“No!” He couldn't let it take everything from him. He had to do something. His will focused into a single action, he siphoned off what power he could hide from the draining tether. Building it as quickly as he could, he released it into one massive burst, exploding out from him in all directions.
Collapsing to his knees, he let out a sigh of relief, feeling the spell break. Panting heavily and nearly drained, he picked himself up. Magic's not going to work here. "Well shit, it looks like I'm going to have to do it the hard way?"
***
Smoke rose from the center of camp, fading into the moon lit night. Several embers danced around the rolling wisp, turning to ash and floating off. Twelve men sat in silence around to fire, staring into its hypnotic draw. Each was well dressed, less than a noble, but more than a peasant. It was clear these men held wealth, recently obtained, judging by their attire and trinkets. They help respect for one another, but played on a silent rivalry, each one attempting to surpass the last, all the while not knowing where to start. From an outside perspective, they looked foolish, wearing their most expensive garment and effects to a private meeting in the woods.
Levithion watched from the shadows, sizing each one. They displayed their weaknesses proudly, unaware of their broadcast. It's time! He stepped from the shadows, revealing his presence."I'm glad to see you all made it." He marched to the center of the villainous group, placing him back to the fire.
They were startled by his sudden arrival, unaware how long he'd been watching them. “Enough games! You've called us here. Reveal your face so that we may look upon the man that has lined our coffers.” A man with a tricorne hat and thick woolen coat demanded with a laugh.
Levithion dropped his hood, revealing a bleached mask made from an orc skull. “As you wish.” his voice traveled from beneath the bone, moonlight reflecting the protruding cheekbones.
They stared in confusion. “Why would he drop his hood only to be hiding behind a mask?” Whispers erupted among the group, growing in volume at a rapid pace.
“Silence!” He demanded. "You're all here for one reason only. The one thing you all have in common."
"And what is that?" A bearded, portly man asked, interrupting him.
Levithion moved with such speed, the man was caught off guard. "You all like to interrupt when someone much more powerful is speaking." he whispered to his dagger, lodged in the man's ear. Pulling the blade free, he wiped it on the man's shoulder, watching him collapse. "And you all piss yourselves when confronted with your demise." He continued, increasing his volume so they could all hear. Returning to his place near the fire, he started again, watching each one. "Now, as I was saying, if there are no more interruptions-- " he paused, daring them to step forward.
The band of brigands shook their heads, hoping to avoid the wrath of the disguised figure.
"You seek easily obtainable wealth, but you're too stupid to obtain it by yourselves. You each hold command over low lives, savages and scum, making your combined forces one to rival the armies you oppose. Prior to my arrival, you've been met with resistance from the knights of Shadgull. But with my assistance, you've each warranted a great deal of wealth. Your men are happy, and you have enough gold to rival the lords you seek to steal from.” He paced back and forth in front of the assembled leaders, lost in his words. “The one thing I've asked in return was that you come when I call.” He looked around the group, locking eyes on each man. “And looking around, you have. It's time to repay your debt.”
The leaders followed him, hanging on each word. He wasn't wrong. Profits had dwindled for all of them prior to his arrival. If it wasn't Shadgull's nobles, it was a new band of protectors from Marbayne. A group calling themselves, Border Wardens. They served The Order of the Trident, acting as protectors and bounty hunters for Dalmoura as a whole. Fortunately, their numbers were still fairly small, preventing them from establishing a solid hold in the highlands. But that would soon end if they didn't slow progression. Not to mention the constant shuffle of armies with the brewing war. Though it was easy to infiltrate the larger units and take what they needed.
Levithion pointed to the south, continuing his speech. “In two days’ time, the gong of Shadgull City will sound. She'll be without her lord. She will be without her knights, and she will be without her army. Each of you will gather your men and impregnate the bitch. You’ll have nothing other than a few guards to deal with. They’ll be easily overcome by your numbers. Once you’ve entered the city, I don't care what you do. Rape, pillage, plunder, what ever it is your type likes to do. I don't care. What I do care about, however is a very special emerald that is set in the center of King Remle De Leon's throne. Retrieve this emerald and I’ll consider your debts paid. If you fail me however, I'll slaughter you. I'll slaughter your families. And I'll slaughter your men. Am I understood?"
They nodded agreement, fearing his unnatural speed and swift execution when questioned.
"And one last thing. You’ll have three hours from the sound to acquire my emerald. Any longer, and you risk the return of Remle and his band of ass hats. I’d recommend being gone before then."
The fire flashed, blinding them for the briefest of moments. Searching the opening, the cloaked tactician was gone, disappeared into the shadows.
***
The unfamiliar walls were covered in thick patches of moss. Glowing fungus clung to the crevices, displaying a variety of faint blues and yellows in the rocky passageway. The ceiling was moist, thousands of droplets of water gathered, ready to fall to the floor below, leaving tiny bits of mineral behind to grow the jagged columns.
Gareth cautiously walked along the natural formations. Chunks of blood and gore dripped from his shield, leaving a trail behind him. The glowing tunnel was eerily quiet, alerting him to the absence of his hated foe. He didn't recognize this passage. And from the unmolested walls around him, the dreualfar didn't frequent this place either. Truth was, he only came this way because they were guarding it. Had they paid it no mind, he wouldn't have bothered. But they were, so it had to hold value. He continued forward, spotting a change in design. A perfectly round hole laid against the otherwise jagged wall. He approached and inspected the unnatural find. It was a tunnel leading deeper into the underdark. The stone was smooth, like it had been drilled away with the finest of precision. As far as his eyes could tell, it didn't dip, or slant, or curve in any other direction. It was simply a perfect hole, leading straight into the unknown. Whatever they were guarding, I'll bet it's down here. He slung his shield across his back and stepped into the mouth. Subtlety was not his strong suit, but it was required in this endeavor. Checking the width of the tunnel, he pressed his shoulders and arms against the ceiling and walls. Content he could slow himself, he leaned back, allowing his hide soled boots to slip against the glass-like floor.
Within minutes, he reached the bottom, seeing an ancient structure carved into the underground mountain. He guessed it was a dwarven city. He’d never met a dwarf, but from the stories he’d heard, he thought he would get along with them quite nicely.
He followed the walkway, rounding the ancient complex. A large set of steps lead to what he guessed was the entrance, a huge set of blackened stone doors standing open in the empty cavern.
He stopped just outside the massive doors, dwarfed himself by their size. Continuing onward, he stepped inside, lost in the imagery. The inside was amazing. Each stone was carved and molded to fit perfectly against the others, leaving no trace of a seam between the stones. Each one made of the same material as the doors. Not a single pebble was out of place, revealing the magnificence of the craftsmanship. He saw no sign of dust or debris, a miracle in its own rite considering the age and size of the place. He found that thought troubling. Being this clean, that should mean it's occupied. But where are the residence?
Carefully, he walked down the darkstone stairway, keeping his eyes open for any movement. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end in the looming darkness. The solitude
was almost worse than finding his enemy.
He reached the bottom of the stairs, looking through the wide archway into a grand hall. He could see several pews resting in the center of the room, open in the center and along the sides. The far end held a domed chamber with a large altar at the center.
Stepping to the cathedral, he walked along the bare floor between the pews. Their craftsmanship was exquisite, much like the structure itself. They were made from the same stone as everything else, but appeared mechanical. Like they could shift form. He inspected them a bit closer, realizing a pattern to their design. Three rows made a complete set. The first row was immovable, while the second converted to a table, and the third rotated the backrest to face the other direction. He found it interesting how it such a simple design could change it from a church to a dining hall in a matter of minutes.
He looked around the large chamber. Six towering figures stood along the side walls, like columns stretching up the ceiling. They were dressed in black armor, covering all but their faces. Near twenty-foot tall swords reached from their overlapped hands to the equally dark floor. He peered up at their faces, unable to discern what he was looking at. Each time the features settled, it would shift to another face, as if they were in constant fluctuation. He couldn't explain his reasoning, but he knew the twelve were protectors. Not just of him, but of the entire realm.
Shaking the vastness of their purpose from his mind, he noticed the many thresholds along the wall between the column like figures. All but one of their magnificent doors, sealed for an eternity. That's where I'll find them!
He cautiously approaching the open doorway, his hand locked around his mace. The dark room was bare, save for an open passageway to his right. It looked as if the portal was once hidden behind the stonework, now busted and scattered about the floor. He stepped through the rubble and into the opening. A single chamber lied beyond with a partial hole in the floor. He could see the top few wedge-shaped stairs disappearing below. Quickly traversing the winding corridor, he paused, seeing the flicker of fire light. Dreu don't require light to see. What's in there? He slowly stepped forward, peeking through the archway.
A slender dreualfar with long white hair stood in the center of the room, his back to the entrance. He was dressed in elegant robes made of a royal blue with pearl colored runes around the cuffs and neckline. The figure stared into a large mirror, set in the far wall. It's function seemed misplaced in the large structure.
Gareth couldn't help but notice it wasn’t reflecting as it should. Where the contents of the room, dreualfar included should have shown, instead the inside of a crypt was displayed. His attention shifted back to the dreualfar. Searching him up and down, he noticed a sabre strapped to his left hip and a brown leather satchel hung from his right. There was something about the creature the was unsettling. Something dark and dangerous, more so than his kind usually were. Gareth slowly made his way behind the beast, lifting his mace. If he could get close enough, he could strike it down without it knowing until it was too late.
Nezial stared deeply into the ancient mirror, studying the magics surrounding it. He couldn't begin to understand the mysteriously woven strands of energy. It was as if they didn't belong to any of the arcane schools. And from what he'd studied about divine magics, it didn't fit the mold either. This was something else entirely, something forgotten.
A sweet scent drifted past his nostrils, a familiar flavor, coppery and dark. Dreualfar blood! His face contorted, stretching his wicked smile across his lips. "The commander of the fabled Dreuslayers has come to end my life. I must have done well to gain such honor." He slowly turned to face his would-be attacker.
"Your kind has no honor!" Gareth spat, preparing for battle. Mace at the ready, he charged the unarmed creature, rolling his shoulder. The slung shield slid off his back and down his arm. Flipping it around, he snatched the handle on the back side and locked it into place.
Nezial casually waved his hand, letting his power flow from him. It erupted like a burst centered on him and exploded into the walls, disappearing from sight.
Gareth felt the flood of energy wash over him. Though to his surprise, it didn't strike as he'd expected. He continued forward as best he could, but it wasn't enough. His feet left the ground and he flew backward, slamming into the far wall. What the hell was that? Did he misfire? I've never seen that happen before. He picked himself up, watching the last remnants of the magic soak into the walls. Maybe this place, this stone is warded against magic. Maybe that's why he couldn't cast. Though that's more maybes than I like to work with. Best I play it safe until I know for certain.
"This place is becoming increasingly annoying." Nezial calmly stated, his constant smile fading slightly.
"It seems you can't get it up. Don't worry, it happens to the best of em, you black-skinned bastard." Gareth taunted, letting his rage build. Kicking off the wall, he launched himself forward again, ready to deflect the explosion with the enchanted shield. He brought the mace down, aimed for the slender creature's head.
Nezial reached out with unnatural speed and grabbed the head of the mace, halting the swing with his bare hand. "I don't need magic to kill you." He forced the thick weapon back, letting the human's own weight do all the work.
The blood soaked handle slipped from Gareth's hand and bashed him in the face. It was a solid enough blow to stop his advancement. He stumbled backward, shaking his senses back into place. He stared down at the onyx floor, watching thick droplets of bright red blood pour from his face. "Alright, you wanna play that way… let's play." He spit the blood from his mouth, glaring his hatred at the creature. Tossing his shield and mace to the side, he drew his cutlasses.
Nezial slowly slid his sabre from its sheath, letting it drag against he leather wrap. Flipping it around in his hand, he drug the tip across the stone flooring and stabbed down, letting it embed itself slightly. Releasing his sword, he opened his arms, inviting a clear shot. The curved blade wobbled back and forth from the pressure on the tip.
He's challenging me, which means he's confident in his skill. He'll snatch his blade up and strike if I'm not ready. Gareth charged and swung his right blade, preparing to block with the left.
Like a strike of lightning, Nezial shot out, snatching his sword up. Rolling his wrist, he easily sent the attack wide. Continuing on its currently trajectory, he stabbed inward, watching the second cutlass miss the block. The tip of his sword stabbed deep into the Dreuslayer's left shoulder.
Gareth winced in pain but refused to back away. Growling his irritation, he swung again, using his footwork to retract the blade from his shoulder. He swung wildly with his wounded arm, hoping to distract his opponent. Redirecting his first attack, struck with everything he had, hoping it was enough to get past the expert swordsman's defenses.
Nezial knocked the feign wide and brought his sword across to parry. Using the blocked attack as leverage, he stabbed the tip of his sword into the already wounded shoulder once again, careful to keep from tearing the wound further. He took pleasure in the anger growing in his opponent's eyes. It gave him something to strive for. Perhaps once I exhaust this man, I'll play with him for a while. Of coarse, now is not the time. I have things to achieve while my armies are distracting the surface dwellers.
His anger intensified with each miss, Gareth sent swing after swing at the dreualfar, hoping to break skin at least once.
Nezial chuckled at the pathetic human's attempt. He's so slow and his strikes are easily predictable. It’s his rage that makes him such an easy opponent. How has he killed so many of us?
Gareth turned red, his anger overflowing at the dreualfar's laughter. He sent barrage after barrage but nothing connected.
Nezial deflected the wild swings. "I'm done toying with you." he declared, bringing his sabre around. The swing was quick and full of purpose. It caught the Dreuslayer just above his right eyebrow and sank down through the socket stopping in his cheekbone.
Gareth dropped his swords,
grabbing his eye in pain. He couldn’t see anything with it. The pain burned into his core. He felt is pump through his body with each heartbeat, thundering inside him, like the rhythm of a drum. Staggering backward, he tripped. Catching himself, he felt his knees impact the hard stone floor. His eyes closes, tears and blood running down his face, he sucked the dusty air through his nose, trying to calm himself. Full of rage, he felt a coolness wash over him, soothing his pain. The bottled anger manifested into a power he'd never felt before. He saw the shadow approach him. Dropping his hands, he looked up, seeing the blurry figure standing over him, ready to end his life. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist, focusing his hatred on the creature. He wanted to strangle him. To feel his body go limp beneath his grip.
Nezial smiled at the defeated Dreuslayer. His eye was severed beyond repair. Even the strongest of magics had no chance of restoring it. A sense of satisfaction overcame him. It's time to end this! He approached the man, bringing his sabre up to finish the job. Caught unaware, he felt a powerful grip wrap around his throat. Struggling against the unseen force, he searched for the energy. It clearly wasn't magic, though what else could it be? His smile faded, confidence turning to concern. His feet left the ground, dangling him several inches in the air. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breath.
Gareth squeezed, hoping to strangle the evil creature. He felt his fingers wrap around the vermin’s throat, though his fist were nowhere near him.
Nezial knew he had to act fast or he would fail. His vision was beginning to fade to the crippling grip. Focusing his last bit of will into a single action, he let his power explode from him, sending it in all directions as he had before. Pouring everything he had into the single blast, he inhaled deeply, feeling the air return to his lungs.
The Order of the Trident (Eldarlands Book 1) Page 25