The Order of the Trident (Eldarlands Book 1)

by Samuel Rikard

  Ravion sliced through three dreualfar with one swing. The words echoed into recognition, telling him what was about to happen. He swiped wide, letting the dreualfar easily deflect the feign. They got tangled and fell, blocking their numbers for the briefest of moments. Using the distraction to his advantage, he fell back, covering his face with the baggy sleeve of his shirt.

  Gareth squeezed the hardened clay, feeling if crack beneath his grip. The container weakened, he threw it as hard as he could, watching it disappear into the sea of black-skinned monsters. Wasting no time, he ducked behind his shield and covered his eyes.

  A bright light erupted, revealing hundreds of dreualfar in the wide cavern room. The explosion incinerated the closest to it, burning them to a crisp in mere seconds. Several others screamed in pain, trying to escape the lingering glow. The few farthest from it, scrambled to escape the effects of another blast.

  Popping up from behind his shield, Gareth swung his mace, bashing what was left of the group in front of him. They tumbled to the ground in their death throws, unable to defend with their blinded senses.

  Ravion looked up to see the dreualfar falling back. He lowered his blade, but kept it at the ready. It wasn't like them to retreat.

  Gareth lowered his mace, securing it to the hook on his waist. Slinging the shield to his back, he glanced over at Ravion with a big smile. "That was fun."

  Ravion sheathed his sword and dagger. "Next time I suggest we find a spot a little easier to defend." He stepped over the piles of scorched bodies, making his way toward the blast site. The numbers were thinned drastically, leaving charred remains at the center. Little more than crumpled ash littered the worn floors where the broken container rested. “It seems the sunstones are effective.” He studied the distance, silently judging the potential damage the simple device could inflict. It was nearly too much to consider morally right. Such a tool needed to be regulated. Shaking his head at the destruction, he stepped over the remains and continued down the passageway, leaving Gareth to claim his ears.

  "Aye, good thing too. I wasn't sure how much longer we could hold out, if they hadn't." Gareth replied, claiming his trophies.

  ***

  A partial moon could occasionally be seen through the rolling clouds, but it was much to sporadic to count on. Tonight, it was the stars that lit the darkened world. They seemed brighter than usual, glowing through the heavens and illuminating the surface. Tonight those tiny little dots in the night sky could pierce the darkest veil.

  Kane stood at the forest's edge, watching the eastern road. It was the quickest path the Evinwood and his brothers were due back any minute. He heard a twig snap from the shadows beyond his vision. Instinctively, he placed his hand on the pommel of his sword, ready for any threat that might present itself.

  Malakai and Krenin stepped into sight. The man held an expression of annoyance, while the half-orc wore a smile. He clearly didn't mind the journey. They spotted the young warrior, patiently awaiting them.

  He waited for them to get closer. "I assume your meeting with Aldulrien went as expected?"

  "Not quite." Malakai replied. "But we spoke with his captain. They’re with us. Though I couldn't help but feel as if his decision was already made, prior to our arrival." He stopped in front of the man.

  "We'll count that as a lucky blessing. It's good they're willing to work with us. This war is going to be a great trial for us all. I'm pleased our allies have enough sense to realize that."

  Malakai nodded, “Aye. That is good.” He reached out, lying his hand on Kane's armored shoulder. "Now, my brother, Krenin and I must prepare for these trials-- at the tavern." His smirk was accentuated by his coiled mustache. Dropping his arm, he stepped past the man, and followed the road.

  Krenin followed in silence, letting his closest friend speak for him.

  Kane turned to watch them walk away, "Your devotion to duty is admiral, gentlemen." he taunted.

  Malakai spun around, correcting his step to walk backward. "As is my devotion to you, so-- if you require anything, anything at all. I'll be in the tavern, fortifying myself with a drink and a woman-- maybe two of each." He gave a knowing wink, spinning around, he returned his proper footing and caught up with the half-orc.

  Kane shook his head, watching his brothers disappear into the small city. Were he less duty bound, perhaps he could enjoy the simplicity the tavern offered, the pleasures his friends sought. But as it were, he was sworn to valor. He couldn't afford such luxuries. A cool evening chill ran down his spine. Shaking it from him, he looked around the darkness, ensuring nothing seemed amiss. The dreualfar were know for their ability to hide in the shadows. He didn't want to be caught unaware. But this was something different, something closer. He rubbed the chill off his arms, watching the steam roll away with his breath. It's getting late. I need to get some rest.

  He stepped onto the road leading back into town. It was a short walk, but seemed to take longer than ever. Reaching the walls, he passed through, making sure the guards were at their post. Finding everything underway, he navigated the small city, glancing up the hill to the keep standing at the top, accented by the mountains in the background. He made his way up the winding road, to the large portcullis. Passing through, he felt a sense of dread wash out him. Whispers echoed in the darkness, calling him. An unknown presence lingered at the base of his skull. You need the jewel of Shadgull. You should take it. Claim it for yourself. He looked around, searching for the source of the words in his head. They clearly weren’t his own. Don’t be a coward! It’s yours, take it back. “I'll do no such thing!”

  “My lord?”

  Kane stared into the face of one of the guards, his green and black tabard proudly displayed over his armor. “My apologies.” He passed through the archway and stepped into the keep. If you wont take it, I’ll just have to take it for you. “Get out of my head!”

  The servants stared blankly at him. Their gaze interrogating.

  He took the shortcut, leading to the upper levels. Finding his room, he stepped inside and stripped from his armor. Hanging it on the stand, he laid down. The coming days are going to be challenging. I don't need suggestive voices to add to it. Closing his eyes, he drifted off the sleep.

  ***

  The waist high grass brushed against his thick, black breeches. He ran across the fields of Shadgull at an unnatural pace, refusing to tire. His silver chainmail and studded, black leather reflected the moonlight, popping in and out of shadow, like a mirage. His heavy, black cloak floated in the wind, carried by his rapid pace.

  Levithion shot across the open field, unseen by any in the dark, starless night, only the partial moon to light his way. Reaching the forest, he stepped in and traveled down a deep ravine. The river bend cut through the center, leaving steep, muddy banks on both sides.

  He slowed at the crossing, looking down at the water below. It wasn't deep by any means, but the night was young. There was no sense in getting wet so early. Summoning himself, he brought his arms back and threw himself across, letting the outstretched cloak catch as much air as possible. He felt his boots sink into the slick bank on the others side. Stabbing his toes inward, he stepped up, pulling himself from the ditch. Voices echoed in the breeze, spoken in hushed tones. He couldn't tell what they were saying, but the tone said plenty. He slowly approached, like a shadow in the night. A soft glow flickered in the trees. Making his way closer, he could see several figures sitting around the fire. A motley crew, they were. Comprised of orcs and men. Even a few goblins and a half-troll sat among their number. These were the men he sought. Lost, lonely, nothing but a few coins to their name.

  He slowly crept toward the fire, careful not to alert anything or anyone to his presence. Studying them, it was clear one of the humans led them.

  He, still being a bandit by appearance, was dressed nicer than the rest. His sword was polished, and his boots were clean. If this weren't enough evidence, the others ate every word he spoke.

  Convinced of his
target, he stalked forward, making his way around the camp. Hidden by shadow, he approached the man, taking position behind his unsuspecting prey. Choosing his words, they echoed out from the darkness. "With a group such as this, you might be a little more cautious. If I’d desired your death I would have already claimed it."

  The human jumped, reaching for his weapon. To his surprise, it was in the cloaked figure's hand.

  The many creatures around the fire jumped to their feet, ready to attack if called to action.

  "Who are you?" the human leader demanded, trying to peak under the hood.

  "No one of import. I’m here to offer something you desire. Unless you're not the fabled Zanthin, Master of Thieves, I've heard so much about." Levithion mocked.

  "You've found the right guy. But you have yet to tell me what you have to offer." Zanthin replied, intrigued but uneasy by the man's demeanor.

  "Money, power, women-- pretty much anything you desire. I have the ability to make it happen." Levithion flipped the sword around, handing it back to him, pommel first. "Let's sit and discuss your future."

  The brigand king took his sword, returning it to it's sheath. Carefully, he took his seat, unsure if he could trust the cloaked man or not.

  Seeing their leader sit, the others returned to their rest, letting the two talk.

  "It seems you’re having a bit of trouble getting around the patrols and eluding the guards of this area." Levithion stated knowingly.

  Picking his words carefully Zanthin replied, "It would seem. Every time we set an ambush we’re runoff by those stinkin’ guards."

  Levithion chuckled at the man's choice of word, "Coming from you, they must smell horrible."

  "Huh?"

  "Never mind. What I offer you is more than just know-how and training. With me, you can fill the pockets of you and your men." Levithion said smugly.

  "And what would you ask in return?"

  "Oh, very little really. I simply require you to come when I call. And believe me, when I call, it’ll be well worth your while."

  ***

  Dark ichor dripped from the walls, onto the already soaked floor of the cavern chamber. Dozens of bodies littered the tunnel and even more were piled outside the carved archway.

  Sweat dripped from the bald warrior, hunched over to remove an ear. He stood, taking in the carnage around him, a prideful grin at the sight. He approached the entrance to the large room, blocked by one of the piles. Grabbing one of the dead dreualfar, he pulled, letting them topple down.

  Ravion studied the numerous shelves, standing freely about the room. The ancient constructs were petrified with time, seeming more like stone than wood. He ran his fingers over the items resting on them, each once unique in its own right. They varied in design and function, but shared one common bond. Each one was stolen and tucked away in the underground cache. Most of the trinkets were of little to no value, but the occasional treasure laid there, collecting dust. He lifted a rather mundane looking chalice, inspecting the smoothed contours, free of design. It seemed out of place considering the ornate nature of the other treasures around him. Setting the cup back where it had been, he moved onto the next shelf, loaded with books.

  Gareth stepped into the room, finding his companion. "I only have one sunstone left."

  Ravion clapped the book shut, feeling small bits of dust fly into his face. Returning it to its perfect sized gap, he glanced over at bald man. "Well, let's hope we don't encounter any more large groups." Walking to another shelf, he picked up a unique looking dagger, made of some kind of black ore. It had a spectral feel to it, like it was pulling at his core.

  "Gah-- This is pointless. What the hell are we doing here? Dreu don't make plans or think like normal people, they slaughter and kill with no care for anything else. That's what they're bred to do."

  Ravion raised the blade toward his face, inspecting the strange mineral. "Please don't tell me you truly believe that. You should know better than most that they plot and scheme. If they didn't, we wouldn't be in this place searching for their archives-- again."

  He exhaled deeply, letting his shoulders drape with the acceptance. “I know, it's just, I don't care what they’re hiding, or planning. I want to kill them.” Pressing his booted foot against one of the abandoned shelves, he kicked, watching it topple over.

  Ravion stuck the dagger in his belt. He couldn't explain what drew him to the strange weapon but he felt a connection to it. "I'll look through some of these books real quick. Whether I find anything or not, we'll head back to the surface. Maybe next time Kane or one of the others will want to come."

  Gareth sat down on the table in the center, placing his hands on his knees. "You know I'll be here anytime we come to this place. I just don't like sitting here when we've got Dreu out there to kill."

  Ravion smiled, seeing the frustration on his friend's face. He quickly scanned tome after tome before stopping on a leather bound book with strange marking on it. "I know this language!"

  Gareth stood, walking over to his brother. "Looks like gibberish to me."

  Ravion glanced at his friend and back to the book. "No, not gibberish, it's Eldar. My father was teaching it to me before he died."

  "Maybe it's like all of these other things and was stolen in a raid." Gareth offered.

  "I don't think so-- " Ravion flipped through the pages, skimming each passage. “at least, not in the traditional sense. I don't recall much of the teaching I received as a child. But I remember my father telling me about a corrupt sect of our people. He didn't give me specific details, as I was still fairly young. But he did say they went to war and were eventually forced underground. This book talks about that banishment. If I had to guess, I'd say this book written by one of the dalari of that era. If it was stolen, it would have had to have been a millennia ago or longer.” One page in particular caught his eye. Scanning through the ancient words, he read aloud. “Locked away, the faceless host with hair of azure and crimson awaits the time of the shattering. Born of war, the breaker of walls walks unseen, without sound. A silver jingle marks his target, for it’s chime shall be the throes of death. His release will come when the Eldar of equals has tasted the blood of his oppressor and walked away unscathed.

  “Sounds like a damned ghost story. What do you think that is, a book of faerie tales?” Gareth laughed.

  “It doesn’t seem like it. It reads more like a book of prophecy. Regardless,--” he flipped the book shut and stuffed it into his pack. “we need to get back to the surface and find out who all is going to help in the coming war."

  “You go ahead. I think I want to explore a little more.”

  “Are you sure?” Ravion asked, uncertain if he should leave the vengeful warrior to his solitude.

  “Yeah. I'll head back once I've found something of interest.”

  Chapter XVIII

  The Catacombs

  Perrimen stumbled through the unknown wilderness of Vale. The voices screamed at him, none standing above the others. All shouting together to prevent him from picking out a single voice in the garbled mess.

  "Would you all please shut up." he screamed, grabbing a fist full of his long, unkempt hair. He looked around, gazing at the wonderful woodwork of the castle interior around him.

  Servants fluttered about, performing their daily task, ignoring his presence.

  The aging wizard stood in the middle of the large grassland. The grain stood to his waist, tiny barbed hairs snagged his linen pants in the light breeze, ripping the seeds away from the stock.

  "Excuse me ma’am. Can you please inform your lord that Perrimen Sarandar is here to speak with him about the birds in the library?"

  The sapping stood just taller than him, swaying in the breeze.

  "Ma’am, I must insist." he declared. "Why are you ignoring me?"

  A dark cloud float overhead, forming a bulbous shadow on the ground.

  He tensed, turning to see the dark form behind him. "At last you’ve found me. But I must inform you
, I'll not go without a fight." Red energy crackled around his fingers. He flicked his hand toward a small shrubbery, launching his power at the unsuspecting foe.

  The bush exploded, ripping its roots from the ground.

  "That should teach you. Next time, make sure you know who you're dealing with." The aging wizard turned in search of the keep he was in moments before. To his surprise it was gone, replaced with the most unsavory of fields. “Who would put a grassland in the middle of nowhere?” Sighing heavily, he stumbled through the grass and weeds, unaware of where he was headed.

  An unseen force snagged his foot, sending him toppling into the overgrown field.

  He glanced down at the mettlesome trap, seeing a golden mask lying at his feet. “You don't belong here. Why have you come all this way?” He snatched the mask up and got to his feet.

  The voices intensified, their ramble more chaotic than usual.

  He closed his eye, trying to quiet them, but it didn't work. They just grew louder. Excitement filled his mind, but it wasn't his own. “Shut up!”

  The voices silences, leaving him to his solitude.

  He turned the golden cover in his hand, inspecting the faded scratched along the sides. It had no straps or buckles of any kind, simply a golden emotionless face with eye holes. The nose and mouth were formed but held no expression.

  A single voice rang out, booming in his head, "Put it on!"

  The insane wizard slowly placed the item against his face. Quicker than he could react, it shifted, forming itself to him. Perrimen felt the insanity of his years in solitude wash away, leaving him whole again. For the briefest moment, he was himself.

  A brown leather duster formed around him, replacing his tattered dull robes. A blue and red jester's cap with silver bells sprouted from his tangled, unkempt hair. The mismatched tendrils danced around like serpents in search of something unseen.