Izaryle's Prison Page 6

  Three of the books returned to the table while the others flew across the room, retaking their positions upon the shelfs.

  Uirial opened the first tome, scanning the scribed words within. The ink was smudged in places from where a heavy hand had lingered a bit too long. But overall the script was fluid and neat. Taking in the words, no telling how long they'd been recorded, he read on searching for the knowledge he sought. One passage in particular caught his interest.

  “—and the breaking of slaves will bring forth the agents of shadow. For they are known, not through their visage, but by their actions. And on that day, the strands of corruption will lash out and engulf any who stand opposed!”

  Uirial looked up from the book feeling an unnatural cold brush across him. Watching the steam roll from his breath, the magical lamps flickered, like a torch in heavy wind. His gaze shifted to the basins, hovering not far. Never, in all his time as arch-magus, had he seen them react is such a manner. “Something's not right!” He whispered to himself. “Books, away!” He commanded.

  The heavy tomes flew from the table, rejoining their brethren upon the shelves.

  “Laever suluco!”

  A swirling orb, nearly a foot in diameter, shimmered into existence floating over the table. Storm clouds rolled inside the white opal casing keeping it in constant motion.

  Uirial held his hands on either side of the oculus, careful not to touch it. There was no telling what would happen if one such as he connected with the eye. At the very least he feared eternal sight. That was a curse he didn't wish on the greatest of adversaries. “Show me the source of the corruption.”

  The clouds darkened, swirling inside their housing. They grew black as night blocking out all sight.

  Unable to see the details he rephrased his request. “Show me the dangers of which my brother spoke.”

  Thousands of images flashed into view, not lingering more than a brief moment on any single one. The arch-magus felt his eyes strain against the sights, unable to fully comprehend any of them. Incapable of taking anymore, Uirial closed his eyes letting the oculus return to its idle state. Unanswered questions filled his mind, dampening his senses. Forcing a single question to the surface, he looked upon the orb once more. “Show me who corrupted the base stones.”

  A figure appeared in the clouds, shrouded in darkness. The image began to clear, burning away the shadow with a beaming breastplate with a coiled dragon on the belly.

  Uirial already knew the answer, but he had to be certain. “Who is this man, this visage of the High Templar?”

  The clouds rolled, as if they were searching for the answer. The arch-magus wasn't surprised. He knew Kane. He was an honorable man who would never willingly serve the shadow. Such a response could only mean one thing. He wasn't himself. Looking deep into the cloud, he asked more directly. “Who controls the High Templar's body?”

  Quicker than he could finish the final word, the clouds rolled black, slithering inside the casing like a giant serpent. Uirial felt something brush his bright red robes. He glanced down seeing a thick tendril of black and purple shoot out, wrapping itself around his legs. He hit the floor, air escaping his lungs. Another tendril shot from the wall surrounding his midsection. The vise-like grips tightened around him. Time was running out and he didn't have anything available to protect himself. If he could reclaim his breath he could use his stronger magics. Simple parlor tricks wouldn't do much to help him against such darkness.

  The corruption drug him toward the wall, pulling him into the pitch-black stones. Nearly half devoured, Uirial’s skin began to harden. The tainted power was seeping into him. He was running out of time. Forcing what breath he could, he shouted what was possibly the last spell he’d ever chant. “Rewot eht morf sgnieb lla tropelet! Rewot eht morf sgnieb lla tropelet!” He had to be certain the spell took hold. The loss of a single life was too high a price. “Rewot eht morf sgni—” His words were cut short from another tendril wrapping itself around his face. All but his upper torso remained outside the wall.

  His skin took the texture of stone, graying and marbling, cracking where the tight lasso constricted. His time was up. If the tower was going to survive this it would have to do so on equal ground. The corruption had penetrated too deep in this land. There was no saving it if it remained. A tower of darkness would do nothing but corrupt the people it was sworn to protect. He couldn't allow that. Abandoning all fight, Uirial retreated inside himself, letting his battle become an internal one.

  The arch-magus body was yanked fully into the wall, only his face remaining on the surface. The darkening skin shifted, claiming the red of the tower's stone walls. His eyes opened one final time to look upon the room of archives. “Eno emoceb I, htaed ym yb!”

  Hundreds of confused magi picked themselves up, staring at the crumbling outer walls. The main structure ripped itself from the earth, taking the sub levels with it. Several blackened stones, trimmed in red, shifted their position reforming into multiple stilts. As if it were alive, the suspended tower turned toward the west and started walking, careful not the step on the helpless bystanders at its base. With unnatural speed it was gone, leaving only the churned dirt and broken walls where it had been.

  The fading sun made the brown fields seem to stretch forever. In truth it wasn't so much of an illusion. Krondar was largely open field with small patches of forest. The only real exception was the southeastern mountains separating them from the coast.

  Ravion could see the tall, snow cover peaks in the distance. He hadn't spent much time in the mountains, but he knew enough to navigate them. It was one of the many things he'd learned about the land in his search for the catacombs. Turning to look upon the army of mul'daron behind him, he approached their leader. “My Lady, Senaria.” He offered a slight bow, showing respect to her position.

  “You know you don't have to formally greet me each time we speak. I was forged in battle, I'd appreciate the same courtesy you'd give to any other soldier.”

  “Understood, My Lady.” Ravion started to bow once again, catching himself. “We're about a day's travel from the base of the mountains. Given your desire for discretion, I'd advise we march through the night and reach them by morning. I believe I know of an abandoned fortress that would serve your needs until we can find you better accommodations.”

  Senaria paused for a moment, considering his words. “I appreciate your concern, but my men are tired. They need to rest. And I for one have spent too much of my life living in darkness. I want to travel by day.” She turned, addressing the hundreds behind her. “We make camp. Break into groups of ten. Bury your fires and tend your needs. I expect each group to assign a watch. Get some rest. We move at first light.”

  The mul'daron broke into smaller groups and began setting up tarps, while others went to work digging fire pits.

  Ravion watched the small groups spread out to provide the most protection for the camp as a whole. Several of the soldiers marched off into the night, taking bows and spears with them. He was surprised at how well organized they were. Those were skills that took a great leader and years of training to master, yet these people acted as if they'd live this way their entire lives. He wasn't sure how much time he'd lost in the catacombs, but one thing was certain, it wasn't long enough for these people to develop their skills from nothing. They'd either worked together long before the breaking or there was more to their story that Senaria wasn't telling him. He guessed the latter, but it wouldn't be polite to openly ask. Not that she owed him answers in the first place. After all, he clearly wasn't going to tell his own secrets. At least not yet.

  Senaria pulled a large tarp from the bottom of her pack and unrolled it. Stretching it out across the dry grass she held her hands out, channeling the energies into the thick canvas. It expanded, growing in height and taking the form of a small house. She connected the corner posts and tied it off, ensuring it would remain against any strong winds.

  Ravion was a bit surprised by her trick. It was
no surprise she possesses magic, it was something all his kind were born with. But its use required training. That was something he had never had. Sure he could do a few small incantations like healing a minor wound or connecting with the plants of a small area to find the location of something he was tracking, but that was nothing compared to what she had just done. That kind of magic required training, yet he was sure she was a swordswoman. Shaking the thoughts from his mind, he found a small shrubbery and took a seat next to it. He wasn't fully trusting of these new people yet and it was best to keep a wary eye open throughout the night.

  Approaching footsteps roused him from his sleep. Keeping his eyes mostly closed to avoid suspicion, Ravion squinted from beneath his lids. He saw a pair of brown, leather boots standing before him. Refusing to allow time for an unwarranted attack, he sprung up and drew his dagger. The blade connected with the mul'daron's throat, edge pressing firmly into skin. A trickle of blood rolled from the shallow would, disappearing beneath his tunic.

  The man stared back at him, a look of uncertainty on his face. Carefully considering what actions would result from the outcome of his predicament he spoke, feeling the blade's edge against his windpipe. “Shhh! Don't draw suspicion!” The mul’daron calmly spoke, just over a whisper.

  Ravion pulled the blade away, but kept it ready. Taking a step back, he spoke in a hushed tone. “Why do you wake me?”

  The mul'daron gestured toward the command tent. “We don't have much time. I overheard some of the guards talking a little while ago. I wasn't sure who I could trust. But Senaria seems to trust you. That means I can as well.” He paused letting the dreuslayer comprehend the importance of what he was about to say.

  “Go on.”

  “It seems not all of us share in Senaria's vision. For as long as I can remember I've had this insatiable craving for power. It was something we all shared. Yet many of us could not rise above our masters to taste more than we were given. When the curse broke, we were freed of that desire, or so I thought. Some of our number are planning a takeover tonight. Senaria is the strongest of us. She held that status before— everything. If they can kill her while she sleeps there won't be anyone to stop them. We'll be thrust back into the world which we fought to escape. I don't want th—” He choked on his words and fell forward.

  Ravion caught the mul'daron, seeing an arrow protruding from his back. Several shouts erupted from camp. Ravion could see figures running, striking any who reached for their weapons. It was too late. The coup had already begun. Dropping the dead mul'daron, he drew his longsword and rushed toward the command tent.

  One of the attacking guards slashed out, aiming to cut the outsider down. Ravion easily deflected the strike, driving his sword into the man's heart. Ripping his blade free he continued on, reaching the tent. He could hear voices inside. Slowly pulling the flap to the side, he peered in.

  The room defied the laws of nature. It was nearly four times larger than the exterior and fully decorated. The walls looked to be made of wood and the floor was lined in fur. Three figures stood inside, their weapons drawn, yet at ease.

  Senaria was bound to her bed. The wooden posts were too sturdy to break. She'd was gagged, her hands pulled overhead. Her legs were bound separately, tied to the opposing corner posts. It didn't take much to discern their intentions.

  One of the men laid his sword against the table and drew a thin, curved dagger. Slipping the wicked blade beneath her nightgown, he easily cut the thin material from the bottom hem, splitting it up under her arm.

  Senaria squirmed and fought, trying to get free but it was no use. The ropes were too secure. Glaring her hatred at the men, she knew she was helpless. Helpless and unable to fight back.

  He quickly cut the straps over her shoulders and pulled the ruined garment free. Taking a step back, he admired her bare form, imagining all the things he was going to do to her. Lustful intentions filled his eyes, striking fear into hers.

  Ravion had seen enough. He couldn't stand by and allow this to happen. Taking a deep breath, he threw the canvas flap open and rushed inside. Finding the closest voyeur, he drove his sword into his back. The would-be rapist was dead before he hit the ground. Retracting the sword, Ravion drew his dagger and flung. It embedded itself in the other watcher's esophagus. The blade sank deep, burying itself to the hilt.

  The last mul'daron turned to see the approaching dreuslayer. He placed his dagger against the subdued woman's throat, daring him to continue. “Take another step and I'll kill her!”

  Ravion paused. He knew he didn't have much time. This man, this scum would probably to kill her anyway. If he didn't act quick, her chances of survival would diminish rapidly.

  “I've seen how you look at her. Tell you what. Stand watch. When I'm done, you can have a turn.”

  Ravion let his own sinister smirk breach the surface to his deadly serious face. He actually thinks he can barter with me. That puts things in my favor!

  The mul'daron smiled, seeing the dreuslayer's response. Now all he had to do was defile her, and then kill him once he started.

  “There's one little problem with your offer.” Ravion added.

  “What's that?”

  “She's not a toy you can willingly pass around!” Ravion flung his sword, watching the long blade flip end over end. It passed into the mul'daron's shoulder, launching him back and pinning him to the wall.

  The illusionary magics inside the tent shimmered and disappeared, leaving stained canvas in its place. The pinned mul'daron struggled against the blade, but it was no use. He couldn't pull it free of the support post.

  Ravion approached the bed. Reaching down he grabbed the wicked, curved blade and threw one of the fur blankets over Senaria. Carefully, he cut the ropes and handed her the dagger. Turning around he made for the exit, leaving her to do what she had to.

  Senaria smiled. She was right to trust him. Pulling herself up, she wrapped the blanket around her naked form, tucking the tail inside the wrap to hold it in place. Approaching the helpless mul'daron, anger and vengeance burning in her eyes, she raised the blade.

  “Please. It was just a joke. I wasn't really going to—”

  “Shut up!” Her energies flowed forth, silencing the man.

  He moved his mouth trying to speak, but the sounds wouldn't come. He tried to move, but was bound. She watched tears flow from his eyes, feeling no remorse for him. Slipping the tip of the curved dagger under the edge of his woolen breeches, she sliced the retaining band, uncaring if the edge bit into him. The belt and top band split, allowing his pants to fall free. She glanced at his under endowed member. “You were going to use this thing to cause me pain. You were going to take pleasure in it. Well, I've news for you. I'm going to use it to cause you pain, and I promise, I'll take pleasure in every drop of blood I draw from you.”

  He cried out, but was unable to give his fear voice. He tried to fight, his body was unresponsive to his pleas.

  Senaria pressed the tip of the blade into him, watching blood and urine trickle from the wound. Slowly dragging the razor-sharp edge upward, she split him, destroying his manhood. Returning her attention to his face, she stared deep into his eyes. “You had a chance at a new life, Mareis. One free of inflicting pain and misery upon others. But you had to revert back to your old ways. I wish I could simply threaten you to never try this again. But I'm afraid it too late for that. Your kind will never learn their lesson. The best I can do is put you on display for any others. If lessons can't be taught, then fear must serve as a deterrent.” Finishing her statement, she brought the dagger around, burying it in his throat.

  He gurgled in protest, unable to escape his fate.

  Taking comfort in his demise, Senaria watched the life leave his eyes. She pulled the longsword from him, letting the body crumple to the ground, bleeding out into the trampled grass. Turning from the dead man, she laid the sword upon her bed and grabbed her clothes. Quickly throwing them on, she strapped her armor into place and sheathed her own sword. G
rabbing Ravion’s weapon she made for the opening.

  Ravion stood patiently outside. He held one of the crude scimitars at the ready, standing defensive against any approaching attackers. Senaria tapped him on the arm with the flat of his sword and flipped the blade around to hand it to him. “Thank you for what you did in there. Most would have walked away and let it happen, or taken his offer. I'm indebted to you.”

  Ravion tossed the stolen sword to the ground and took his own. “You don't owe me a thing. No one has the right to make another person feel trapped inside their own body. If this is the last time I have the ability to prevent such from happening I'll consider it a life well lived. But the world is an ugly place. Sadly, I fear I'll have many more chance to right that wrong.”

  She smiled. “Well, for what it's worth. I truly am grateful. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some problems to deal with.”

  Ravion bowed, gesturing toward camp, forgetting her earlier request. “By all means, My Lady.”

  She marched past him, taking in the full extent of the battle between her men. Raising her hands to the sky, Senaria summoned the energies letting them flow from her. Dark clouds rolled in, blanketing the area. Flashes of lightning illuminated the field, striking the ground in several places.

  Ravion watched the strikes target the attacking groups. They struck with such ferocity that charred bodies flew through the air, crashing down into the waist-high stalks.

  The battle roared to a halt. Both sides recognizing the danger the storm represented.

  Senaria dropped her arms letting the clouds dissipate. She looked over the group, a mere fraction of what it had been. Sorrow and pity filled her. Her voice boomed across the field like thunder shaking the ground. “Enough!” She felt sorry for them. Why couldn't they let their past go? The only thing that came from darkness was more darkness. Why was that so hard to understand? Taking a deep breath she spoke again, letting her words sound just loud enough for the dwindling army to hear her. There was no sense in drawing unwanted attention. “Mareis is dead. Those who followed him, lay down your weapons and surrender, or face immediate execution.”