The Order of the Trident (Eldarlands Book 1)

by Samuel Rikard

  He stood, looking around the empty wilderness. "That was a hell of a way to spend the last decade." With a chuckle, he snapped his fingers.

  The air around him began to swirl faster and faster until the wild plains were no longer in sight. An orange glow formed around him, engulfing everything he was. As quick as he wished it, he was gone.

  ***

  Kane stood defiantly at the edge of Aldridge, staring at the map, calculating the distance from Heroes’ Gate. It wouldn’t be long now, he thought glancing back at his men, anxiously waiting behind him.

  They shivered, standing in formation, whether from the cold autumn night, or nervousness of the impending battle, he didn’t know.

  Returning his attention to the northern road, he rolled the parchment and stuffed it back in his pouch. His greatsword stood in front of him, the tip several inches in the ground. He wrapped his hands around the pommel and lifted the blade, heaving it up to his shoulder. Squinting in the distance, he took a deep breath. "To arms, men. We're under attack!"

  The dreualfar filed out of the darkness, showing their numbers against the hand-full of soldiers.

  They'd made it much closer than he had realized. “Form a wall. Keep the flanks open.”

  The soldiers squeezed together, locking their shields against the next one. Several men stood behind the line, ready to thrust their spears into the approaching enemy.

  Standing several steps ahead of his soldiers, Kane searched the force, ready to impart his last orders before they would be upon him. "Beware the dreuki, as a rule, they tend to be spell casters. If we can kill it, we may break their resolve."

  His men shouted in confidence, taunting their attackers.

  The dreualfar rushed forward, trampling the first few who weren’t quick enough to stay ahead of the group.

  Readying himself, Kane let loose a mighty swipe, cutting the first three in half. Spinning around to keep them at a distance, he prepared to attack again.

  The dreualfar swarmed, surrounding the lone warrior. The others washed around, slamming into the shield wall. Several fell to the spears, but they continued to pour forward.

  The soldiers planted their feet, holding their shields between themselves and the dreualfar. Many took turns, stabbing whatever weapon they had over and under the wall, hoping to fell as many as possible before the wall would have to drop. Several of the shieldmen fell, letting the enemy pass through the opening, but the others absorbed the fallen, closing the gaps before too many made it through, leaving the spearmen to deal with them.

  Kane spun around, letting the weight of his blade do the work. The dreualfar were afraid to move on the young warrior, fear of being chopped down by his agile fighting style evident in their eyes. Mid swing, he dropped his left hand, leaving his right to control the large weapon. Grabbing hold of one of the clay flask from his waist, he threw it as hard as he could, toward the largest group of dreualfar. Regaining control of his blade, he ducked down, shielding his eyes.

  The bright flash exploded, sending several of the dreualfar into a panic. They rushed about, trying to escape the burning light, leaving nothing more than bone and ash to be carried away by the light breeze.

  Kane felt the ground shake beneath him. Looking up, he saw eight muscular legs stomping toward him. Each one hairy and thick like a tarantula. Lifting his sword, he prayed the fight would not be his last. Looking around, the dreualfar still had him surrounded.

  The human soldiers held together, keeping the dreualfar from entering the city. Several of the men laid dead around the wall, leaving less than two dozen to hold the line.

  The dreuki stalked forward, flexing its thick legs with each step. It stopped just out of reach, extending its hands toward the armed warrior. Palms facing up, it's twisted, dreualfar face glared at the lone warrior, hissing its vial tongue. "Rof taht ll'uoy yap !" The creature flexed its arms, letting its muscles expand. It slowly squeezing his hands into fist, locking them around some unseen object.

  To Kane's surprise, he watched two short blades form in the creature’s hands.

  It towered several feet over the warrior, smiling wickedly at the out matched human. Rubbing its two summoned swords together, the seemingly hardened material crackled with energy. Swiftly, it lunged at him with one of the blades.

  Kane swung his sword in defense, blocking the attack. It glanced off the steel greatsword, going wide.

  The dreuki thrust in with the other, whipping its rear around to stab with its foot long stinger.

  Kane dodged the second attack, but the third made him stumble backwards, avoiding the deadly sting. The wall of dreualfar would most-likely run him through if he fell into their ranks. Realizing he had one option, he fell to his back. Timing the impact, he rolled, hoping he could get back to his feet.

  Seeing him prone, the creature jumped, landing on top of him. It tried stinging him several times, leaving green ooze in the dirt with each stab.

  Kane kicked the over sized abdomen, launching himself a few inches at a time. It wasn't much, but it allowed him to avoid the deadly stings. Trying to maneuver his greatsword, the several legs of the creature made its size a hindrance. Abandoning his sword, he pulled a dagger from his waistline, narrowly dodging the arm-sized stinger. Slicing quick and shallow, he felt the blade connect, cutting into one of creature's hairy legs.

  It hissed, moving its other legs to compensate for the injured one.

  Kane rolled, slamming all his weight into the injured leg. It collapsed from the impact, allowing him a small hole to escape. He squeezed through, crawling from beneath the beast, narrowly avoiding its crushing abdomen. He kicked hard, letting the momentum carry him to his feet. Watching the angered dreuki heading for him once again, he grabbed the pommel of his shortsword, drawing the small blade from its scabbard. He adjusted his style and prepared for the incoming attack.

  The dreuki locked its gaze on him, " Hguone fo siht ev'i dah !" It straightened its legs, thrusting the rear of its abdomen beneath, directed at the smaller warrior. The bulbous, hair covered rear end convulsed, ejecting a stringy spray of green across the field.

  Kane jumped to the side, dodging the steady stream.

  Several dreualfar screamed, feeling the acidic liquid eat into their flesh. The others stepped aside, hoping to avoid a similar fate.

  Kane glanced back at the screams, seeing the small group of dreualfar melt into a chunky pool of black and green ooze. Great, it can spray acid at me.

  The other dreualfar broke into cheer, watching the spectacle.

  The soldiers were beginning to gain ground. Their flanks were horseshoed out, encompassing the attacking dreualfar. Even the spectators were beginning to fall to the advancing protectors.

  Kane focused, knowing he would have to get much closer to injure the beast.

  The dreuki hissed, angered by his miss. He stomped forward, ready to strike the human down.

  Kane waited for the creature to close in, counting his steps, timing his attack perfectly.

  The dreuki sprang into action, aiming to cut the troublesome warrior in half.

  Knowing his death would result in failure, Kane lunged with the short blade, stabbing it deep into the dreuki's chin. He brought the dagger up, slamming it into the side of the beast's head. The blades passed through easily, crisscrossing in it's skull. The sword shot out the top, covered in black and pink ichor.

  The two summoned blades weakened before his eyes, dissipating into nothing. The unarmed hands scratch harmlessly against his polished, yet dirty breastplate.

  "Meet one of the Dreuslayers." Kane whispered into the creature's destroyed ear. He watched it take its final breath, its eyes growing dull with each passing moment. Ripping his weapons free, he spun around to face any attacking dreualfar.

  The dreualfar screamed in shock and panic. As if the order for retreat had been given. The surviving dreualfar scrambled to escape into the darkness.

  “Follow them. Cut them down before they can escape!” Kane heard th
e words escape his lips. I'm spending too much time with Gareth.

  ***

  Knee-high brown grass danced on both sides of the dirt trail, swaying in the breeze. A bright green forest stood in the distance, with the mountain range to the east. The sun beamed down, causing beads of sweat to roll down his green skin.

  Krenin stomped along the countryside. The orcs living on the northeastern edge of Krondar were known to be difficult to deal with, but maybe with his bloodline he could get through to them in the coming days.

  Grace was not his specialty, he stomped as he walked kicking up dust from the barren path. Krenin wore tan leather breeches with a red tabard and leather armor with multicolored scales of various browns and reds. The mighty half-orc carried a greatsword with a row of throwing daggers across his chest and his axe hanging from his side.

  Krenin spotted the dusty pathway leading off the main road. Shifting his direction, he walked for nearly an hour, seeing the domed structures in the distance. Making his way closer, he recognized it for what it was. He'd found the elusive and nomadic orcs of Krondar. He approached, feeling small under their glares of disapproval. He wasn't accepted here, no more than he was accepted outside of Marbayne. But he had a job to do. It didn't matter if if they liked him. They would hear what he had to say none the less. He approached one of the armored males, looking up at his green face. "I need to speak with the clan chief." he said in orcish.

  "The chief does not need to speak with you, puny half-breed" the orc retorted, measuring the smaller abomination. The orc stood nearly a foot taller, but had much less muscle despite his potency.

  "You’re mistaken." Krenin corrected. “I've traveled here with intent to speak with him.

  The larger orc backhanded him, nearly knocking him from his feet.

  Krenin caught himself against the side of the crude, wooden hut. Reaching up, he wiped the liquid running from his lower lip. Inspecting his fingers, he looked at the blood clinging to them. He spat a mouthful onto the dusty ground, feeling his rage build. Abandoning all reason, he charged the orc, hitting him in the gut.

  The large orc didn't have time to react, falling to the ground with the half-breed atop of him.

  Krenin punched him several times, beating his face to a pulp. When he was done, he stood, looking at his blood covered knuckles. The skin was split in several places, making it difficult to see how much of it was really his blood.

  Several other orcs surrounded him, pointing their spears at the half-breed, ready to strike him down.

  An old orc with braided, gray hair approached the group. He pressed firmly against his walking stick, balancing himself with each step. "Let him pass." His voice was calm but commanding. He turned and slowly made his way back toward the large, fur covered hut.

  The orcs lowered their weapons, moving to give him access to the largest hut.

  Krenin passed between them, feeling their anger on his skin. He approached the large hug and lifted the fur covered flap. He stepped inside and looked around.

  The floor was lined with animal pelts. A large log was cut lengthwise and smoothed, making a bench large enough to seat three full-sized orcs.

  The aged orc had a long braided beard, matching color to his equally lengthy hair. His dulling green skin was beginning to wrinkle but he looked as if he could still fight if required, despite his need for the cane. He gestured to the wooden bench, waiting for the half-orc to sit.

  Krenin plopped down, hearing it creak under the sudden weight.

  "What brings a half-breed to the lands where he is considered an outcast?" The elder orc grabbed a large gourd and pulled the cord wedged in the top. He placed it to his lips and took a long draw.

  "I was asked to speak with you in regard to the dreualfar threat. They've escaped the underground and have already crippled Tresengal. If we don't band together, they're fully capable of overrunning Dalmoura as a whole."

  The chief spat the liquid on the ground, "Dalmoura-- a name given by humans. It has no meaning here. Nor does your concern of the dreualfar. They’re the concern of the myrkalfar. As far as I am concerned let them wipe the filthy tree-huggers out."

  "This threat is bigger than the rivalry of two races. If you do not heed my warning, they will be upon you soon."

  "Your words have been noted. If they come here, we will deal with them. If not, they’re not my concern." the aged orc said calmly, replacing the cork and laying the gourd to rest.

  The flap of the hut opened, allowing daylight to drift into the large, smoke filled shelter.

  "Chief, Kalgar is dead." The newcomer, glared at Krenin, his eyes full of hatred.

  The chief waved his hand in dismissal, watching the flap fall shut. "That is unfortunate news. He was one of the most able orcs of this clan. I'm afraid you’ll have to pay for his death."

  Krenin looked from the chief to the door flap. "I apologize for his death but I must return to inform my friends of your decision."

  "That’s no longer your concern. Kalgar had a family. Without him they’ll have a difficult time surviving the winter. The clan can help, but not nearly enough. You’ll be taken north, into Tulgrimm. All of the clans interact there. You will work to feed his family. Once you’ve served your time, you will be released to continue down whatever path you so desire."

  Krenin felt the rage growing inside him once again. I could crush his frail form with ease. Nobody could stop me from leaving then.

  The aged orc waved his hand, letting his energies flow.

  Krenin reached for his weapon but it was too late. Several vines shot from the ground, tightly wrapping around his body. He struggled against the vines, reaching for his axe. The need for air was growing with the constricting bands. He fought to get free, fought to breath but the vines were too tight. Realizing he was doomed, his fight drained away and blackness overcame him.

  ***

  Mushrooms grew in patches, hunkered together in the cracks and crevices along the cave walls. They put off a soft glow in the underdark, illuminating the tunnels like tiny torches every so often. The floors and ceilings were rough, layered in thick mineral deposits. It was clear these passages hadn't seen visitors in quite some time, if ever.

  Nezial casually walked around the protruding stalagmites, their unique beauty lost upon him. He had one job, to free Izaryle. Beauty was a commodity he could no longer relish.

  He could feel the ancient energies calling to him. They were close, yet so far away. Feeling a change in their disposition, he froze, turning to study the jagged wall. He placed his hand against the cool stone, listening for their response.

  The glowing fungus dimmed, the rubbery stocks flexing to avoid his touch.

  I'm on the wrong damn level! His anger boiled with the knowledge of so much lost time to find this specific tunnel, far below the known territories. Yet now it seemed he hadn't found the right one. “It matters not, I'll find it either way!” he demanded, throwing his other hand against the wall, like the first. The energy flowed from him, burning deep into the stone. He watched the layers meld together and start to recess, leaving a deep crater where he'd touched. The corner of his mouth tightened with his success. Forcing his will into the spell, he pushed further, allowing his magic to cut through the earth, digging deeper and deeper, seeming never to stop.

  He felt like it had no end, every time he started to feel exhausted, renewal washed over him. It was Izaryle calling him home. It had to be. What else had the ability to rejuvenate a man such as he? His smile grew wider with each passing breath, reassuring himself of victory. The humans and alfar don't stand a chance. Even if they ally against me, my army is too massive, restricted only by the hole we crawled from, but with the constant mining, many more openings are being made every day. It won't be long before Shadgull falls and I claim the dragon stone. The catacombs stretch farther than ever before and we’re days from breaching the surface right under their noses.

  The last bits of rock melted away, revealing a perfectly smooth tunnel angl
ed deeper into the underdark. He had trouble seeing the distanced, but there appeared to be some form of structure at the base.

  Nezial lowered his hands and stepped into the newly constructed tunnel. The walls were slick like glass, all traction burned away by his spell. He slid down the slide-like hole, careful to keep his footing.

  Reaching the bottom, he couldn't help but feel lost in the sight before him. It wasn't so much the perceived beauty that caught his eye as it was the expert craftsmanship of the-- cathedral? Every inch of its towering presence was engraved and smoothed, removing any evidence of tooling. It was as if the strange, black stone had been grown into its current shape and harvested to fit perfectly among the others. Even the fabled dwarves he'd read about didn't have that amount of skill.

  He stood in the shadow of the monumental, underground complex, feeling his master's call from within. Nezial marched around the side, finding an ancient road set in the cavern floor. It was made of the same onyx stone, equally ornate and seamless. Which seemed odd considering it was simply a road. What purpose did it serve other than to travel upon?

  Following the flawless pathway, he found the entrance to the antiquated structure. The doors were polished to a mirror finish, reflecting the looming cavern behind him. A thick layer of dust had settled over the reflective surface, leaving a haze in the image. He approached the towering doors, much larger than required for any creature he'd ever heard of. By this scale, even the eldest of dragons would have had plenty of room to enter, not that a dragon would willingly come this far underground.

  He lifted his hand, facing the palm at the sealed seam. To his surprise, he couldn't see himself in the dusty reflection. Like a lost toy, you don't realize it's not there until you're searching for it. Dismissing the notion, Nezial channeled his energy, letting it soak into the mysterious stone. To his surprise, it felt like the doors were absorbing his magic, pulling more than he desired to release. He tried breaking the spell, but the doors continued to pull, draining everything he had.