by Levi Samuel
"Lord Kashien, by order of Emperor Jullien the Third, you and your kind have been pronounced human and are hereby stricken from our history. Your race is responsible for the foul abominations that have torn this world asunder and you must now pay for your crimes. We cannot allow your kind to flourish for fear of this, or another incident happening again!” Waving his hand forward, he gave the signal. “Fire!"
Kashien watched tens of thousands of arrows release, flying high into sunlit sky. The advancing shafts were ready to end the majority of his men in one fell swoop. For the briefest of moments he felt the burning sun leave his skin, replaced by the shadow of death. The wooden shafts rained down, plummeting into the army of unsuspecting dalari. He felt a violent thrust against his side, knocking him from his feet and covering him completely. Several sharp pains stabbed into him, but none felt deep enough to be life threatening. Pushing the form off of him, realization set in. Why was I spared? Pain and confusion filled him. Looking into Trendal's blood-coated face, he saw too many arrows protruding from his friend’s body. A steady stream of fresh blood ran from his paling skin.
"General," Trendal said with his dying breath, "get home."
He felt a pain deeper than the arrows had plunged. Stealing a glance around, his army was no more, riddled with the wooden shafts. A few crawled from the massacre. Osirus was unable to claim them with the number of souls received, but they wouldn’t live much longer.
The ground shook with the massive alfaren army breaking their halt. Drawing their battle glaives they marched down the steep paths and into the valley floor. It wouldn’t take much to end the few survivors in a final assault.
Kashien felt the ground shake with the numbers advancing toward him. Crawling from the pile of bodies, he took in each of their faces, unsure how he would avenge his men. He knew if they reached him, it wouldn't be long before he joined them in death.
The alfaren commander scanned the extermination. He felt a pang of guilt for his betrayal, but his emperor had made the task very clear. To disobey would be considered treason. But what was the price for betrayal? The majority of the dalari were already dead and the rest would be soon enough from blood loss or the keen blades of his soldiers. Searching the valley, he caught a familiar figure where Kashien had been standing.
The dalari general crawled to his feet, knowing a second volley of arrows would result in death. Hoping the alfar would rush him with their blades, he spotted their commander, watching from the clifftop. If the traitor was going to pay, he’d have to taunt him into action.
"Keal'neaus! You've attempted genocide and murdered my men in cold blood, for what? So your petty emperor can save face? You and I fought side by side against the dreu. I saved your life time and time again and this is how you repay me? With the blood of my men. Your emperor is a coward and is unworthy of the blood we share. Or have you forgotten that my people created yours as well? I will not stand for this. Mark my words, your emperor will regret this day!"
Keal'neaus drew his thin blade and stormed toward the wounded general. Reaching the edge of the carnage, he shouted over the dead. "I regret having to give that order, but it comes from my emperor. I will not disobey."
A smile crept to Kashien's face. He was a superior swordsman, provided he hadn’t lost too much blood from the shallow arrow wounds. "So be it. Your death will be as merciless as the one you offered my men."
The two generals charged in, their swords glimmering in the sunlight. Keal'neaus ducked a swing. Slicing low, he hoped to wound the dalari general.
Kashien lifted his leg, avoiding the blow. Bringing his pommel down on the alfaren commander's back, he shoved, throwing him off balance.
Keal'neaus quickly recovered, spinning to guard against another attack. He swung hard, hoping to catch the dalari off guard.
Kashien watched the alfaren general summon the strength for a powerful strike. Bracing himself, he readied to parry the blow. Using both hands he slowed the attack, sending it wide. Recovering, he spun around and drove his sword deep into Keal'neaus' shoulder. The wound wasn’t fatal, but it would limit the use of his arm.
Keal'neaus felt the blade penetrate deep, rendering his arm numb. Realizing the tendons were severed, he focused his effort with his right arm. Picking up the pace, his alfaren sword danced with remarkable speed.
Kashien was having trouble keeping up with the speed of the lighter weapon. He gave up predicting the attacks, instead relying strictly on the movement of his opponent's shoulder. Fear began to creep into him with the increasing speed. He had to do something quick or it would all be over. He wasn’t able to keep up. The arrows must have robbed him of more strength than he’d realized. With no other options he lunged forward, forcing the alfaren commander to readjust.
Keal'neaus took a step back, regaining his balance. His rhythm was ruined, forcing him to slow again. He swung, hoping to reclaim his speed but it was broken.
Kashien felt a bit of relief seeing the general take the bait. He easily deflected the next few strikes, sending each one wider until he saw his opening. With a quick jab he plunged the tip of his sword into the chest of his alfaren foe. Without giving him time to react he retracted the blade and spun around, letting his momentum carry the deadly edge. The longsword cut deep into Keal'neaus' neck.
The alfaren commander spun from the force, feeling the gaping gash in his throat. He felt cold. Raising his hand to inspect the wound, thick, red blood coated his fingers. Wide-eyed, he looked over his men before falling to the already blood-soaked, body and arrow ridden earth.
Remorse shot through Kashien, but there was little choice. The fact was had he not killed the man he’d fought beside for so long, he wouldn’t be able to warn his people.
The encircling hydralfar rushed in like an army of ants to a bowl of sugar. Within moments he was completely surrounded, trapped within impenetrable walls. They held their glaives at the ready, poised to avenge their commander.
Kashien glanced at the keen edges ready to end him. He smiled and sheathed his sword. Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself. "Such is life!"
The front line swung, aiming to cut the dalari general down.
Feeling the first blade contact his skin, he let the energies release, engulfing him in an orange glow.
The alfar stared in confusion, searching the empty space between their solid walls.
Kashien materialized in the Arcanum. Its glass floor and high vaulted ceilings made it feel larger than it really was. The room was illuminated with hundreds of floating candles, mindlessly hovering in the air out of reach. Stepping from the suspended floor, he made his way into the elegant corridors of Dranar. His heavy footsteps echoed on the polished marble, leaving dusty tracks behind him. He could feel a trickle of blood from the alfaren glaive running down his cheek. Ignoring the minor wound, he rounded the corner and stepped into the grand hall.
The room was covered with ancient runes carved into the walls and ceilings. Even though a city of the mortal plane, the gods were known to frequent the ancient settlement. He took in the tales depicted in the runes, recalling the hundreds of times he’d heard the stories in his childhood. Several columns stood on each side supporting the cloudy vaulted ceilings. Hundreds of sconces hovered overhead, each one positioned perfectly between the others, illuminating the massive room. He glanced at the throne, spotting the oldest of his kind resting in his black elegant robes. Without delay he marched along the liner running the length of the room, stopping a few feet from the dais. Dropping to a knee, he locked eyes on the crimson carpet beneath his feet and addressed the eldest dalari formally. “My Lord, the alfar have turned against us. My army has been demolished and they’ve declared us human. I fear we’re to be hunted until the last of our kind is exterminated.”
The ancient dalari emperor motioned his grandson to stand. “My boy, you’re young. Your emotions get the better of you. Our people will have difficult days to come, that’s a certainty. But this is hardly the first time this world has
lost its need of us. Worry not, we'll be restored when our kind is nothing more than a distant memory. On that day, we’ll be reborn and Dranar will once again be filled with dalari.” The emperor held a contented smile, reassuring the young prince.
Kashien looked into the eyes of his grandfather. “May that day come swiftly, for I do not know how we will last.”
Chapter III
The First Dreuslayer
Constellations changed time and time again over the centuries. Some stars burned out, while others ignited for the first time. Despite their age and placement, this evening they looked down through the massive cloud cover over the Reinir Sea. Her waters boiled and churned, rushing over everything within sight. Of the tiny specks of light lost in the water's surface, one in particular remained visible.
The ship rocked violently with each wave crashing into the hull. The unending cascade of motion sent the men on board racing to secure the lines. The sails jerked and fluttered, catching the massive twisting winds.
Gareth's muscles flexed, straining against the wheel. He couldn't fathom how the single rudder could present so much resistance. Bracing himself for the approaching wall of water, he felt mist speckle his exposed flesh before the collision. The wave hit with a crash, knocking his feet from beneath him. He pulled against the spokes, locked firmly in his grip.
Getting back to his feet, he looked down at the crew below. He couldn't afford to be thrown overboard. Not only would it result in his death, but the lives of his crew hung in the balance. The heavy droplets of rain stung when they hit, like thousands of needles stabbing into his face. They pooled together and dripped from his bald head. His thick, red beard was drenched, streaming the salty liquid into his already soaked tunic. The white linen clung to him with the moisture, exposing the matted hair on his chest. With moments to spare before the next wave would hit, the grizzled captain surveyed the deck, hoping the storm hadn't claimed too much.
Their entire haul had been washed away, making the trip altogether a waste. Much of his crew were missing, most likely swept over the side, leaving their jobs to be filled by the remaining men. The gale winds blowing in each and every direction made it difficult to keep the sails taut.
There's no way to rescue them, they’re at Corin's mercy. Half-lost in thoughts of his men, he fought the shifting current hoping his decision would save the rest.
“All hands on deck, drop the sails, we're more likely to break a mast than we are to get anywhere in this wind.” His voice bellowed out over the howling sea and hammering winds. “Everyone else, grab an oar and start rowing.” The exhausted captain steered the fishing vessel directly into the waves. The ride was much rougher, but there was less chance to keel over. He looked through the dark, rolling clouds to the tiny flickers of light beyond. He couldn't be certain without a clear view, but port shouldn’t be more than a few days out in dry conditions. The storm would delay them greatly.
The ship started to gain speed, but the constant change in direction stifled their progress. The great currents, along with the wind pushing them off course, made the wheel difficult to hold steady.
He glanced down at the compass, watching the lubber’s line. Correcting direction, he searched the horizon for any sign of familiarity. Last thing he needed was to run aground, provided he could keep her afloat long enough to make port. Without warning the wind picked up, nearly knocking him from his feet.
Several minutes it blew harder than ever before. Then, as quickly as the maelstrom arrived, it was gone. The choppy waters calmed leaving the ship to float gently across diminishing waves. The dark-gray sky began to clear, allowing the rising sun to burn through the thinning clouds. The beams reflected off the shimmering water, illuminating the lone vessel gliding gracefully atop the glassy sheen.
Relief washed over him. Checking the horizon, he tied off the wheel to keep her straight. Making his way from the helm to the upper deck, he overlooked the crew still rowing in unison.
“Captain on deck!” The first mate shouted, notifying the crew of his presence.
They locked the oars into position and jumped from the small wooden benches lining both sides of the deck. Awaiting his command they looked up, clearly relieved to be out of the storm.
Gareth surveyed the deck, saddened by how empty it was. Nearly a month's worth of work was lost in a few hours. His crew was nearly half the size it was the day before. The ship was battered, but she was whole. That was more than he could ask for. “Joseph, take two men and survey the ship. I want a list of everything lost, including sailors. We’re not far from port. I’d like to be able to notify their widows when we arrive.” He watched the three men jump from their station and rush below deck. “The rest of you raise the sails and stow the ship. We've lost too much to delay any longer. Helmsman, get up here and take the wheel. I’m gonna’ find out exactly how far off course we are.”
“Aye, Captain!” They sounded in unison. Watching him turn from the balcony, they scurried off to batten down everything lost in the storm.
With purpose, Gareth marched across the upper deck and stepped into his quarters. Stripping off his wet clothes, tossing them into a barrel, he grabbed a fresh set. Drying himself, he quickly dressed and grabbed a round leather case lying on the floor near his desk. The room was trashed. Nothing was where it belonged. Items had been thrown from their assigned places during the night. At least it was still on board, unlike much of his crew. Forcing his sorrows beneath the surface, Gareth unbuckled the straps and pulled the cap off the end of the deep-brown case. Removing the parchment within, he unrolled it exposing a large map. Tacking the corners down, he went to work discerning their exact location.
Night had fallen on the vast ocean, calm and peaceful with the gentle sounds of water slapping against the bow. The large vessel slid across the surface like a hot knife into butter. The mild breeze held the sails taut. Only the occasional flap could be heard when the wind changed direction.
“Land ho!” The watch shouted from the nest, signaling east.
The signal fire was little more than a speck on the horizon, flickering in the distance. The sun was just beginning to crest, making the growing flame all but disappear in its glow.
Gareth stood at the helm, arms folded across his body, watching the helmsman steer the ship ever closer to home. Even from this distance the sight was unnerving. Something’s wrong. This is the largest port city for at least a month in any direction. I’ve never seen fewer than twenty ships docked. Reaching for the leather holster on his hip, he removed his sight glass. With a quick flip of the wrist, it extended. He brought it up, scanning the port. “After a storm like that, this place should be packed. Why’s it so bare?” He thought aloud, unintentionally giving it voice. The thought sent a chill down his spine.
“I don’t have answers any more than those you’re already thinking, Capt’n.”
A smile graced his bearded face. While the helmsman was blunt with his speech, he was always painfully honest. “Well put, Malakai.” He watched the harbor draw ever closer. Timing their descent with the wooden posts that marked each side of the port entrance, Gareth bellowed out. “Drop the sails. Ready to make port, starboard side!”
The sails fell with a crash, removing the steady thrust. With clipped wings she drifted forward, carried by her momentum.
Malakai cranked the wheel, steering her into the bay. She groaned with the sharp turn, sliding sideways toward the dock. With a gentle bump, she rocked against the rawhide bumpers, coming to a stop.
The harbormaster stood on the wooden planks watching the ship roll in. With a quick glance he looked at his feet, measuring distance from the water. His two assistants stood near the edge, waiting to catch the moorings. A soft, subtle smile breached his lips. A heavy splash erupted between the hull and dock, soaking the lads. He grinned contently at the water line just ahead of his feet. A gentle reminder of what it was like to be inexperienced.
“First Mate, see the ship secured. I’m gonna go have a chat
with the master.” The captain waited for the gangway to be positioned before he stepped off. He took in the sight of the elderly man, standing tall in his fine tunic and embossed felt vest. With age alone, he was ready to relinquish his duties to someone younger. But he retained a good sense of spirit, something many his age had lacked for years.
“Captain Gareth D'Averon, I'm glad to see you made it through that mysterious storm.” He placed his hands on his waistline.
“Master Merrick, why’s the port so bare? Has something happened?”
The old man dropped his cheerful guise. Looking to his assistants, busy tying off the lines, he hesitated before speaking. “We— We were attacked. They came out of nowhere, from every direction. Like a swarm of darkness in the middle of the night.” He shifted uneasily, searching for anything to change the subject. Darting his gaze around he found the young captain’s eyes, forcing him to continue. “The guards were taken completely by surprise. It didn’t take any time at all before they’d overrun the whole town. Several people were captured. We don’t know how many were killed. Most of the boats set sail last night, to restock supplies. That and for fear of them returning.”
Gareth hung on each word, intently listening for anything substantial. “And my family, do you know anything of them?” His voice cracked with fear.
“I'm sorry sir, we've been too busy repairing damages. We haven't been able to gather an accurate count of survivors. All I can say is I haven’t seen—”
Without pause, Gareth turned, breaking into a full sprint toward his home atop the hill. The light brown siding was broken in places, revealing the wooden beams beneath. Several articles of clothing, broken candlesticks, and other common items were strung along the ground as if they'd been grabbed without thought, then abandoned in the dirt.