Izaryle's Key Read online

  Ra'dulen leapt toward the massive figure, bringing his curved longsword down in a single, powerful strike. Anticipating the nightking's reaction, he let the momentum carry him. Tumbling over his right shoulder, he sprung back up, delivering a second attack.

  Tycondus flicked his wrist at the last moment, easily deflecting the strike. Spinning around, he crossed the twin daggers, locking the longer blade between them. Rolling his wrists, he forced the sword low, exposing his attacker’s chest. With blinding speed, he unhooked the sword, letting it hesitate against the change in pressure for the briefest moment. Refusing to delay, he sliced with both blades, watching them tear into the molded armor. The hooks ripped several large gashes in the thick, blackened leather, but it wasn’t deep enough to reach flesh. The nightking hissed. He hadn’t expected the armor to be enchanted against such attacks.

  Ra'dulen felt the pressure against his breastplate. He knew another direct hit would result in its complete failure. He had to get his opponent at a distance. The shorter weapons would hinder the use of his sword and he was no match for the demonic elf's speed. Tumbling past the mutated creature, he rolled his wrist, twisting the curve of his blade upward. Seeing the opening, he raked it across the older nightking’s leg. Finding his footing, he spun around and positioned his sword in front of him, gaping the distance.

  The keen blade cut deep into his leg. He felt the streaming blood trickle from the wound. It didn’t hit any arteries, but it would slow him drastically. Anger threatened to overcome him. But such emotion would provide no favors. Forcing it aside, he stepped toward the man, daggers unthreatening, at his sides. The younger nightking was over-stretched, making any sort of thrust impossible. Tycondus casually walked toward him, feeling the curved tip of the sword press against his chest. The metallic scales of his shirt bunched beneath the pressure, rendering the blade unable to penetrate. Continuing forward, he rolled his wrist, hooking his dagger over the spine of the blade and pulled it to the side. Stepping into the man’s threat range, Tycondus lashed out, aiming for the weakened breastplate.

  Ra'dulen watched his sword go wide, unable to separate it from the hooked dagger. The elf was upon him before he could recover. Anticipating the attack, he blindly drew his own dagger, throwing it up to block the incoming blade. To his relief, he heard the metals ring out. Refusing to waste the opportunity, he rolled the small blade, dislodging both from their owner's hands. The weapons hit the ground, breaking away from one another and sliding across the polished floor. Ra'dulen broke free of his enemy's hold. Wasting no time, he dropped and spun on his knee, extending his sword. It sliced into the nightking's other leg.

  Unable to withstand the force of the blow, the demonic elf’s leg buckled, and he toppled to the ground. I’ve had enough of these games. Catching himself, he slammed his fist into the ashlar, unleashing his god-like powers. The force carried into the stone and mortar, sending a wave of energy throughout the room.

  Ra'dulen felt the power erupt, rippling out toward him. Straining against his perception, he spotted the energies inside the stones, moving too fast to be blocked. The weaves spider-webbed out from the source, diluting the further they traveled. They were like bolts of lightning shooting through the sky. It smells of arcane! Springing from his knees, he leapt into the air, flipping his sword around. Applying as much force as he could, he stabbed deep into the base stones, burying the blade several inches. The web crackled outward, jumping to the embedded weapon. The young nightking watched the energies hit the edge of his enchanted sword and shoot wide. As if his weapon sliced through the blast it split in both directions, missing him entirely. He ripped his sword free, displaying an unnatural amount of strength. Tumbling toward the immobile nightking, Ra'dulen closed the distance and brought his sword down to finish his opponent. The unwelcomed ring of steel against steel sent disappointment through him. His eyes focused, finding the parried blow. The larger elf strained the single hooked dagger overhead. It was locked against the edge of his heavier blade, forcing the sharpened metal into the mutated elf's hand. To his surprise, the exposed flesh wasn't bleeding. It was clearly wounded, but no blood pooled around the ever-growing gash.

  The elven nightking's arms trembled beneath the force, weakened moment by moment. He felt the burning in his hand, but there wasn't much he could do about it. The weaker he became, the closer deadly edge moved toward his skull. He had to do something and fast. Setting his feet, he forced the damage from his mind, choosing to ignore the pain. Lunging forward, Tycondus slammed into the younger man's chest. The bite of steel called out from the back of his legs. He hadn't been fast enough to avoid the blade’s fall, but it was better than death. His sturdy horns pressed into the younger nightking, carrying him toward the far wall.

  The curved sword slipped from his grip, leaving him empty handed. Ra'dulen, helpless to the force carrying him across the room, brought his fist down against the muscular elf’s back. It was no use. He couldn't get any leverage. And that made his enhanced strength next to useless. Crashing into the wall, air escaped his lungs, forcing panic to set in. Instinctively, he held his breath, calming his mind in preparation for his body to reclaim lost breath in short spurts. A second blow from the thick horns slammed into him. Had his breath not already been lost, it surely would be now. Sucking in through his nose, he recovered from the initial impact, regaining his composure. He hadn't noticed the lack of pressure against him. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a wicked green blade rocketing toward him.

  The nightking thrashed his head back and forth, slamming his horns into the man. If he could disorient him, he could land a solid blow while he was defenseless. Seeing his dagger lying at the man's feet, he snatched it up, ready to land the final blow. He stabbed in, aimed for the man's ribs. Moments before impact, crushing pain shot through his wrist. He glanced down, seeing the man's reddened knuckles locked around him. He was much stronger than he looked.

  Ra'dulen squeezed, hearing bones crack beneath his grip. Twisting, he rolled the elf’s wrist, watching Tycondus’ fingers loosen.

  Unable to keep hold, the nightking felt the blade slip from hand. His free hand launched for it but it was too late. The man already had it in his grasp.

  Lost in the comfort of the grip, Ra'dulen stared at the ebbing green blade. It fit his palm perfectly, cupping his fingers in the semi-soft leather wrap. If there was such a thing as perfection, this blade qualified. Rolling the perfectly balanced weapon, he struck. It passed through flesh and bone as if it were cutting air. Had he not seen the hand hit the ground, he would have believed the attack a miss. Freeing himself from the wall, Ra'dulen laid a shallow slice along the elf’s collar bone. The wound cauterized instantly, refusing to shed a single drop of blood. Several thin, jagged lines spread from the wound, wrapping their way around the elf's neck and shoulder, disappearing beneath his clothing.

  The pain was unbearable. It wasn’t the ordinary pain he’d grown accustomed to over the years. That was child’s play. This was much worse. It felt like his flesh was being burnt from the inside. Like his insides were boiling everywhere the magic spread. He couldn’t think of anything except the pain, unable to give it voice. A sickening pop echoed from his legs and he collapsed to the floor, helpless to the man towering over him. Tycondus could feel the magic coursing through his veins, spreading beneath his flesh, working ever closer toward his heart. He knew he didn’t have much time. Once it reached his bloodstream, he was done.

  Ra'dulen casually encircled the dying nightking, laying another shallow gash across the elf’s back. The scales and rings split apart as if they were cloth, revealing pale-white flesh beneath. The throbbing veins of blackened liquid spread before his eyes. Ra'dulen laid another slice along his shoulder blades, watching a greenish-black ooze seep from the fresh wound. It quickly scurried back inside, escaping the air and sealing itself inside, as if it were alive.

  Leaning over the nightking's shoulder, Ra’dulen whispered into the long, pointed ear. “Three down, fou
r to go.” A smile formed across his lips, celebrating victory over the defeated demon-elf.

  Quivering against the pain, Tycondus glared up at the arrogant man. How dare he mock me? I am a nightking. Even in defeat, I'm due respect. Forcing every ounce of will into his final words, he spat his defiance at the man. “Izaryle has graced me. Another will take my place!”

  Ra'dulen encompassed the fallen nightking, taking position in front of him. Staring into his fading eyes, he took pleasure in his success. “And I’ll kick his ass too!” Springing forward, Ra’dulen laid a deep gash across the nightking's throat, holding his head upright by the thick, curved horns. He closed his eyes and inhaled softly, sucking through his perched lips. A wispy gray substance rolled from the sealed wound in the nightking's neck. It floated upward, drifting toward the young nightking. Sucking inward, Ra'dulen took the essence into himself, feeling the power wash over him. Dropping the dead nightking, he watched him collapse to the floor.

  Shivering from the surge of energy, he shook the tingles down, letting the chill in his spine settle. Stepping over the body, he grabbed his sword off the floor and returned it to its sheath. Looking around, he located the dagger's twin and his own. They rested across the reflected face in the floor, scattered where they'd fallen. Quickly securing them, he took a final look around the throne room. There was nothing left to do here. Glancing up at the single window overlooking him, he waved his hand. The window shattered, destroying the depiction of Izaryle. Colored bits of jagged glass rained down over the room, brightened by the rare beams of sunlight through the parted clouds.

  Ra'dulen turned, finding annoyance in the growing rays. Passing the carved doors, he gestured, letting them seal behind him.

  Smoke lingered in the air of the broken battlements. The battered citadel doors creaked open, revealing a lone figure at their center.

  Looking out over the field of victory, Ra'dulen stepped through the damaged doors and onto the rubble littered landing. Descending the hundreds of steps toward the slate embedded road at their base, Ra’dulen watched the massive armies celebrate their victory.

  Humans, elves, dwarves, and a select few orcs scurried about, obeying their individual commands. Piles of headless bodies lay strewn about, ever growing from the fallen combatants. The dark warrior glanced toward the headsman, hoisting the guillotine blade into position for the next execution. He thought it an archaic practice, but he couldn’t fault them. The god of death didn’t exist in this place. That meant there was no one to claim the souls. Beheading seemed to be the only way to ensure they didn’t rise again. And even that it wasn't a guarantee. The corpses of this land were extremely resilient.

  Ra’dulen quickly made his way down the dark-gray steps and onto the trampled road leading from the citadel. The embedded slates were cracked and broken in many places, leaving the surface uneven and rough. Stepping onto the softer, but equally disturbed dirt, he watched a young human rush toward him, duty fresh on his brow.

  “Lord Ra’dulen, we’ve received word of a counter attack amassing at Faeorun. The scouts barely made it back in one piece.”

  Ra’dulen continued walking, ignoring the young man.

  Seeing the commander march past, he turned and followed, eager to continue his report, “Do you want to meet them head on or use one of your other tactics?”

  Ra'dulen stopped and turned to address the man. “Send the Sleepers. Have them circle behind two miles out. They can group up and flank from the inside.” He handed the pair of jagged daggers to the young human and walked off, leaving him to his commands.

  The young man stared a moment, watching him move away. Memorizing the orders, he turned and rushed off to add the blades to the other artifacts they'd claimed in the assault.

  Ra’dulen paced through the battle-torn lands toward a large tent constructed near the center of their forces. He pulled the flap to the side and entered, spotting a fair elven woman inside. She was dressed for battle, wearing dirt covered leather. Though the only weapon she carried was a single dagger at her hip. Her other weapons rested on a stand beside the entry flap.

  “Lady Elalon. What can I do for you today?” He gave a graceful bow, showing respect for the elven commander.

  “I see you’ve managed yet another impossible feat.” Her voice carried like a song in the breeze, recalling simpler times to his memory.

  “At this rate, the nightkings will be gone by spring. Maybe then your people can experience life without constant fear.”

  “Many already do, thanks to you.” She gave a gentle bow, unmatched in elegance, “Had you not overthrown Idenfal and sent me word, I fear we would still be huddled in the forest city, awaiting a time to attack.”

  “Nobody should have to live in fear. I’m happy to help where I can.”

  She froze, lost in his sight.

  Taking notice, Ra'dulen stared blankly at her. “What’s wrong? Do I have blood on my face?”

  “No. You’ve been consuming their essence again, haven’t you?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Your eyes are glowing.”

  Grabbing a platter of fruit from the table, Ra’dulen poured the odd shaped stack into a bowl and angled the polished silver to show his reflection. To his surprise, his eyes had a dull gray hue radiating from them. “That hasn’t happened before.”

  “You need to be careful. I doubt the nightkings were born evil. They were corrupted by the energies you’re consuming.”

  “I’ll be okay. My people are forged of magic. It’s my responsibility to manage it.”

  “I don’t doubt your strength. I just don’t want to see you lose yourself and, by extension, our friendship.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle. If there ever comes a time when I doubt my ability to control it, I’ll stop.”

  “Okay. Just remember who you are and what you’re doing. You mean too much to the resistance. You mean too much to me, to lose you over something foolish.”

  “Hey!” Ra'dulen snapped. “Before I came into the picture, your people were still hiding in caves. Don’t forget that!”

  “My apologies. I don’t mean to upset you. I just want you to be careful. Demetrix would tell you the same thing.”

  He took a step back, regaining his composure. “You're right. And no, I’m the one who should apologize. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. I’d just like to rest a—”

  A cramping pain shot through his stomach, knocking him to the earth. Clenching his midsection, he stared up at her from the ground, uncertain how he ended up on the floor.

  “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Worry showed on her face.

  Ra’dulen pulled against the table, getting to his knees. “I don’t know. It’s a pain deep in my gut, like someone’s summoning me and I can’t answer. I felt it a few weeks ago, but it wasn't like this. This feels like I have no choice but to respond.”

  The pain shot through him once again. Keeping himself upright, he turned toward the tent flap. Unable to stop them, the energies wrapped around, swallowing him whole. He stepped through the flap, seeing an entirely different place than he had moments before. He was standing in a dilapidated temple, staring into the ancient mirror. Looking around the room, he checked the thousands of runes he’d scribed in the event of his failure. If he was unable to stop the nightkings, he wanted to ensure they would never be able to step foot into the mirror room.

  The pain was nearly gone so close to the mirror, yet it still called to him. He felt an unfamiliar presence radiating from the reflective surface. It felt like a spell of some sort. But none he’d ever seen, or felt. But in these lands, that was no surprise. Only the strongest were even capable of using magic, in large part to the oppressive grip of the nightkings. Casters were hunted and executed. Those in power couldn’t risk them rising up.

  Focusing on the radiating energies, he found the threads, woven together in a way he’d never seen. Yet he knew wh
at the spell was doing. For the first time since he’d taken the mantle of nightking, he was free of this prison. Taking a deep breath, Ra’dulen stepped through.

  Chapter II

  Desperate Measures

  The stench of dirt and stagnant air lingered in the enclosed space. The black stone walls jogged his memory of the chamber, telling him exactly where he was. An unfamiliar presence drew his attention toward the ancient doorway.

  “Thank you for joining me. I apologize for the manner in which I gathered your attention. I thought it best I remain in this realm.”

  Ra’dulen glared his annoyance at the dark dressed figure, seemingly comfortable in the constricting room. Blackened plate mail covered him from ankle to neck, padded and reinforced at the joints. An engraved hourglass displayed bright against his left shoulder, seemingly alive as if the finite specks of sand traveled from one side to the other and back again.

  The young nightking locked his gaze on the broadsword sheathed at the man's left hip, narrowly hidden beneath the partially wrapped cloak. There was no obvious threat. Trailing back to his face, he noted the man’s wavy, brown locks and lengthened facial hair. He appeared to be little more than the average warrior, save for one exception. A shimmering aura pulsated around the man. A white beacon in the dark underground, though it didn't put off light. Ra’dulen vaguely remembered his father saying something about a white aura once. But that was so long ago, he couldn't recall the exact words. Fortunately, the library beneath Eisrin was managed by one such as him.