Izaryle's Will

by Levi Samuel

  Demetrix ran as fast as his legs would carry him, hoping the blade found its mark. He turned down one of the crossing corridors, feeling his feet leave the ground. His stomach churned with weightlessness. Splashing into a dark substance, the liquid forced its way into his mouth. He struggled against its swallowing surface. The cavern grew dark, and disappeared.

  Water slapped against the muddy bank, echoing through the trees of the forested alcove. Crickets chirped along the edge, hidden from the birds flying overhead. The battered form of a child rested in the muck, his chest rising slowly with each breath.

  Demetrix slapped his cheek, knocking a tiny insect from it. Groaning, he rolled over and pushed himself up. Clawing at the muddy soil, he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. He was still in a forest, but the trees looked— different. They seemed thicker, greener than the ones he'd grown accustomed to.

  Getting to his feet, large clunks of mud clung to his dirty and tattered clothing. Attempting to dust them from him, Demetrix realized he was covered head to toe in the soupy mixture. Stepping into the river, he felt the cold surround him. As quick as possible, he washed the mud away and left the frigid water. The sun warmed his face. Closing his eyes, he took in its warmth, recalling the earlier days. How had things become so complicated in such a short time? Climbing the bank, Demetrix was careful to keep the mud from soiling him again. The river was a few miles from home. If it's morning, that should be west. He looked up past the trees to the yellow orb in the sky. It was half way between the horizon and midday, yet bright enough to be on the rise. Turning away from it, he started walking. If the gods favored him, he would find familiar terrain. A small sliver of hope filling his tiny body, he started walking.

  Chapter VI

  Born of Vengeance

  The bright orange sun was half hidden behind the horizon. An ocean of purple and blue clouds stretched across the evening sky, giving a final day's beauty to the encroaching nightfall.

  Gareth inspected the pile of discarded goods, forming a trail from town. Best he could figure, the raiders grabbed more than they could carry, and simply left whatever they dropped. The littered items were few and far between, but they'd led him this far. He crouched at the base of a large oak, peeking through the underbrush at the seemingly uninhabited cavern. Another pile of abandoned loot was scattered outside.

  Hurriedly, he made his way down to investigate. The discarded linen was crumpled and tossed roughly on the ground. The scent of moist dirt and stagnant water radiated from the dark crevice in the hillside. Glancing toward the disappearing sun, he sighed heavily, drawing his cutlass. He was a few days behind his family. He wasn't going to save them by waiting around out here.

  Stepping into the darkness he kept the rough, mossy walls in sight. The light was rapidly becoming sparse due to the falling sun and dark underground. He dove deeper, feeling his way along the wall. The last bit of light faded, leaving him in total darkness.

  Like a torch being lit, his vision returned. To his surprise, the total loss of light triggered something in his eyes. They felt more open than he'd been used to, as if somehow they'd adjusted to the complete darkness. Somehow he was able to see, nearly as well as he could in the daylight. If it weren't in shades of gray, he would have thought it his normal vision. Pausing his trek into the depths, he ran his hand in front of his face several times making sure he wasn’t imagining it. Corin must be lookin’ out for me!

  Blessed with his new-found sight he continued deeper, feeling the change in temperature against his bare arms and bald head. He shivered, more from adrenaline than the cold. The smell of cave dirt made his nostrils flare. More so, in the cool underground he could smell something else. The faint scent of iron hung in the air. He hadn’t noticed it before. Searching the dark cavern, he couldn’t find its source. But it had to be here, somewhere.

  The ancient passageways were beginning to shrink, leaving him little more than a shoulder’s width to pass. The jagged rocks scraped against the sides of his leather, snagging the metal plates from time to time. He forced the memory of the bloody, torn ribbon into his mind, letting his rage drive him deeper. He would need the rage to fuel him. It somehow calmed his nerves. Passing the first intersection he'd seen since entering, Gareth froze, hearing footsteps around the bend. Stepping into one of the numerous crevices between the stone, he waited patiently, listening to the unseen beings move closer.

  “Deruoved swa eno tsrif eht sa secaf rieht ees uoy?” One of the black-skinned creatures said, a wicked grin lingering on his face. He carried a bundle of torn and dirty cloth, ignoring the few pieces dragging the ground.

  The other gave a sinister laugh, holding a clay jug in one hand and an unlit torch in the other. “Desu eb ot scigam hcus tcepxe t’ndid yeht.”

  The sounds grated against his ears, more vile hissing mixed with vocal clearing than actual words. He watched the two pass hoping to get a good look at what he was dealing with.

  Their ears were elongated and poked through colorless hair, like those of the alfar he'd seen. In fact every aspect of their appearance reminded him of the woodfolk, save for the color of their blackened skin and the repulsive sounds they made.

  Given the items they carried, they had to be responsible for the raid. That was all the evidence he needed. Without hesitation, Gareth raised his thick, curved blade and charged. He slammed his shoulder into the closest one, knocking it to the ground. Before the second could react he swung his sword, catching it in the throat.

  The creature gargled, clenching the fatal wound. Falling to the cavern floor it hissed in protest, unable to form their twisted words.

  Gareth spun around, seeing the first creature pick itself up. He leapt forward and drove his sword into its back.

  It screamed in pain, buckling under the added weight.

  Knowing he had to silence it before more came, he pushed his weight onto the creature, forcing its arms to give way completely. It face-planted in the rock-hard clay. Gareth ran his fingers into the long, stringy hair and pulled violently, yanking the creature’s head up. Using every bit of strength his arms possessed, Gareth slammed the creature's head forward into the stone. It crunched beneath the force, splitting wide open. His fingers still entwined in the stringy hair, he pulled it up once again, dragging the edge of his blade across its throat. It sliced deeply, assuring the creature’s death. Gareth glanced at the other one, slowly drowning in its own blood.

  It stared blankly at him, those dull, red eyes refusing to blink. Its hatred burned bright. Convulsing uncontrollably, it weakly shuddered and fell still.

  Gareth got to his feet and approached the dead creature. Distaste in his mouth, he spat on the corpse. Dropping to a knee he placed his cutlass beside its head and grabbed one of the long, pointed ears. Dragging the sharpened edge across the back side, the flap of skin and cartilage came free. Claiming his trophy, he ran the torn blue ribbon through the hole and tied it off. Glancing around, he placed the makeshift necklace over his armor, towering victoriously over the bodies, wondering which direction he should go. Spotting a jug laying on its side, he noticed a small amount of the liquid had spilled out. He gave the cork stopper a quick sniff and recognized the strong odor of alcohol. There was no way he’d consider drinking it. But perhaps it would come in useful. Snatching up the jug, he quickly searched the bodies for anything of use. Examining the corridors for cast-off items, he traced the passage of his defeated companions. Full of resolve, Gareth rushed ever closer to his family, or so he hoped.

  The smell of cooked meat and burning wood wafted through the tunnel and into the large overhead cracks. He stared down from his refuge between two of the large rocks overlooking the underground city. In his travels he’d heard rumors of ancient dwarven cities, but these creatures obviously weren’t dwarfs and their structures didn’t match the descriptions he’d heard.

  His head filled with questions, many of which raised more. The anger building inside him begged for release at the sight of the black-skinned d
evils. He didn’t know what they were or what they wanted. Hundreds of questions raced through his mind. But among them all, a single certainty was loud and clear. Each and every one of these beasts was going to die. And he was going to be the noose around their necks.

  He felt the pain in his backside, pressed uncomfortably against the jagged rock. His stomach growled with the smell of meat below. He couldn’t recall how long he’d been in the underground settlement. Days? Weeks? Without the sun, he couldn’t decipher time.

  Taking the last drops of water from his wineskin, he watched another group enter from the far side. They made their way through the underground city, little more than a permanent camp. They passed several roughly thrown-together wooden shacks and canvas tents, torn and strung with mismatched rope. The entire scene appeared to be more of a joke than an organized band of raiders, though they clearly were just that.

  He focused on the group making their way to the large building in the center of the cavern, the only building that seemed to belong. It was constructed of stone, with a level of skill applied to its molded shape. The group pushed small carts loaded with crates and supplies of all kinds. They piled them beside the entrance leaving them for another group to sort out. Weapons and armor were tossed into one pile, while food and supplies were sorted into another. The clothes and less valuable items were tossed roughly on the ground and gathered up by a couple of the weaker looking black-alfar.

  Gareth studied their movements. If he was going to investigate, he needed to learn as much as he could. Nearly a hundred carts had been dumped before his attention was fully engaged. A group arrived, but instead of looted goods they escorted several women and children of varying ages. The occasional elderly man was tied up with them, but they were few and far between.

  He perked up seeing the humans. This was a routine he hadn’t seen before. They were beaten and starved, staggering against the ropes that bound them together, but they were still alive. A spark of hope ignited inside him. Two of the creatures walked ahead of the prisoners and another two behind. They were led through the city and forced into the central building. One by one, they stepped through the stone archway and heavy wooden doors. Gareth adjusted himself, hoping to get a better look. If his family was still alive, they were sure to be in that building.

  Glancing around, he made sure he could move without being detected. Grabbing the mass of brown linen he’d collected and strung together, Gareth threw it over his bulky frame like a makeshift cloak. He knew he wouldn’t be able to walk through without being noticed, being much larger than the slender beasts, but if his plan worked it would allow him to be overlooked long enough to get close.

  Backed out of the tight crevice he’d positioned himself in, A sickness overcame him. He couldn’t tell if it was due to the smell of the rags, his impersonation of the foul creatures, or his lack of food, but he was quickly growing weak. The bile built inside him, forcing its way out. Spitting the sour contents of his stomach onto the cavern floor, Gareth emptied the last drops of water, hoping to wash the taste out. It did little to sooth him, but he’d manage. Glancing at the tunnel leading into the city, he knew he had to act fast. If he delayed much longer, he’d be drained of energy before he had chance to find his family. Thinking through his plan one final time, Gareth reached down and grabbed the fist-sized rock he'd been eyeing since his plan's inception. Rearing back, he locked sight on his target and launched.

  The stone flew a fair distance, crashing into the canopy of one of the nearby huts. The weight tore through, collapsing the weak wooden rods holding it up. The canvas collapsed atop the small fire at the base, and it flared to life. A thick cloud of smoke billowed up, and suddenly, the canvas ignited in huge gouts of flame. It licked the next hut, catching it almost as quickly. And another. In minutes, the entire section was ablaze.

  The creatures scrambled to contain the leaping flames, but they couldn’t put them out before they jumped to the next tent.

  Seeing his moment, Gareth tossed the soiled cloth over his head and jumped down the overlook, behind one of the burning tents. Making his way through the chaos, toward the central building, Gareth was careful to avoid the rushing creatures. Sidestepping, he avoided one carrying a bucket of stagnant water. The smelly liquid sloshed out, soaking into his rags. Seeing the creature’s face, he knew he was caught. The was no time. He had but one option. Bringing the clay jug around, Gareth smashed it over the creature’s head and pushed it into the fire.

  The creature ignited in flame instantly, screaming his torment for a few short moments. Tripping over the burning debris, it fell silent, refusing to stir.

  Gareth didn’t wait around for the others to check on him. Masking his way through the commotion, hoping no one had seen him, he took a deep breath, realizing how much stronger the smell was on the base floor. The whole place reeked of feces and sweat. His nose wrinkled in disgust. Focusing his thoughts, he scurried through the commotion and reached the large stone building at the center.

  He was fairly certain he hadn't drawn attention to himself. And if he had, they hadn’t acted upon it. Making sure he wasn’t being watched, Gareth opened the thick wooden door, noticing the broken face embedded in the wood. It was unlike any he’d seen before. Elongated with antlers protruding from the crown. It reminded him of a demonic face staring from the center of a full moon. Shaking the uncertainty of the sigil off, Gareth stepped inside.

  Strange chants echoed through the barren cathedral. It had a rhythmic pace to is, suggesting the creatures were performing some kind of ritual in one of the upper levels. It echoed off the walls chilling him to the bone, but at least it would cover the sound of his footsteps on the stripped wooden floor. Throwing the rancid rags off him, Gareth drew his cutlass and slowly made his way deeper into the unknown, keeping an eye out for any of the creatures.

  The building seemed to be some kind of temple. Several broken pews littered the sides of the room, tossed roughly against the walls. The far end held a stone altar with a demonic face, matching that of the door, staring back at him. The stone was covered in torn cloth and soaked in what appeared to be blood. It made him feel uneasy.

  Spotting a curved stairway to the side, Gareth followed it around and to the overlooking balcony behind him. Cautiously making his way up, the chants grew louder, closer, with each passing step. Reaching the second story, Gareth peered around the corner, finding a broken banister wrapping the balcony's edge. The far side of the temple held an outcropping, obstructed from view by a set of thick wooden doors.

  He rushed across the open walkway, hoping he could reach the other side as quickly as possible. He knew he was along in the main chamber. But he still didn’t want to be in the open if he could help it. Though what did they have to fear? Who would be stupid enough to infiltrate their underground complex? There was nothing they had to fear. At least not yet. Though all that was about to change. He was going to teach them fear, if it was the last thing he ever did. Approaching the doors, Gareth peeked through the cracked seam. Several of the devils stood together on the other side. They were dressed in black robes and performing some kind of ceremony. Human bodies were piled roughly in the center of their circle, appearing to have been mutilated and bled out.

  Slowly opened the door to get a better look, Gareth noticed the new arrivals chained against the wall, awaiting their sacrifice. He searched their faces, feeling his rage grow. None were familiar. There were nearly twenty prisoners and his wife’s face was not among them. He couldn’t take anymore. Raising his sword, Gareth burst through the doors, letting them crash against the walls on either side. “Where's my family, you ugly sons of bitches?”

  One of the robed creatures raised a blood-coated dagger and turned to face him. “Ereh eb t’ndluohs uoy!” It smiled, walking forward.

  Gareth felt his anger spill out. Fury unleashed, he charged forward releasing a deep battle shout.

  The creature collapsed against him, unable to withstand his larger bulk. Hitting the groun
d, the dagger skated across the blood-soaked floor.

  Continuing past, Gareth slashed into the group. His blade danced with precision, slicing and hacking everything that came within reach. The rage inside him turned to pleasure with each kill.

  Taking a deep breath, Gareth looked around the room at the mangled bodies surrounding him. They had little chance against his wrath. His shallow victory was short-lived. Glancing at the mixed bloods, his prey and their victims, something felt wrong about the black fluid tarnishing the spilled red. They deserved better. But was he the man to give it to them? Making his way toward the pile of bodies, Gareth marched over the limp forms of the dead creatures, stomping into them with each step. Granted they couldn’t feel pain any longer, he took a small amount of pleasure feeling their bones break beneath his boots. A low, pain filled moan caught his ear. Glancing back, he noticed the first creature he'd charged, slowly crawling toward the door. Rage flooded him. Did this evil beast believe he’d be able to escape and warn the others? Was he so forgiving? That lesson needed to be taught. Slamming his boot down on one of the dead creature’s head, it popped, spilling blood and brain matter on the floor. Gareth calmly approached the prone beast, ripping it up by its hair. Unlike the others he’d seen, this one had a slight brown tint to the stingy locks. Staring into its frightened face, Gareth shouted. “Where’s my family?”

  A wicked smile formed, revealing dangerously sharp, blood-lined teeth. “Doolb rieht knard dna staorht rieht tuc I!” Spitting its black blood in his face, it laughed.