Ravion spun around, twirling his longsword between thrust. To the untrained eye, his actions were sloppy and misguided, but to a seasoned combatant, each strike was a calculated step in his overall plan. He danced through the shadow, naturally avoiding the lethal blows from the unseen attackers. There had to be hundreds of them, but somehow they could never get close enough to strike, not while he was moving. He felt his blade pass through another body, unhindered by the resistance. One would fall, another would take its place. A sadistic laughter reached him, seeming to burn through the darkness. The tone ringing familiar in his ears. He moved toward it, felling several of the black-skinned creatures as he went. For the first time since he’d stepped from the pub, he was able see anything other than void. A familiar face lingered among the black. He could see Gareth's wicked smile, lost in pleasure with so many dead dreualfar around him.
Gareth stabbed his cutlass into the blood soaked earth and knelt down beside his freshest kill. Pulling a dagger from his waist, he sliced one of it's ears and tucked it into his pouch. He glanced at the approaching scout, returning to his feet. “Ah, glad you could join me.” He pulled the blade free, spinning around to decapitate another.
***
He thrust his greatsword into the shadow, watching the dark fluid pool on the floor. The shadow faded, revealing another of the beast. A woman cried at it's feet, her rose colored dress, torn and soaked. It clung to her, but she appeared unharmed.
Kane grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Get to the rear. The others are already back there.”
She rushed toward the back room, obeying his instruction.
He looked over at Malakai, pulling his sabre from one of the dead creatures. Several of the creatures littered the ground, leaving the room free of shadow. He glanced back at the barkeep, peeking from the barricaded kitchen door. Most of the patrons were able to take refuge, though a few had been lost.
He walked over to the fair-haired lord, cleaning off his rapier and dagger. “Lord Remle, what are you doing?”
“These creatures are in my lands. I won't sit idle while they attack my people.” He stood to his towering height, gesturing toward the door. “I aim to march out that door and confront them head on.”
“My lord, if I may?” he paused, adding the illusion of request. “You don't know how many are out there. This town has suffered enough this night. Do not allow it the chance to claim their leader as well. My friend and I will go out and fend them off to our last breath. Might I recommend you remain here as a last defense, should we fail?”
The towering lord thought through his option for a moment. “I suppose you're right. And while I don't like it, I'll remain here. If you're able, my men are stationed a mile south. Any way you can reach them, do so. We need all the reinforcements we can get.”
“Understood, my lord.” Kane gave a respectful bow and spun around, searching for the swashbuckler.
Malakai stood beside the door, cleaning his fingernails with a dagger. “You ready?”
Kane nodded, grabbing hold of the door latch. Pulling it open, he stepped into the night.
Hearing the door click behind them, they raised their weapons, the fight already upon them, surrounded by the unseen forces. As a pair, they swung and dodged, using each other's style to defend their openings. One would swing, while the other blocked. Together they cut their way into the unending darkness, hoping to fell as many as possible before they met their ends.
***
He could feel the chill of death on the back of his neck. They swarmed all around, encircling him. Gareth dodged a wild swipe, pushing the scout out of the way. The man could clearly handle himself, but his fancy style made it difficult to anticipate. Last thing he wanted was to get the man killed by failing to watch his back.
Ravion caught himself, glancing back at the broad warrior. Had it not been for the shove, an unnoticed scimitar would have bit into his spine. For that he was thankful, though the warrior clearly wasn't used to fighting with a unit. Ravion plunged his sword into one of the revealed beasts, using the momentum to send him back toward his companion. Despite his calm, sweat beaded down his face. How are there so many? More importantly, how did they get so close without alerting anyone?
Gareth felt one of the wicked, curved blades bite into his arm. It wasn't deep, but it would cause him a bit of pain for a while. Grimacing the pain, he grabbed hold of the crude weapon, pulling it's wielder close. He brought his head forward, slamming it into the dark-skin's nose. It crunched beneath the impact. Refusing to wait for him to recover, Gareth stabbed him in the stomach, letting gravity carry him off his blade.
He looked around, unable to see an end to the assault. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. Exhausted and ready to rest, he lowered his guard and closed his eyes, expecting to join his wife and son. The brief moment felt like an eternity. He waited, hoping for the longing sting that would be his end. A familiar shout roused his curiosity. Opening his eyes, he saw the half-orc slam into the side of a large group, toppling them with ease.
Krenin slashed wildly, tearing into the unsuspecting foes, their shadowy spheres fading with each death.
Seeing the half-orc jump into the fray, excitement rushed him with the thought of a challenged. Renewed vigor rushing through his veins, he raised his cutlass and charged. “You damned, green-skinned dummy, you ain’t claimin' all the glory.” He crashed into another group, launching them back several feet. Taking position behind the half-orc, he deflected a swipe and ran its aggressor through.
Ravion made his way toward the pair, cutting a path for them.
They fought, protecting each other, slowly moving back toward the pub. Each step twisted their stance, cycling them around with the movement. It kept them refreshed and always ready for the next attack. One by one, they caught a glimpse of the tavern doors, Kane and Malakai holding their own right outside them.
They neared, opening their ranks to invite the others. The five joined, keeping their backs together, forming a deadly sphere in the midst of an army. The outnumbered warriors cut them down in troves, thinning the heard, but they remained outnumbered to a phenomenal degree.
A high pitched horn echoed in the night, calling the dreualfar to a halt.
Gareth took the opportunity to cut down as many as he could reach.
The darkness faded, returning the town's post lanterns to sight. Hundreds of dreualfar moved into the open, surrounding the already entrapped warriors. The impenetrable wall looked upon them, an unquenchable blood thirst in their eyes.
The five stood ready, their weapons high, anticipating an attack.
Ravion glanced around, hoping for a miracle. We're surrounded on all sides, save for the sealed pub doors. Hundreds stand ready to cut us down, each one with a city full of bodies worth of reason. Why do they hold?
His questions were answered, as if he'd asked them aloud. A wide path open, allowing a single dreualfar to pass through the ranks. He looked older than the rest, his long, stringy, white hair pulled to the back and tied into a braid. He wore blackened leather with a silver clover design inlaid around the edges. An ornate rapier hung to his side, appearing to radiate a faint glow in the excessive dark. “Enim si taht gnihtemos veha uyo!” he hissed, stopping several feet away from the group.
Gareth pointed his cutlass at the creature. “Speak that vile tongue at me and I'll cut it out!”
He smiled, his elongated canines showing for the briefest moment. A smooth, collected voice radiated from his mouth, seemingly misplaced by the harshness of his previous words. “As if your threats have any effect on me. You’re only alive because you have something that belongs to me and I want it back.”
Gareth spat at the creature, the stringy saliva falling several feet short. “I was discussed by you before I knew you were capable of intelligent speech. Now that I know you are, it just makes me want to slaughter you that much more.”
The creature smiled. “You doubt our intelligence? If you had the slightest
idea, you'd throw yourself upon your own sword just to escape our wrath.”
Ravion placed his hand on Gareth's shoulder, hoping the gesture would calm the bald warrior. Stepping to the front of the group, he spoke. “What item do you believe us to possess?”
The black-skinned alfar looked over the young dalari. His interest were evident, but his motives remained hidden. “You’re something unseen for quite sometime. Perhaps I'll keep you as my own personal pet once this is all said and done.”
Ravion smiled, letting the notion hide his thoughts. “The item?” he repeated.
“Oh, it's nothing much, just something a friend was holding for me. You took it from him earlier this day. I want it back.”
The sea of dreualfar opened, allowing the dragon's head through, still mounted upon the pike.
“There were many items among the dragon's treasure. Perhaps if you told us what you're looking for, we may be able to tell you where it is.”
“I have a better idea. Why don't I just kill you one at a time until you tell me where all of it is. I'm sure I can find it myself at that point.”
“Not gonna happen.” Gareth demanded, ready to jump on the commander.
The commander smirked at the warrior's words, licking his lips. “You’re so full of hate and despair. I think I want to keep you as well. I'll make you my plaything. There's nothing quite like a well broken stallion.” He raised his hand, facing the palm toward the group. “Bring me the mouthy one.” he demanded.
The dreualfar rushed in, encircling tight around the group. Two of them grabbed hold of Gareth, securing his arms.
They tried to fight. Tried to move. Tried to perform the slightest action, but found it impossible. Some unseen force was holding them stationary
Gareth screamed his discontent, annoyed further at the lack of sound. He screamed, kicked, bit, clawed, but nothing worked. His body was not his own.
The dreualfar pulled him from the group and drug him to the center. He was on display for all to see. They pushed him, forcing his knees to buckle. Placing him on his knees, they stepped away, leaving him unattended.
The commander smiled at the kneeling warrior, approaching him. “You see, sometimes puny, rebellious humans have to be taught a lesson when they interfere with beings beyond their understanding.” He reached for his pants, pulling his armor to the side.
Gareth felt a pressure in his jaw, forcing his mouth to open. He stared in horror, unable to resist.
The dreualfar commander took a step toward him, dropping his leather breeches to his knees. Erect and demanding attention, he moved closer to the defeated human.
Gareth wanted to close his eyes, hoping he could hide from what was about to follow, but they wouldn't obey. He was being forced to watch his own sodomy. He felt something fly past his head, hearing it connect. A sickening scream echoed out from the commander. Unable to comprehend what had just happened, he watched the handle of a scimitar protrude from the dreualfar's exposed crotch, bouncing from the force of the hit.
His body under his control, he reached out, taking hold of the hilt. Forcing all his strength into it, he thrust the blade deeper, driving it straight through the commander. The curved blade caught on the pelvic bone, sending it up into his stomach.
Gareth twisted the sword, letting the dull spine rip his body open. It was too kind to cut him quickly. Forcing as much pain as possible, he watched the would-be rapist drop to his keens, his dark face white from blood loss. Content with the weakening screams of pain, he ripped the crude, rusted blade free. Standing to his full height, he grabbed the dying dreualfar’s head and drug the blade across, removing one of the pointed ears, letting it rip free assisted by the semi-sharp blade. Claiming his trophy, he placed the tip of the blade into the hole where the ear had been. Jabbing it quickly, it puncture out the other side of his head. Gareth let go of the sword, letting the body fall to the earth.
The dreualfar hissed, unsure what to do without their commander. Confusion took hold. Many trampled each other, while some simple retreated from the darkness from once they came. The select few charged, hoping to fight, being cut down moments later.
Gareth turned, finding his companions at the doors. Looking them over, he noticed the half-orc held but one sword. It's twin lodged in the commander's head. Walking to the the group, he placed his hand on the half-orc's shoulder. “Thank you for saving me from that.”
“Not suitable for anyone. Krenin hope you do the same if it were me.”
Gareth nodded his head in understanding.
“Permission to speak?” Malakai stated more than asked, “You must be blessed by Corin. After all, you nearly took a mouthful of Dreu cock and the one person who helped you was the one who had the least reason to.”
Krenin leaned in whispering louder than intended. “I aimed for his head.”
“Looks like you got it.” Ravion laughed.
Gareth shook his head, looking at the group of warriors around him. “Do me a favor and never speak of this again.”
Ravion retrieved his sword. Placing it into its sheath, he looked around at the several dead creatures around them. “I can’t make any promises. Though I think it'd be wise to figure out what they were after and safeguard it. We can’t risk failing next time.”
***
The patrons stared at the half-orc, breaking their gaze when he made eye contact. It was strange to see such a large, barbaric brute wearing such finely crafted clothing and sitting at a table full of respected warriors.
Krenin liked the way the silk felt against his skin. It was much softer than the twill he’d been accustomed to. The ale was weak but after several tankards, he was beginning to feel its affects. The food was much better. Everything was sweet, from the meat to the bread. It tasted as if it had been made with the purpose of enjoyment, something far greater than to simply survive. He glanced out the north window to see another caravan of stone and lumber make its way up the hill. Leaning over in his over-sized chair, compared to human standards anyway, it creaked under the shift in weight. “You think they be done soon?”
“No Krenin, it'll take several months for them to finish the keep.” Malakai answered.
“What take so long? orc homes built in days, not months.”
“Orc homes are much simpler in design. Imagine building hundreds of orc homes into one large home with many layers.”
“I see. Still, it take so long.”
Malakai looked at the others, hoping for assistance. “It must be nice to have such a simple outlook.”
“I already look, they not done yet.”
“No, I mean-- Oh, never mind.”
Ravion busted into laughter at the sailor's failed attempt. Resolving himself, he pulled a large piece of parchment from his satchel and laid it upon the table, careful to keep it off the food.
The map showed the area for months in each direction, outlining the southern shores all the way up to the orc lands of Tulgar. Several rocky areas were marked with a circular stamp with a trident in the middle.
“These areas have been inspected and we haven't found any evidence of Dreu activity. There are several more locations to search north of Heroes Gate, but as it stands, Southern Dalmoura seems free, aside from the few cave entrances we haven't found yet.
“What's the news on the lowest level of the Keep?” Gareth asked, paying close attention to the map.
“The lowest level is complete. The vault is in place and the prisoners are well secured.”
“Have the locks been placed on the vault?”
Kane leaned forward in his seat, “The stones are in place. Nobody can get into the vault without one of us being present.”
Ravion leaded in, making sure nobody could hear them.“Moreover, the contracts have been carried out. The only people that have any knowledge of the vaults existence, let alone the locking stone, are sitting at this table.”
Gareth sat back, content with the knowledge. “Very well.”
“The guards have be
en asking when the tabards are going to be ready.” Kane added.
“I'll be picking them up from the tailor tomorrow afternoon, along with the flag.” Malakai offered, taking a swig from his tankard.
Gareth sat up again, resting his elbows on the table, “Good, it’ll be good to see the Order's colors on the chest of our men. I'll be taking a small detachment into the catacombs in the morning. Hopefully we can find it this time.”
Chapter XIV
The Fall of Maradar Keep
The full moon faintly illuminated him and his army, their dark skin blending into the existing darkness, leaving only their glowing eyes and few features to be seen in the night. Those gifted with white hair, like their ancestors, were more visible than the rest.
The cool night breeze felt good against the back of his neck. He'd been so hot since he claimed the ancient power. An unpleasant side affect, perhaps? He couldn't say for certain. Though if that were the case, a mild fever was well worth wielding ultimate power. Nezial looked down upon the unsuspecting keep. His army in rank and ready to march upon his command. The humans inside were whole-fully unprepared for what he had in store for them this night.
The sound of footsteps roused him from his daydream. Preparing himself, he placed his hand on his sabre, daring the on comer to try something. He knew many disliked him. And if any one of them caught him unaware, it wouldn't take much to claim command. But who among my army would have the intestinal fortitude to attack me?
“General Nezial, the army is in position.” the captain declared, stopping just out of threat range.
The Order of the Trident (Eldarlands Book 1) Page 17