Hurriedly, he made his way down to investigate. The discarded linen was crumpled and tossed roughly on the ground. The scent of moist dirt and stagnant water radiated from the dark crevice in the hillside. Glancing toward the disappearing sun, he sighed heavily and drew his cutlass. He was a few days behind his family. He wasn't going to save them by waiting around out here.
Stepping into the darkness, he kept the rough, mossy walls in sight. The light was rapidly growing sparse, due to the falling sun and dark underground. He dove deeper, feeling his way along the wall. The last bit of light faded, leaving him in total darkness.
Like a torch being lit, his vision returned. To his surprise, the total loss of light triggered something in his eyes. They felt more open than he'd been used to, as if somehow they'd adjusted to the complete darkness. Somehow he was able to see, nearly as well as he could in the daylight. If it weren't in shades of gray, he would have thought it his normal vision. Pausing his trek into the depths, he ran his hand in front of his face several times, making sure he wasn’t imagining it. Corin must be lookin’ out for me!
Blessed with his new-found sight, he continued deeper, feeling the change in temperature against his bare arms and head. He shivered, due more to adrenaline than the cold. The smell of cave dirt made his nostrils flare. More so, in the cool underground, he could smell something else. The faint scent of iron hung in the air. He hadn’t noticed it before. The real question was, where was its source?
The ancient passageways were beginning to shrink, leaving him little more than a shoulder’s width to pass. The jagged rocks scraped against the sides of his leather, snagging the metal plates from time to time. He forced the memory of the bloody torn ribbon into his mind, letting his rage drive him deeper. He would need the rage to fuel him. It somehow calmed his nerves. He passed the first intersection he'd seen since entering. Hearing footsteps around the bend, he froze, stepping into one of the numerous crevices between the stone. Waiting patiently, he listened as the sounds moved closer.
“Deruoved swa eno tsrif eht sa secaf rieht ees uoy?” One of the black-skinned creatures said, with a wicked grin. He carried a bundle of torn and dirty cloth, ignoring the few pieces dragging the ground.
The other gave a sinister laugh, holding a clay jug in one hand and an unlit torch in the other. “D’ndit nogicm yahe ese ethy taht.”
The sounds grated against his ears, more vile hissing mixed with vocal clearing than actual words. He watched the two pass, hoping to get a good look at what he was dealing with.
Their ears were elongated and poked through colorless hair, like those of the alfar he'd seen. In fact every aspect of their appearance reminded him of the woodfolk, save for the color of their blackened skin and the repulsive sounds they made.
Given the items they carried, they had to be responsible for the raid. That was all the evidence he needed. Without hesitation, he raised the thick curved blade and charged. He slammed his shoulder into the closest one, knocking it to the ground. Before the second could react, he swung his sword, catching it in the throat.
The creature gargled, clenching the fatal wound. Falling to the cavern floor, it hissed in protest, unable to form their twisted words.
Gareth spun around, seeing the first picking itself up. He leapt forward and drove his sword into its back.
It screamed in pain, buckling under the added weight.
Knowing he had to silence it before more came, he pushed his weight onto the creature, forcing its arms to give way completely. Its face planted in the rock-hard clay. Gareth ran his fingers into its long hair and pulled violently, yanking its head up. Using every bit of strength he had, he slammed the creature's head forward into the stone. It crunched under the force, splitting its head wide open. His fingers still entwined in its hair, he pulled it up once again and dragged his blade across its throat, slicing deeply to ensure it was dead. He looked over at the other one, slowly drowning in its own blood.
It stared blankly at him, unable to move. Its hatred burned bright. Convulsing uncontrollably, it weakly shuddered and fell still.
Gareth got to his feet and approached the dead creature. Distaste in his mouth, he spat on the corpse. Dropping to a knee, he placed his cutlass beside its head and grabbed one of the long, pointed ears. He drug the sharpened edge across the back side, severing the flap of skin and cartilage. Claiming his trophy, he ran the torn blue ribbon through the hole and tied it off. Placing the pair around his neck, he stood victoriously over the bodies, wondering which direction he should go. Spotting the jug laying on its side, he noticed a small amount of the liquid had spilled out. He gave the cork stopper a quick sniff and recognized the strong odor of alcohol. Snatching up the jug, he quickly searched the bodies for anything of use. Examining the corridors for cast-off items, he traced the passage of his defeated companions. Full of resolve, he rushed ever closer to his family, or so he hoped.
***
The smell of cooked meat and burning wood wafted through the tunnel and into the large cracks overhead. He stared down from his refuge between two of the large rocks overlooking the underground city. In his travels he’d heard rumors of ancient dwarven cities, but these creatures obviously weren’t dwarfs and their structures didn’t match the descriptions he’d heard.
His head filled with questions, many of which raised more. The anger building inside him begged for release at the sight of the black-skinned devils. He didn’t know what they were or what they wanted, hundreds of questions. In all of them a single certainty was loud and clear. Each and every one of these beasts was going to die. And he was going to be the noose around their necks.
He felt the pain in his backside, pressed uncomfortably against the jagged rock. His stomach growled with the smell of meat below. He couldn’t recall how long he’d been in the underground settlement. Days? Weeks? Without the sun, he couldn’t decipher time.
Taking the last drops of water from his wineskin, he watched another group enter from the far side. They made their way through the city, little more than a permanent camp. They passed several roughly thrown-together wooden shacks and canvas tents, torn and strung with mismatched rope. The entire scene appeared to be more of a joke than an organized band of raiders, though they clearly were just that.
He focused on the group, making their way to the large building in the center of the cavern room, the only building that seemed to belong. It was constructed of stone, with a level of skill applied to its molded shape. The group pushed small carts, loaded with crates and supplies of all kinds. They piled them beside the entrance, leaving them for another group to sort out. Weapons and armor were tossed into one pile, while food and supplies were sorted in another. The clothes and less valuable items were tossed roughly on the ground and gathered up by a couple of the weaker looking black-alfar.
Gareth studied their movements. If he was going to investigate, he needed to learn as much as he could. Nearly one hundred carts had been dumped before his attention was fully engaged. A group arrived, but instead of looted goods, they escorted several women and children of varying ages. The occasional elderly man was tied up with them, but they were few and far between.
He perked up seeing the humans. This was a routine he hadn’t seen before. They were beaten and starved, staggering against the ropes that bound them together, but they were still alive. A spark of hope ignited inside him. Two of the creatures walked ahead of the prisoners and another two behind. They were led through the city and forced into the central building. One by one, they went inside. He adjusted himself to get a better look. If his family was still alive, they would be in that structure.
Glancing around, he made sure he could move without being detected. He grabbed the mass of brown linen he’d strung together to match their style and threw it over his bulky frame like a makeshift cloak. He knew he wouldn’t be able to walk through without being noticed, being much larger than the slender beasts, but if his plan worked, it would serve its purpose to get him close enough.
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He stood and backed out of the crevice, feeling a sickness overcome him. He couldn’t tell if it was due to the smell of the rags, his impersonation of the foul creatures, or his lack of food, but he was quickly growing weak. He had to act fast before he was drained of energy. Playing through his plan one last time, he reached down and grabbed the fist-sized rock he'd been eyeing since his plan's inception. Rearing back, he locked sight on his target and launched. It flew a fair distance, crashing into the canopy of the nearby huts. The weight tore through, collapsing the weak wooden rods holding it up. The canvas collapsed atop the small fires. In an instant, it started to smoke, igniting almost as quickly in billowing flames. They jumped from one hut to another. In minutes, the entire section was ablaze.
The creatures scrambled to contain the leaping flames but they couldn’t put them out before they jumped to the next tent.
Throwing his tattered hood over his head, he made his way through the chaos toward the central building. The smell was much stronger on the base floor. The whole place reeked of feces and sweat. His nose wrinkled with the scent. Focusing his thoughts, he scurried through the commotion and reached the large stone building.
He was fairly certain he hadn't drawn attention to himself. He opened the thick wooden door, marked with a broken face embedded in a full moon, and stepped inside. He could hear several of the creatures chanting some strange ritual from one of the upper levels. It echoed off the walls, chilling him to the bone, but at least it would cover the sound of his footsteps on the stripped wooden floor. He drew his cutlass and slowly moved forward, keeping an eye out for any of the creatures.
The building seemed to be some kind of temple. Several broken pews littered the sides of the room, tossed roughly against the walls. The far end held a stone altar with a demonic face staring back at him. The stone was covered in torn cloth soaked in what appeared to be blood. It made him feel uneasy.
He spotted a curved stairway to the side. It appeared to circle around and lead to the overlooking balcony behind him. He cautiously made his way up, hearing the chants grow louder with each step. Reaching the second story, he peered around the corner, finding a broken banister wrapping the balcony's edge. The far side of the temple held an outcropping, obstructed from view by a set of thick wooden doors.
He rushed across the open walkway, hoping he could reach the other side without being spotted. Of course the creatures wouldn’t have anything to fear. They were underground in a place no human dared set foot. Why should they fear intruders? He approached the doors and peeked through the crack between them. Several of the devils stood together on the other side. They were dressed in black robes and performing some kind of ceremony. human bodies were pile roughly in the center of their circle, appearing to have been mutilated and bled out.
He slowly opened the door to get a better look. The new arrivals were chained up against the wall, awaiting their sacrifice. He searched their faces, feeling his rage grow. None were familiar. There were nearly twenty prisoners and his wife’s face was not among them. He couldn’t take anymore. Lifting his sword, he burst through the doors and threw the nasty cloak off him. “Where's my family, you ugly sons of bitches?”
One of the robed creatures raised a blood-coated dagger and turned to face him.“Sieth riear tyrian mar seir” He smiled, walking forward.
Gareth felt his anger spill out. His fury unleashed, he charged forward with a deep battle shout. The creature collapsed against him as he continued past, slashing into the group. His blade danced with precision, slicing and hacking everything that came within reach. The rage inside him turned to pleasure with each kill.
Taking a deep breath, he looked around the room at the mangled bodies around him. They hadn't stood a chance against his wrath. His shallow victory was short-lived. He glanced at the mixing of bloods, his prey and their victims. Something felt wrong about the black fluid tarnishing the spilled red. They deserved better, but was he the man to give it to them?
Approaching the pile of bodies, he trampled over the black-skins, feeling their bones break beneath his boots. A low moan caught his ear. He turned, seeing the first creature he's charged slowly crawling away from him. He grabbed it by it's hair and yanked it up. “Where’s my family?”
It smiled, revealing its sharp blood-lined teeth. “Paerd, tuc temh I retih adde heliw I trohsta!” Spitting its black blood in his face, it laughed.
“Wrong answer.” Gareth placed the edge of his blade against its head. A quick jerk, he severed its ear, tucking it away for later addition.
The creature screamed in pain.
To keep it from calling reinforcements, he jabbed it in the throat, quieting the screams. Pulling its head back further, he placed the pommel of his sword on the floor, wedging it between the aged-warped and blood-soaked floorboards. Aligning the tip with the creature’s chin, he slowly pressed its head down, forcing the sharp edge to slice neatly. It passed threw its lower jaw and into its mouth. Hoping to inflict every ounce of pain, he slowly shoved the creature onto the blade. His pleasure was minimized, feeling it go limp, with the blade pressed into its brain. He grabbed his sword, ripping it free, nearly cutting the creature's head in half. He knelt over the pile of dark-alfar and claimed an ear from each. With ease, he added the collection to his lanyard and placed it around his neck once again.
The cries of prisoners reached him, begging and pleading to be released. He ignored them, searching each room for his family. Unable to find them, he took a deep breath, regarding the pile of bodies in the center. He'd hoped to find them before having to look through it. Not only was it morally questionable, but if he had to resort to searching for bodies, it meant his family was dead. He sighed heavily and lifted the first one, inspecting her face. He laid he down as careful as possible, it wasn't his intention to disrupt the dead. The next few were easily discarded. There was no reason to even inspect the males.
Halfway through the pile he uncovered a bloody, yet familiar fabric matching the ribbon around his neck. A high-pitched ring set in his ears, drowning out the cries of prisoners still pleading his assistance. All tact lost, he roughly tossed the bodies from her, uncovering the blue dress as best as possible. Rolling her over, his heart shattered into a thousand pieces. His wife's fearful, blank face stared back at him, void of color and warmth. Her dress was torn open revealing a broken and violated body.
He locked eyes on the deep purple marks on her mutilated flesh. Her throat was slit so deeply that only a small bit of skin held her head in place. He forced himself to pry her arms open, fearing what he'd hope he wouldn't see. Tears rolled down his cheeks with the knowledge that his son was with her. He pulled the child from her constricting grip. His skin was blue from lack of oxygen. Several bruises showed on his body, but they were few compared to those matching his wife's arms. She'd protected him from the most damaging blows, but it was her protection that ultimately killed him. He felt the tears stream down his face. He could feel his body, uncontrollably wailing over them, yet the ringing blocked all other noise. He pulled them tight, holding them one last time.
The ringing grew louder. He couldn’t see the prisoners begging for his attention. The cold of his family’s skin washed away. He had nothing, no one.
The ringing was unbearable. It had to stop. He couldn’t take anymore. I have to make it stop! The ringing continued. Make it stop. Like they stopped her life, like they stopped his life! It got louder, hurting his ears. Make them stop! Make them stop! Kill them! The pressure in his head grew, forcing blood to trickle from his nose and ears. Kill all of them! It was so incredibly loud, he couldn't focus on anything but the mourning pain “Make it stop!” he demanded, his voice echoing throughout the temple.
The ringing quit, leaving him in complete silence, save for the echo of his words in the near empty temple. He felt the last tear roll down his cheek, splattering on his wife’s forehead. Pushing their bodies from him, be stood looked around the room.
The prisoners pleaded for h
is attention but he couldn’t hear their words. They spoke to him, but their mouths moved in silence. A slow heartbeat echoed in the room, like the beat of a drum. The steady yet slow pace told him what he had to do. He picked up his sword and started for the door.
One of the prisoners reached out, grabbing his arm. She jumped back, seeing a void in his eyes. Only then did she register the sword pointed at her throat.
He trembled from the amount of restraint he had to apply. The blade seemed to move of its own accord. Had he not stopped it, she would have fallen to him. He could see the fear in her face, not because of the blade. She was afraid of him. She retreated like he was one of the monsters that'd locked her in here. And that was fine. He needed to become a monster. That was how he was going to do what had to be done. Lowering his sword, he turned and casually walked out the door, his care for discretion gone with his family. He made way for the entrance. Kicking the door open, he heard their wicked tongue assault his ears.
Looking out, there had to be more than a thousand of them in this city alone. A sadistic smile formed on his lips. “Come get me, you bastards!” Raising his sword, he charged into their numbers, hacking and slashing with every bit of strength he possessed, feeling a hatred like no other.
***
Gareth stood at the upper deck of his ship, watching the last bit of cargo find its way into the hold. He stood tall with his armor in place and sword strapped to his hip. A long, blue necklace, full of severed black ears hung openly on his chest for all to see.
“Capt’n, we’re ready to set sail.”
He turned to address Malakai. “Well done, First Mate. Have the crew oar into the deeps and raise the sails. There’s a storm on the horizon and I’ve got a feelin’ it’s gonna hit us before we’re ready for it.”
The Order of the Trident (Eldarlands Book 1) Page 7