We'll figure it out. Right now, it’d suit us all to have a hot meal and a good night’s sleep. We can move in the morning.”