The Order of the Trident (Eldarlands Book 1)

by Samuel Rikard

  Gareth felt the force of energy slam into him, breaking his concentration. He flew backward, slamming into the wall. Something was wrong. He felt different. Like he'd eaten something bad. Only it was more than just illness. He felt as if something dark had crawled inside him, tainting his soul. He pressed his knuckles into the cold floor, pushing himself up. Movement caught his good eye. He glanced over at the mirror, seeing his reflection for the first time. Though it wasn't a visage he recognized. A wounded dreualfar stared back at him, one of his eyes missing and clotted. It had his facial structure and wore his clothes, but it wasn't him. It couldn't be him. Confusion and panic took hold. Gareth jumped up, charging at the imposter in the mirror. He tripped over the dreualfar commander and slammed face first into the speculum. It reverberated, knocking him back.

  Nezial struggled to regain his breath. How the human had gotten past his defenses was a very serious question that would have to be answered. What was more concerning was how did he absorb the blast. Like the walls, but much more deadly. He could see a piece of himself inside the frightened human. Struggling for breath, he forced his words past his bruised throat. “How's it feel to be one of us?”

  Gareth heard the words. It couldn't be true. He'd never be one of them. He'd rather die. But the mirror confirmed his fears. Scrambling to his feet, he looked at the prone dreualfar one more time. “I'll never be one of you!” He reached down and snatched up the loose satchel lying between the downed commander and himself. It wouldn't be long before the beast would be on its feet again and he didn't have the strength to finish him now. Gareth ran toward the stairs, hoping to escape with his life. Perhaps in the tunnels he could regain his composure. And hopefully find out what happened to him.

  Chapter XIX

  The Dreu War

  The moonlight blared down upon the grassy plains of Shadgull. Lite fog slowly drifted across the land, delivering a calm but potentially deadly night to the people of Dalmoura. Armies stood throughout the massive grasslands, assembled and awaiting orders. The myrkalfar were split into several battalions and positioned among the human armies. Colors littered their mass, displaying blues, greens, reds, and orange. The southern nations had come together for the first time since the construction of Heroes' Gate. The races of myrkalfar and men stood ready. Their archers at the rear awaiting the command to rain death upon the dreualfar.

  The dreualfar army, spanned as far as the eye could see. They made no attempt to hide their numbers, lining the far side of the field by the thousands. Shouts echoed across the vast plain, preparing the formed units for the nights adventures. Several dreuki marched behind their soldiers, awaiting orders from their commanders.

  Drums of war bounce along the flat terrain, leaving both sides with a steady tune of death and despair.

  Ravion, Kane and Malakai stood at the head of one of the large groups, the men behind them all wearing the symbols of the Tower and Trident, their red and green capes flowing in the night breeze.

  Ravion looked at his brothers, “It appears war is finally upon us.”

  “So it would seem.” Kane replied. “Have you heard from Gareth or Krenin?”

  Ravion shook his head, “No. Gareth has yet to return from the catacombs and Krenin hasn't been heard from since we asked him to speak with the orcs.”

  “Maybe the orcs will arrive with him shortly.” Malakai interjected.

  “It’s possible, but unlikely.” Ravion rebutted. “I've had many dealing with the orcs in Krondar. I doubt they’ll be much help, considering their relationship with the alfar.”

  They nodded their agreement.

  “I would have though Gareth to be here. It's rare for him to miss an opportunity like this.” Kane added.

  “Aye, but he was in the catacombs, I’m sure he's having his own fun there.” Ravion sighed, “Once we're done here, I'll go search for him.”

  Malakai replied, “I'll join you. Two heads are better than one. That is unless you're fighting a hydra. I've heard that's not much fun.” He chuckled at his statement realizing how ridiculous it sounded.

  The three took a final look around knowing hell was about to break loose.

  The battle horns sounded, alerting Osirus to prepare his reapers. Both armies charged toward one another, the sound of their footsteps and battle cries drowning out the drums of war. Archers fired their load, launching a volley of flaming arrows into the dreualfar forces. Before the wooden shafts hit the ground, they had another set ready and lit.

  The dreualfar did the same, returning unlit arrows to catch the surface dwellers off guard.

  Ravion dodged and ducked the wicked shafts, making his way toward his enemy.

  Kane was nearly struck, the arrow glancing off his thick breastplate. Another inch and it could have struck home.

  Malakai felt the iron head tear through his flesh, leaving a shallow but painful graze across his arm. He glanced at the minor flesh wound. growling his anger at the approaching army.

  The armies collided with an explosion of bodies and blood. Neither yielding to the other.

  Ravion cut and dodged, avoiding strike after strike.

  His brothers doing likewise.

  Within minutes the field was swarming with soldiers of the two sides. Each one in all out combat, fighting for their lives. The archers of both sides continued firing their arrows, choosing single targets in the chaos.

  Kane dodged a scimitar, realizing his greatsword was too bulky for the close quarters combat. Tossing it to the blood soaked field, he drew his shortsword and dagger. He sliced one dreualfar, ducking a swing from another. To his surprise, it was remarkably easy to hold the wicked curved blades at bay. Almost as if they weren't trying to claim ground.

  Malakai spun around, stabbing his sword into one of the dreualfar's back. Retracting his blade, he threw his shield up, blocking another attack. Pushing off, he brought the protective barrier down, breaking the arm of the dreualfar in front of him. It was one thing to hide behind the steel, quite another to turn it into a weapon as well. Seeing an opening, he stabbed his sword into the chest of the broken armed dreualfar, releasing the blade. He reached under the shield and flung a small balanced dagger into another. Before the dreualfar fell backward, he grabbed his sword and ripped it free.

  The three held their own, cutting down foe after foe but the battle was young, and thousands more dreualfar flooded toward them.

  ***

  The glowing fungus faded into memory, returning to known territory. Gareth felt the beads of sweat running down his face. His hatred exhausted but still present. It was directed at more than just the dreualfar. He felt an equal hatred for himself. He felt the pain inside him, his body begging for a break.

  Unable to take another step, he leaning against the cavern wall, feeling his legs buckle. He slid down the wall, finding himself on the hardened clay floor. Out of breath, he pulled the brown satchel to him. Inspecting the bag, he flipped the wooden button through the small leather loop and opened the flap. A shimmering black book stared back at him, begging his attention. He removed the strange book and opened it to the center. To his surprise, all the pages were blank, taunting him.

  “Why the hell do I need a blank book?” A single drop of blood and sweat rolled off his cheek, landing on the flaky page.

  He watched in wonder, seeing it spring to life. His blood revealing the secrets hidden within. At least it would if he understood a single word of what was written.

  He flipped through the pages, looking at the various pictures and strange markings. He ran his finger over dark red scribes, wondering how a single drop of blood could reveal so much.

  Footsteps echoed down the corridor, returning him to the now. He shoved the book back into the satchel and slung it over his shoulder. Pulling himself to his feet, he reached for his swords. Realizing their absence, he felt a loss greater than all but one, his family. He snarled, taking a defensive position. I may die, but I'm gonna take as many of those bastards with me as I can!

&nbs
p; Several dreualfar stepped into sight, freezing at the sight of the lone Dreuslayer.

  Gareth charged, welcoming his impending doom. He slammed his shoulder into the first dreualfar, grabbing its weapon. He spun around and punched a second one, letting the poorly crafted scimitar slice into a third.

  The dreualfar surrounded the lone warrior, their shock wearing off.

  Gareth chopped and hacked with the crude and unbalanced weapon, catching another in the neck. He felt something slam into his side, launching him into the cavern wall. He fought to get back to his feet before they enclosed on him, but it was too late. He felt a sharp stab burn through his leg. It went numb in an instant. He tried to fight but it was no use. The numbness flowed through him, shutting his body down. Each beat of his heart left him more and more helpless. His chest was getting heavy, then his arms. He watched, unable to act. Staring blankly ahead, unable to blink, he saw the familiar hair covered legs step into view.

  The dreuki straddled him, snatching him off the ground. It went to work wrapping him in a thick sticky web.

  Gareth felt the thick, silky wrap encase him. He tried to call out, but it was too late. The sticky thread covered his face, blocking out the horrifying sights around him.

  ***

  The dank air of the underground began to shimmer and swirl, revealing a rip in the fabric of reality. It expanded, shifting to a jagged oval of orange and black. The faint scenery of a grassy plains land appeared in the black. The tall stalks of grain swaying in the light breeze. A figure stepped through the opening, wearing a brown leather duster. His face was covered by a the golden, expressionless mask and the blue and red jester's cap danced atop his head, searching as always. The silver bells on the ends jingled with each movement.

  Perrimen stepped through the portal, sealing it behind him. A sense of purpose guided his every step, carrying him deeper toward his destination. He glanced down at the smooth, black plates lining the walkway, knowing exactly where he was going. Though he'd never been here, the visions of the mask told him where to go.

  An ancient, abandoned city rested in the shadows of a huge crater. He walked along the plated high rise overlooking the thousands of structures below. Each one unique in its own way, though from this distance, they were all simple dwarven homes. He rounded the bend, spotting the ancient fortress of the Urdurnie. It'd been a millennia since anyone had laid eyes on the keepsake, abandoned so long ago when Ozmodius removed his weapon makers from this realm. The sanctum itself served as a weapon against those who would seek entry. The darkstone structure would hinder most, but he was special, unique you might say.

  Perrimen heard the voices screaming at him, urging him forward. He knew the fortress had been opened, he could feel it. Why does it call to me? Stop him! Stop who? Him! Lost in the argument within his mind, he reached the doors, recalling the first gifts the Urdurnie gave to Ozmodius. He was present that day. The day the dragons where born. The darkstone twins, crafted by the dwarves and used to model all others. The image of the monstrous creations filled his mind, both exciting him and filling him with terror. How could something so massive truly exist. And moreover, why were there two of them?

  The memories faded, begging him to continue. He stepped into the ancient structure, following the breadcrumbs laid out for him.

  Nezial stood in the antechamber, holding the attuned dagger in front of the mirror. He watched the mystical flames hover over the mounted scones, their eternal tendrils dancing in the nonexistent breeze. That was the trick to seeing the magic surrounding the mirror. It was invisible to the naked eye. But the waves of the fire revealed slight fluctuations that he was able to identify and alter.

  Perrimen stepped into the room, stopping just inside the door. Why would such a unique dreualfar waste so much energy on something he can't begin to understand? Truth was, he couldn't understand it himself. But the mask had a way of guiding him to the correct path. It's strange really. I have control over myself, yet the mask always seemed to lead me where it wants me to be. Is it an illusion of free will or something far more advanced? I don't have time for philosophy! He shook the thought from his mind, returning focus to the creature before him.

  Nezial sniffed at the air, attuning himself to his surroundings. “I smell power. Tell me, who might you be?” He stuffed the blade into his waistband and turned to face the masked man.

  Perrimen cocked his head to the side. The tendrils of his cap moved like snakes, searching the air for anything within their reach. Instinct drove him, conflicting against his desire. He stared at the tiny silver bell clipped to the dreualfar's belt. He wasn't sure how he attached it, but he was certain he had. And more importantly, he knew what it meant.

  Nezial studied the newcomer, unable to identify any features beyond humanoid. ”What are you?” There was something different about the man. He was mysterious, yet curious, radiating of ancient magics, rivaling his own.

  Perrimen watched the dreualfar, his head still cocked. He knew it was trying to learn something about him. Though there wasn't much to learn. What are you doing? He tried to speak the words, finding his voice in the back of his mind. It was then, that he realized his will was once again, not his own.

  “I'm becoming annoyed by these constant interruptions. If you aren't going to do anything, leave. I’ve enough to deal with.” Nezial turned, presenting his back to the silent figure. Returning his attention to the mirror, he found the strands of magic he'd tied off, trying to make it work.

  Perrimen took a single step, appearing between Nezial and the mirror. He stared into the creatures deep, blue eyes, a rarity for his kind.

  Caught off-guard by the masked man's speed, he took a step back. “So it's death you seek. Very well, I shall indulge you and then return to my work.” Knowing his magic wouldn't work properly, he funneled it into himself, turning his body into a reservoir. Building up as much as he dared, he forced the energy to manifest, altering his ability. He could feel the power wrap around him. He felt stronger, faster, more alert. But something was wrong-- it continued to build around him, growing to dangerous levels. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. Unable to stop it, he letting the arcane energy explode from him.

  Perrimen felt the energy build in the dreualfar mage. He could smell the tremendous energy he possessed. Unable to move, unable the cast his own defenses, he stood there helpless to the mask's desire. He closed his eyes, anticipating the pain that would follow.

  The blast wave filled the room, soaking into the stone walls, erupting like a bomb in the antechamber.

  Perrimen felt the energy wash over, surrounding him on all sides. It was then he noticed the thin, shimmering globe of his own making, protecting him from the powerful spell. His head cocked once again, mocking the mage in his silence. He stared into the creature's soul, reading the magics inside him. He was different than most. Something dark and powerful graced him.

  Nezial's amusement turned to worry. The room was rapidly draining him and his limits were nearly reached. He wasn't sure how much longer he could remain. One thing was certain, it made dealing with the intrusions much harder than he preferred. “I suppose I'm just going to have to do this the hard way.” He drew his sabre, preparing to cut the trespasser down.

  Perrimen watched the dreualfar draw his sword. He wanted to grab a weapon of his own, but the mask wouldn't allow it. Very well. I suppose you haven't let me come to harm so far. He relaxed, giving full control to his master.

  Nezial swung, using his full speed to cut the foe down. To his surprise, the strike missed entirely. Though he knew it was dead on. And the creature didn't appear to move. Baffled, he swung again the to same effect.

  Perrimen watched the dreualfar swing at him several times. He moved so slow, like a sloth reaching out for him. The slightest lean made the attacks easy to avoid.

  Nezial stood baffled. He couldn't touch the man. Perhaps he's not immune to everything. He sheathed his sabre and pulled the curved dagger from his robes. If his sword could
n't do the trick, maybe Izaryle's could.

  The voices screamed in unison. Protect the mirror! Perrimen closed his eyes, trying to block out their shouts. Gaining some clarity, he glanced back, to see the mirror they spoke of. There was something ancient and dangerous about it. Something he felt connected to but he couldn't explain.

  Nezial lunged forward, stabbing in with the wicked blade.

  Perrimen could smell the power radiating from the dagger. It was much too powerful for one such as him to possess. Knowing he had to do something, he felt his body react to his thoughts. Taking a step forward, he intercepted the dreualfar and laid his hands on each side of his head.

  Nezial didn't have time to react, the figure moved so quickly.

  The swirling vortex opened around them, and the small room disappeared, leaving the magical scones and ancient mirror behind.

  ***

  Bits of dust floated in the air, displayed by the flickering torch light, wedged between two large rocks to hold it up. Shadows danced off the protruding edges of the rough, cavern walls. Two Dreuslayers worked tirelessly, making their preparations.

  Malakai grunted, heaving a large stone and placing it atop the others. He wiggled it, making sure it wedged itself into place. “You sure this is gonna work?” He glanced over at his companion, who was dusting some dirt off his vest.

  “It’ll work. We just have to get out of here before all hell breaks loose.” Ravion gave his vest one last pat, knocking the last bit free. His ears twitched, picking up the subtle sounds in the underground complex. He spun around and drew his longsword, taking a defensive stance. “Hurry up, we’ve got company.” His fears a reality, he leapt into the air, bringing the blade down into the rapidly deteriorating darkness. Dark colored blood ran down the length of his sword, revealing the distorted face of the black-skinned alfar. Ravion pointed his toes toward the bedrock, letting his ankles absorb the shock of his landing. Feeling the stone beneath him, he spun on the ball of his foot, side-stepping to use the dead dreualfar as cover.