The Order of the Trident (Eldarlands Book 1)

by Samuel Rikard

  Malakai hurriedly tossed the final stone onto the pile, abandoning his perfectly settled stack. He reached for his dagger, drawing if from his belt. Pressing the sharpened edge against the piled stone, he scratched the dried paste off the side. A glowing scribe shined through the chipped paste, revealing the runed etching. As quickly and carefully as possible, he scratched one after another, watching the glowing rune disappear into the stone. Within minutes, the pile appeared as nothing more than mundane stones, piles to perfection. The sounds of battle echoed off the walls, growing louder and closer to him. Stuffing his dagger away, he stole a glance at his companion.

  Ravion ducked a narrow strike, deflecting another. Fighting like a master of precision, each strike was perfectly aimed and in preparation for his next.

  “You need some help?” Malakai taunted more than asked.

  “Only if you can find time in your busy schedule. I’d hate to put you out.” Ravion panted through labored breaths. Placing his strike, he wrapped the tip of his sword up under the defenses of the attacking dreualfar. The sharpened steel punctured its flesh with ease. Placing his other hand on the pommel, he thrust as hard as he could, watching the blade disappear through the creature's side. It erupted out the other and stabbed into another of the attacking beasts. His sword buried to the hilt, he drew his dagger and deflected another attack.

  Malakai drew his rapier and charged into the fray. Hacking and parrying blow after blow, he cut into the dreualfar, clearing a path for Ravion. A sharp pain erupted in his side. Wincing, he spun his wrist severing the arm that stabbed him. He reached down and pulled the crude scimitar from his ribs. Inspecting the blade, he made sure there was no poison on the rusted iron. Glad it appeared dry, aside from his blood, he discarded the weapon, throwing it into the ranks of the swarming dreualfar. Anger in his eyes, he bit his lower lip and pressed on. Squeezing the handle of his rapier, he punched, feeling the metal handguard connect. The curved blade followed through, cutting into another. He shouted over the cling of swords. “If we’re gonna do this, now’s the time.”

  Ravion twisted his embedded sword, tearing the wound further. With a tug, he brought it out the side, ripping the impaled dreualfar in half. Spinning around, he snatched one of the fist sized stones off the shelved wall. “Sunstone!” he shouted, throwing the rock into the crowd.

  The closest dreualfar scattered, shielding themselves from the renowned lethal blast.

  Using the distraction, Ravion fell back, taking position beside Malakai.

  The dreualfar pressed forward, hesitant by the lack of explosion. Their assurance growing with each passing second.

  “Do we have an escape plan?” Malakai gripped his rapier tight, feeling his knuckles pop.

  Ravion stole a glance at the pile of runed stones. “We’ve got two options, neither are good. Are they all set?”

  “They are. But we’re too close to the blast. There's no way we'll survive it.”

  “We’re out of options.” Ravion blocked another barrage, narrowly dodging an arrow. “And now they’ve got archers.” An all too familiar thud sounded beside him. He looked over, confirming his fears.

  Malakai looked down at the thick shaft sticking from his chest. Another arrow plunged into him, sending him staggering back. He looked up at the swarm of dreualfar, letting his willpower fuel him. “Get out of here. It's too late for me. Run!” he weakly demanded, pulling his last sunstone from his waistline. Launching it into the sea of monsters, he threw his arm over his face to shield his eyes.

  The eruption illuminated the darkened corridors, revealing every nook and cranny of the dusty chamber.

  Ravion charged, into the blinding light, feeling his flesh burn with its potency. The dreualfar on all sides charred, their flesh turning to ash. He could see the tunnel entrance ahead. If he was lucky, perhaps he could get Malakai through the ranks before they recovered. Slowing himself, he spun around to look at his friend. The distance was much greater than he'd realized. There was no way to get to him and come back before they'd be upon them again.

  Malakai watched his friend spin around. He was calculating. But it was too late. There was no time. Malakai nodded toward his friend, pulling a ceramic vial from his pouch. Shouting over the mass of dreualfar, he saluted his brother. “Fight well, brother. May your blade be ever sharp and the sun forever upon your back!” Without warning, he crushed the vial against his chest.

  Ravion stared at the broken trigger. What have you done? The pile of stone began to glow, revealing the runes marked upon them. Knowing he couldn't survive the blast, he dove head first into the small hole, feeling weightless for several moments. The roar of collapse echoed all around, shaking the cavern walls in his descent. He felt his feet hit, sinking into the pliable, yet hard substance. Water rushed into his mouth, submerging him completely.

  ***

  The moonlight beamed through the trees, illuminating the band of dreualfar in the field's edge.

  Levithion peeked through the shadows, watching them. He'd followed them for nearly an hour, silently picking them off one by one. What stood before him was a manageable group, led by a single dreuki. Quietly sliding his sword from its sheath, he leapt from the darkness, bringing the thinblade down into the creature's spine. It cut neatly, killing it instantly.

  The dreuki staggered and collapsed under its own weight, several of its legs breaking in the process.

  Refusing to leave it to chance, he brought the sword around, cutting deep into it's throat, serenading his blade in the black ooze. The creature's head fell to the ground, rolling several times before coming to rest, a surprised expression still on it's twisted face. Levithion pushed his gloved fingers through the stringy, white hair and lifted it showing his victory to the squad of dreualfar, allowing them to look upon their dead captain. “You see this? You work for me now. You do what I say, when I say it or your heads will be added to my collection. Are we clear?”

  The dreualfar hissed their response, clearly not pleased by their position, but it was better than death.

  “Good! Now that we have that out of the way, you’re going to do something for me. And mark my words, if you fail me, I’ll spend the rest of my days tracking each and every one of you down just so I can slide a dagger into your ear.” He tossed the severed head on the ground, letting it roll to the feet of his recruits. “The back way into Marbayne is unguarded right now. You’re going to accompany me into the heart of the city. Once there I’ll need you to distract the border wardens while I take care of a few matters.”

  ***

  The sun beat down, making heat waves over the churned sand. The golden kernels were clumped together from the gallons of blood that had been spilled on them over the years. Krenin panted heavily, standing over the dead alfar. Their fragile bodies were hacked in several places and leaking what was left of their fluids into the arena floor. Blood dripped from the dual axes in the half-orc's hands. His heart pounded, the beat nearly deafening him to the roar of the crowd cheering at the spectacle. A sense of pride rushed through him with the acknowledgment of their presence. He heard the thick chains spring to life, ringing out with each link that passed the massive sprockets. Turning to face the gate, he casually walked toward it, throwing his axes into the sand. They struck blade side, sinking nearly half their heads into the moist floor. He ignored the crown, defiantly marching down the ramp. He knew they wanted more. They always wanted more. But he was not here by choice. He'd give them just enough to stay alive. Nothing else was required.

  He passed the iron runs, watching them shift to crude wooden tunnels. The beams were rough and nailed together with excess ends protruding out into the walkway. If he didn't know any better, he'd guess they were hacked into shape, rather than tooled. Rounding the corner, he made his way through the reinforced wooden door and into the slave pens.

  The gladiators roared with his passing, their chants and cheers echoing in the straw covered floor.

  He felt his face tighten around his small tu
sk. There was a sense of honor to be had, slaying one’s opponent in the sand. He caught a flash movement out the corner of his eye. Reacting on instinct, he tried to duck, but it was too late. A large fist connected with the side of his head. He jerked, hitting the iron bars lining one of the cells. Before he could react his aggressor was upon him, punching him repeatedly.

  Krenin moved his head, avoiding the blows long enough to see his attacker. The human was larger than any he’d ever seen, dwarfing even Remle back home. He recognized the man as the friend of one of the men he’d just killed in the arena. He wrapped his legs around the man's waist, squeezing him as tight as he could. Draining him of air, he twisted, breaking the footing and allowing him the upper hand. Krenin watched the man fly face first into the iron bars, ringing out from the impact. Rolling from beneath the man, he jumped up preparing himself for another attack.

  The gladiators cheered louder than ever. The sound of guards echoed down the corridor, their hurried footsteps counting down their time of arrival.

  The man stood, grabbing his broken nose and straightening it with a repulsive snap. Blood trickled from his face. He dropped his shoulder and charged.

  Identifying the man's plan, Krenin tightened his stomach and set his feet. If the man was going to charge him, he was going to be ready to intercept him. Feeling the man smash into his midsection, he brought his elbows down on his back, forcing him to the ground.

  The human gasped, his lungs unable to collect air. He panicked, trying with all his might to catch his breath.

  Krenin wrapped his arms around the man's mid section, squeezing him. Bending at the knees, he picked him up, letting his head dangle near the floor. Without hesitation, let go, watching the man crash to the floor, careful not to break his neck.

  The man collapsed. Rolling over, he pushed his fist into the dirty floor, trying to pick himself up.

  Seeing the man's continued fight, Krenin knelt down beside him and punched him in the jaw, snapping his head the other direction. His fist locked and ready to strike again, he looked into the defeated man's face. “If you want to continue this, you face me in the arena. Not here!” He lowered his fist and stood.

  Several orcs burst into the room, their spears ready to attack any who gave them reason.

  Krenin put his hands up, letting them surround him. He felt their heavy grips secure him. They escorted him to his cell, pushing him into the small, barred room. He heard the iron door slam behind him. Walking over to his bed, he pulled the wool blanket to the side, revealing a thin layer of straw matted atop the wooden cot. Sitting down, he placed his hands in his lap and recalled the battle in his mind, silently celebrating his victory. There were mistakes, places he could have killed quicker. But he walked away. That was more than his opponents could say.

  The crowd above echoed through the rafters, signaling the start of another battle.

  Closing his eyes he laid down and pulled the green wool over himself. Within minutes he was fast asleep.

  ***

  Gareth gritted his teeth, pushing the black ooze between them. It ran down into his beard, matting the strands of red hair. Spitting the chunk of flesh out, he stared down the remaining dreualfar, feeling his hatred focus on the last of the group. Like a demon he charged, using his claws to dig into any exposed flesh he could find.

  The dreualfar screamed in pain feeling his hide shred beneath the primal Dreuslayer.

  Gareth tore at him, finding the soft spots of his throat. Sinking his teeth down, he shook his head violently, ripping away as much as he could. The chunk came free, leaving a large hole in the dying dreualfar’s throat. He continued to shake the torn esophagus long after the dreualfar quit moving.

  Several dreualfar cheered from above, watching the captured animal defeat the weaker recruits.

  He felt his sanity slipping away. All he could feel was the sticky blood running down his skin. The hiss of their vial language echoed in his ears, whispering to him. What was worse, he understood it. Voices taunting him, reminding him of his child, his wife. How they tore her apart after they penetrated her over and again. He screamed, letting his hate radiate from him.

  Several red strands of energy shot through the air, wrapping themselves around the cheerful creatures. They were helpless, feeling their bones crush beneath the tightening grip. They tried to cry out but the vice like hold didn’t leave any room for sound.

  Gareth fell to his knees, his anger released from him. He felt empty, drained of his determination. They could kill him now. At least he would be reunited with his family. “Didn’t you bastards hear me? Kill me!” He paused, hearing nothing but silence. Summoning the strength to look up, he couldn't see the wicked creatures. He stood and approached the wall. Peeking his head over the edge, he noticed the crushed bodies of his captors. For the first time in weeks he felt hope. Did they find me? Am I rescued? “Ravion? Kane? Is anyone there?” The silence stung like a hot knife.

  The whispers resumed in his head. It’s a trap. You’re all alone. Nobody’s going to rescue you. You know how they get into your mind. Make you see things. Give you hope just so they can strip it away. You’re being broken. You’re going to die.

  “Shut up!” He charged the rock wall, jumping as high as he could. His hands pawed the jagged stone, searching for any place he could grab. The sharp mineral cut into his flesh, but he pulled himself up. Once again he was free. And this time, they wouldn't stop him.

  ***

  Outside the Urdurnie fortress, the two powerful figures appeared out of thin air. Frozen in the moment, they stared at each other, taking in what had just happened.

  Nezial felt the freedom the cavern offered. He could feel the darkstone road pulling at him, but it was nothing compared to the sanctum. Out here he was the master. And this masked figure was going to learn that. He let his power flex, radiating around him. It swirled and spun, displaying a variety of color. He knew it wasn't effective, but it was good for show. Perhaps he could intimidate the man with a demonstration of his full potential. “You should have left me in there. I was crutched by the stone, unable to fully harness my power. Out here you don't stand a chance.” The smile returned to his face.

  Perrimen screamed, hoping to regain control over his body but it didn't respond.

  The mask tilted its head watching to see what the dreualfar mage was going to do next.

  Nezial released bolt after bolt of energy at the figure. They fired without fail, like a barrage of missiles, each one striking their target where he'd intended.

  Perrimen closed his eyes, expecting his death to follow. He felt the power strike him but it didn't feel right. It was as if the spell fell apart as it touched him. Like he'd dispelled it at the last second before impact. But that's impossible. Nobody can dispel magic that quickly. It takes time and focus, neither of which I have. But the facts said otherwise. He remained unaffected.

  Seeing the magic have no effect, Nezial's smile turned to a frown. He tried again, forcing every bit of willpower he had into the strikes, but none of them worked. It was as if he was somehow immune to it. Nothing is immune to all schools of magic, not even the gods. Worry gripped him, like a knot in his chest. Am I going to fail?

  Perrimen fought for control, hoping to finish the dreualfar mage. He needed to kill the creature before it got resourceful and killed him. Try as he might, his body wouldn't reply. He felt his head tilt further, as if it was curious.

  A sense of hopelessness washed over him. Unable to harm the figure in the slightest, Nezial did the only thing he had the power to do. He smiled. The masked man was too much for him. How anyone could best me with my full array of powers is a mystery. I possess the strongest magics this realm has to offer. Nobody should be able to beat me. Yet this man did so without lifting a finger in defense.

  Perrimen recognized something in the dreualfar commander. A sweet stench. The smell of hopelessness and fear emitted from him. It was an acquired taste, one he hadn't realized he liked. Yet it brought a strange p
leasure with the scent. He moved quicker than he realized, swiftly stopping in front of the dreualfar. He was an inch from his face, feeling the breath upon his masked face. In one fluid motion, he ripped the kris from commander’s hand and plunged it deep into the dreualfar's chin. It erupted out the top of his skull with a spray of blood and brain.

  The mask pulled the wavy blade from the dead commander, letting him fall to the ground in a puddle of black, tainted blood.

  The voices in his head screamed, erupting a deep pain inside him. They separated, filling him with worry and doubt. Drowning him in their fear. Among the cries, he heard one question. What have you done?

  “It wasn't me. He did it. Not me!” He argued with the voices, trying to clear himself of their accusations. Perrimen felt something extremely powerful flood him. Something much bigger than this one mage. He turned, taking a single step toward the fortress. The orange glow wrapped around him and he appeared in the antechamber, staring into the ancient mirror. A black glow appeared in the center, growing wider. He watched helplessly, feeling the emotion of the voices weeping in his head.

  The glow grew wider, reaching the edges of the mirror. The entire surface shimmered, releasing a wave of energy.

  He felt his feet leave the ground. The overwhelming power launching him into the far wall. Hitting the ground, he looked up at the awakened vortex. “This isn't good!” He picked himself up, looking at the dagger, still in his hand. This is too powerful for just anyone to carry. And with this awakening, time is limited. He stuffed the blade under his duster and disappeared from the chamber in a glow of orange.

  The story will continue in

  The Order of the Trident: Speculum

  Author's Notes