Izaryle's Will

by Levi Samuel

  Rezerik looked upon their ranks with envy. Those few were exceptionally skilled with magics he couldn’t hope to possess. Not that he didn’t have his own type of power. In a fight between himself and their mutated form, he could easily win. He was blessed by Izaryle, blessed to set plans in motion and free his imprisoned lord. The dreuki were but a pawn in his evolving game, yet he couldn’t help but envy their mixed magics. Even the youngest of dreuki had an unnatural ability to harness the most powerful of magics. There was something about the divine infused arcana. It left the body twisted between forms, allowing the agility and grace of an arachnid while retaining the torso of the dreualfar.

  Feeling the water droplets break against his robes, he returned to the present. The rain fell increasingly fast, soaking everything within sight. With the wave of his hand, Rezerik pushed the water away and watched the beads splash against an invisible barrier that now surrounded him. They joined together, pooling into larger beads before rolling down the side of the clear sphere. With a final scan of his forces, he extended his hands, preparing their multitude to receive him.

  "Citizens of Eldarian, time has come for us to expand our empire. This land is no longer able to sustain our number. The world of our god slowly drains our resources, leaving us with little more than dust and crumbled rock. The time has come for us to spread out like a plague upon the land. We will first make contact with the hydralfar. Once our cousins have welcomed us into the heart of their lands, we’ll breed them out until the dreualfar are all that remain. From there we’ll resupply and have everything we need to ensure our survival throughout the ages.” He smiled at the might before him, unrelenting savagery waiting to be released upon the world. And they awaited his order. “Commanders, move out!"

  The armies erupted in cheers of excitement and bloodthirsty screams. The sound of battle horns filled the air with high-pitched squeals. The collected shouts of the commanders bled together, each group following their superiors. The armies roared to life shaking the dying ground with footsteps and chants. Clouds of dust formed with the rumble of boots against the dead earth, despite the falling rain unable to saturate the ground fast enough. The march sent vibrations through the earth, shaking it to its core. Several of the dilapidated buildings crumbled into huge piles of broken wood and weakened stone, fanning out to create more dust.

  Reaching the dead ring, surrounding the city, the massive formations split apart and formed into four individual armies. Each one turned, aimed for a specific destination. The chants and war cries grew dull with the increasing distance. Only a last bit of dust and trampled footprints showed evidence of their existence.

  Rezerik watched them disappear into the horizon above his dying empire of dust and rubble. A smile formed across his lips, proud of his creation, yet remorseful that he couldn’t join them. It made sense. Each army had a job to do. If he were to interrupt, the whole plan could fall apart. No, he was more suited to remain here, awaiting the days when Izaryle would need a host.

  "Dark God of Chaos, our plan has manifested. It shouldn’t be long until you’re released from your prison and the world feels your wrath once again. On that day your brothers will weep for what they’ve done to you. And you’ll stifle their tears with the knowledge that they’ll never be worshiped again."

  Rezerik looked down at the broken pendant hanging around his neck. The split demonic face carved into the onyx sigil shook violently, as if it had a mind of its own. It pulled against the leather binding trying to tear itself free.

  "What is it, Izaryle? Have I displeased you?" Confusion and worry began to set in. He’d followed every order. Why was he being punished?

  The pendant shot up, ripping through cloth and leather. Rezerik reached to catch it, but it was too late. In the blink of an eye, it flew out of sight.

  "No!" He mourned, feeling a loss greater than any he’d known. Fear and anger sparked inside him. He was powerful, more powerful than any living being. Maybe he could recall it. Forcing all of his will into the tiny black sigil, he tried to locate it, but it was nowhere to be found.

  Frustration shot through him. How could he do this to me? With ease, he jumped over the banister, free-falling several stories. As if jumping from no more than a few feet, he landed, sending a shower of dust and mud out around him.

  Questions and anger fueled his mind. He stormed around the corner and toward the sealed onyx doors. He braced himself for the drain the stone would inflict upon him. It was undoubtedly the reason it was used to create the tomb. The strange material had a way of draining his abilities unlike any other. It seemed the stronger the magic, the quicker the drain. If his had the same effect on his lord, he was undoubtedly weak from eons of exposure.

  Throwing the doors open, Rezerik rushed down the winding stairs feeling his fear and anger rise with each step. He stepped into the sconce-lit antechamber and stared into the statue.

  "Izaryle, why do you betray me so?" His voice cracked with the instant barrage pulling him toward the mirror. He had to brace himself against the booming voice coming from the statue. It was deep and raw, unlike any other he’d heard before. Overcome by the godly presence, he felt his grip waning against the edge of the statue.

  Dust and debris fell from the shaking walls and ceiling with each word. "Your purpose has been served. In time your line will return the pendant to me. At that time, your destiny will be fulfilled and you will be granted a place of honor at my side."

  "A place of honor at your side?” Rezerik scoffed. “I had a place of honor. I was ruler of the dreu. As King of Eldarian I had everything I needed to free you. And now you tell me it's my offspring that’ll complete the task?"

  A dark laughter echoed through the temple, chilling him to the bone. "You forget Rezerik, everything you are, everything you have, it all came from me. I can reclaim it anytime I choose."

  His anger boiled with news of the betrayal. "You’re imprisoned in another world. There’s no way you can free yourself and exact your revenge without my help."

  The mirror slowly began to swirl, creating a vortex of purple and blue. The colors twisted together and reached out toward the rebellious dreualfar like a mystical whirlpool threatening to swallow him whole.

  Rezerik felt the whispers inside his head. They were less commanding, but more intrusive. In this state, he couldn’t hide the simplest thought from his god. He felt his arms go limp, abandoning his struggle to stay firmly planted. He tried to scream out, but his mouth wouldn’t comply. The whipping tether of purple and blue wrapped around him, pulling him toward the mirror.

  "There you are correct, my devoted Rezerik. I’m imprisoned. And you’ve been a valuable agent in my plot. But you’ve served your purpose here. It’s time you joined me. You’ll be much better suited to help me in a position where I can adjust your opinions as I see fit. From this day forth, you’ll no longer be known as the dalari turned dreualfar, Rezerik. Join me as the first Nightking. You’ll command forces against those that seek to evade my influence. With an army of orcs and sharliets at your command, you’ll serve me until such a time arises that your line frees me from this prison. On that day you’ll walk with me as an equal as we reclaim your world. The heavens will weep the blood of gods upon my return!"

  Rezerik spun uncontrollably faster, feeling the churning in his gut. The vortex had already swallowed him to his waist. He was running out of time. He had to do something. He was not powerless. Even with Izaryle’s hold on him, he still had his power. He could use the black stone to slow him down.

  Reaching out with his mind, he felt the edge of the statue. The hold was like that of a scalding pan clenched in his grip. It burnt as he held it, feeling his skin away in large chunks. He screamed out, realizing Izaryle was screaming too. With the dark god’s hold over him broken for the moment he stretched as far as he could, hoping to escape certain doom. The air escaped his lungs. He glanced down, realizing he’d sunk to his shoulders in the spinning whirlpool of magics. He tried to breathe, but found i
t impossible.

  There was no air. There was no light. Only a mixture of spinning color surrounding him. With his final burst of energy, before what was sure to be his death, he lunged forward, feeling the rough edge of that familiar purple cloak against his fingertips. It burnt, but not nearly as much as it had earlier. Clawing at the mineral, he felt a piece break away. His grip lost, he tumbled into darkness disappearing behind the blackened surface. The ripples smoothed away to nonexistence, leaving little more than a memory of the first dreualfar king.

  The black stone statue stood erect in the center of an empty crypt, overlooking the entrance. A broken purple shard glimmered on the stone floor beneath, reflecting the glow from burning oil lamps.

  Chapter II

  The Monsters Beneath

  The sun shone down over a deep valley. The rocky bluffs were lined in trees, deflecting the commotion within. Sounds of battle bounced off the jagged stone, echoing for miles. The choppy, torn dirt was littered with opposing armies, one black as night, while the other stood in stark contrast. The dark army was surrounded, choked into submission by the outnumbering forces around them. A deep crater lay open in the rock behind them, dark as the creatures at its crest.

  "Hold the lines!" Kashien shouted to his brethren. His sword was drawn, ready to strike down the cursed foe. He parried a wide slash, thrusting his blade into the dreualfar’s throat. Back stepping, he withdrew from combat, assessing the situation. Thousands of dreualfar stood defiantly against his armies. They were outmanned and outmaneuvered, with only one escape. He watched in amazement as his soldiers advanced into position, swallowing every inch of slack the enemy offered. He found it difficult to believe how easily they were bottled, falling perfectly into his trap. But here they were, the last of their kind. Genocide felt wrong, but it was necessary. They were an abomination of his race. A mistake that should have never been offered sanctuary. He pitied them more than anything. It could have just as easily been his men that fell to the corruption. Setting aside his personal feelings on the matter, he raised his longsword and readied his next command. Rolling the blade forward, he shouted across the battlefield. "Force these abominations into the darkness from whence they sprang!”

  The dreualfar cursed and spit their altered tongues at their captors. They were losing ground and quickly. It wouldn’t be long before they would be crushed beneath the heel of their ancestors. Surrounded on all sides they began to fall back, slowly escaping into the large hole in the earth. There they could regroup and claim victory with shadow games. Several thousand stood defiantly around the brim, awaiting their chance to follow without crushing those before them. Or worse, falling into the depths from the chaos. They readied themselves. It wouldn’t be long before the dalari would be upon them again.

  The dalari army shouted in unison beginning their march forward, choking against the surrounded resistance. They moved as one, flowing like a constricting wall, forcing the dreualfar to abandon ground.

  The general marched behind the front line, moving them toward victory. Commands flowed from him, keeping his men moving. If the front slowed, those behind would trample over them unable to stop, forced from the rear. They raised their weapons, ready to swiftly deal with the shrinking army before them. The two met with a crash, littering the rocky terrain with a sea of blood. The explosion was great, sending several lines flying back on either side. Each man was replaced by the one behind him.

  Ducking a scimitar swipe, the dalari commander slashed with his longsword. Spinning around he parried another blow, raking the edge of the blade into another of the cursed beasts. He dodged and ducked, using each action as preparation for the next, performing a dance of death that would have entranced any who paused long enough to watch. With a wide swipe, he thrust his free hand forward, blasting several of the black-skinned creatures back with an invisible barrier. They landed in piles, disappearing beneath the swarming horde. Kashien worked his weapon, keeping them at arm's length. Glancing at the thousands of dead or dying dreualfar before him, he quickly counted his own men. To his relief their superior numbers and keen tactics resulted in few casualties, though he could tell his men were tired. They would need rest soon if they were to make the trek home. "Where the hell are the alfar?"

  His question was answered by a familiar voice to his right. “General, they’ve not been seen since our victory at Durnal Hill.” The dalari beside him raised his sword up, deflecting an opposing strike. With ease, he slid a dagger up under the crude hide armor of the dreualfar and split him open. Disengaging the battle, he turned to formally address his commander.

  Kashien withdrew combat. Dismissing the salute, he placed his hand on his captain’s shoulder. “Trendal, I’m glad to see you made it. But why didn’t the alfar come with you?”

  “I don’t know My Lord. They broke away when we left Durnal Hill. Haven’t seen them since.”

  “It would’ve been nice to know they weren't going to join us.”

  “Aye, My Lord.”

  “The men are tired. We need to end this now. Take your men to the left flank. Send word to Razorius. I want his men to cover the right. We have to horseshoe them and close the distance. If we don't funnel them quick enough, the plan falls to pieces.” Kashien jumped back, dodging another swipe from the dreualfar. With a lightning fast strike, he thrust his blade into his attacker’s throat. Spinning to block another attack, the blade cut through, sending the dreualfar's head into the air.

  Trendal nodded. “Understood, My Lord.” Falling back, he disappeared into the ranks. Fighting his way through the crowded battlements he spotted the man he sought not far from the front line, locked in battle against one of the strange eight-legged hybrids. Without pause he charged, leaping into the fray. He drove his dagger deep into the creature’s chest, feeling its loss of strength before he hit the ground. Picking himself up, he sheathed the blade and turned to face the younger dalari.

  “Show off! You know, you’re lucky I saw you comin’ otherwise I might have mistaken you for one of these bastards.”

  He chuckled at the man’s response. “You’d need your eyes checked if you mistook me for one so ugly.” With a cunning smile, Trendal continued, “Razorius, Kashien asked you to gather your men and take the right flank. We have to end this quick. Blow your horn when you’re in position. Don’t advance until you hear mine. We’ll have to move as one and quickly close on them.”

  Accepting the call to duty, Razorius snapped to attention, regarding his friend as well as his direct ranking superior. “Aye, Captain.” With a salute, he turned and shouted orders to his unit.

  Kashien felt the beads of sweat and blood run down his face. The afternoon sun was blistering hot in the thick leather, but it was better than the scars he’d suffer were he not wearing it. His slightly pointed ears twitched with the familiar sound to his right. A moment later, a similar tone echoed to the left. His men were in position and moving forward. He paused, catching a glimpse through the rows of soldiers. “Meaius?” The soldiers moved, blocking his view. The familiar profile was gone.

  Shaking his head clear of the memories, he returned to his task. Forcing a smile, he channeled his energy through the sword, letting the athame do all the work. The metal began to glow red. Within moments it was so bright he found it hard to look at. Slashing out, the magical blade cut through his enemy with ease, charring their flesh before it even connected. Clothing and armor were no match, bursting into flame with the slightest touch. Even the occasional metal armor became useless against it, melting and searing its wearer. "Keep em' moving," he shouted, clearing the path in front of him. With a final charge, he thrust his sword into the air, firing a bright flash of red over the battle. It burst overhead, showering the area with a deep red glow. He set his feet, hearing the army move into position around him.

  They roared with synchronized footsteps, quickly gaining ground against the unsuspecting dreualfar. The gap closed quicker than ever, with no leadership to oppose the advance. Within seconds t
hey engulfed the encircled foe. The rear of the dreualfar army began to disappear, leaving a few thousand to stop the progression. Like a plow forcing snow over a precipice, his men surged forward. More and more of the enemy fell into darkness, their strength dissolved with each passing moment.

  Kashien watched the last few take the plunge, disappearing into the earth. Cautiously, he stepped forward and peered down into the hole. If they had any ideas as to his plan their faces, blurred by distance, didn’t show it. Beneath him, the thousands inside climbed against the rocky slopes, forcing the others to retreat deeper into the catacombs or be crushed beneath the weight. The walls were too steep to climb with any speed, not that escape was possible anyway. Feeling his pity return he stabbed his sword into the churned dirt and rock, leaving it to rest in the ground beside him. They scurried in the darkness like a hive of angry ants clawing to escape the flood that was about to wash over them.

  Without a word he flipped the buckle on his belt pouch and pulled a tightly wrapped scroll. Breaking the red wax seal pressed into the seam, he unrolled it and uttered the words etched onto the page.

  "By the power of your ancestors, you are condemned to darkness for the rest of eternity. Should you resurface, the light of the sun will char you to a crisp." The words were little more than notice of their fate.

  Executing his plan he extended his hands, letting the scroll float slowly into the pit below. A bright light formed above the hole, stretching to the edges. It shifted into a wide disc and completely covered the entrance. Several beams of blinding light shot forth, illuminating the horde below. Screams bellowed up as they pressed deeper into the cavern in hopes to evade the burning light.

  Watching the last dreualfar disappear from view, he turned, spotting a fearsome sight lining the clifftops. Legions of hydralfar stood along the ridge behind his men. It didn’t take a military genius to realize they were in ambush position. Thousands of bows were drawn and aimed, ready to bring an end to his men. A familiar, celestial voice caressed his ears.