by Levi Samuel
The glimmering cover continued to flicker, inviting him to its contents. Nezial stared at it for several minutes, unsure if he should open it. Fear crept into his mind. Will it contain another failure or, at last, success? And more importantly, what will either mean? Swallowing hard, he reached for the edge of the cover and flipped it over, revealing the pages within. A sickness overcame him. He stared deeply into the aged parchment, blank as it could be. Not the slightest smudge could be seen on the coarse surface. Vigorously, he thumbed through the pages. No words, no marks of any kind, just blank sheets staring back at him, appearing to be made from a thick, dried skin.
“Damn it!” Losing himself to anger, Nezial slammed his fist down, feeling a sharp pain shoot through his knuckle. Fueled by rage, he glared at the wound, inspecting the broken flesh. A single drop of blackened blood pooled from the deep laceration, falling to the open book. Unable to stop it from splattering onto the page, several smaller droplets splattered around the initial impact. Nezial reached to wipe away the thick beads, but they disappeared, soaking into the flaky parchment before his hand reached made contact. He rubbed his fingers against the rough texture, unable to find the smallest trace of wetness.
Nezial stared in wonder. Where'd it go? Flipping vigorously through the pages, he searched for any evidence of the black life-fluid. The book remained free of mar. This isn't likely. On a whim, he grabbed his dagger out of his boot and pulled the leather sheath from the blade. Placing the edge against the back of his hand, he pressed in, letting the steel bite. Blood pooled around the blade, running freely from the wound. Holding his hand over the exposed pages, Nezial laid his dagger on the table and watched the beady fluid drip. It spilled onto the calcareous material, disappearing quicker than he could fathom. His heart beat within his chest, threatening to overcome him. He shook from excitement, unsure if it was the mystery of the book or the thrill of something unknown that had his curiosity peaked. Waiting patiently, hoping his blood would expose the secrets of the blank page, Nezial watched in anticipation.
Minutes passed. The page remained blank. Excitement leached away, leaving the bitter taste of failure in its wake. Lowering his head in defeat, Nezial took a deep breath. Another waste of resources.
Reaching across the table, he took hold of the cover, ready to close it and return to his search, he froze, unsure what he was seeing.
A faint message was forming in the center of the page.
His heart pounded away, threatening to leap out of his chest. Holding his breath, afraid to move, lest it disappear, Nezial watched the marks grow darker moment by moment. Finally, it was dark enough to make out the symbols written in what he guessed was his own blood. It was a strange language, unlike any he’d seen before, yet somehow, he knew it. A large smile spread across his face, understanding the first sentence.
To release the shadow, the ever-changing host must anoint the chosen in the reflection of worlds.
Nezial read the words again. His puzzlement over the meaning of the message diminished his pleasure in understanding the script. “How can I do this?”
The markings disappeared, leaving the page blank once again.
He waited several minutes, hand on his dagger, ready to feed the greedy book. Placing the blade against his flesh, he readied to sate its appetite. The iron bit into him a second time just as the new symbols appeared.
Returning the blade to the table, he picked up the small tome. “A key is required to free the ever-changing from the sanctum of void. Once free, there is no avoiding the path, for avoidance is the key to assurance.” He read the words aloud, listening to them, tasting them on his lips.
They faded slightly, revealing a large symbol below the message.
A smile came to him. Nezial gently shut the cover and locked the buckle into place. “Thank you,” He whispered to the slim volume, placing it in his satchel.
Returning his dagger to its sheath and stuffing it back into his boot, he flung the leather strap of his satchel over his shoulder and headed for the door.
The darkened chamber was built for intimidation. Its round walls place any visitor at the center of the chamber and at a severe disadvantage. The single entrance was sealed away from public eye, keeping the happenings inside out of scrutiny.
Nezial walked along the narrow isle, watching at the jagged border of stone at its edge. The other side was a sheer drop, disappearing into the depths of the Underdark. Reaching the center pedestal, He peered up at the towering chairs enwrapped around him at the far edge of the room.
The elders, each one wicked in their own right, sat over him, silently judging his arrival.
Dreualfar society was a meat locker. Only the finest made the cut. The rest were shaved off in battle or infection, despite their natural resistance to such. Nezial recalled the boy killed outside his library days earlier. Once the obvious fat was trimmed, so to speak, it was these seven that did the trimming of the rest. They were the elders, they had no equal. Each one obtained his or her position by replacing the former holder through trickery, seduction, and murder. Their entire system was shaped by this group, keeping only the strong and letting the weak die off systematically. If many of these elders had it their way, he would have been among the clippings, dropped to the floor and shoveled up for rat meat. Fortunate for him, he was stronger than they'd expected.
“Why have you called for us this time, Nezial? Have you found another enchantment which will allow you to exist comfortably in the sunlight?” One of the old dreualfar mocked.
Nezial absorbed the taunt. He'd been subject to their humiliation as long as he could remember. It didn't change anything. In fact, it made him push harder. One day he would be able to shove it in their faces. Their cold, dying faces that would look up rather than down at him. He waited patiently at their center, awaiting the laughter to fade away before continuing. He was used to being mocked and tormented by his people. They didn’t understand his desire. Accustomed to their scorn, he chose to ignore them rather than respond. There was no sense in giving them ammunition. His gaze fixed on his aggressor, Khronis. The elder was nearing a feeble state. Soon he would start to weaken and his chair would be ready for a new occupant. Nezial always hated that wicked smile perched on his lips. He was unusually cruel, even for a dreualfar. Swallowing hard, ready to speak the words he'd rehearsed a thousand times over, Nezial let his feelings about the elder pass. He looked to each of the seven, erect in the chairs, some men, some women, some ancient, while others were slightly older than him. Studying their faces, he ensured they were ready to receive his words. “I’ve discovered something much more interesting than a simple enchantment.” He declared, pulling the thin black book from his satchel, raising it for all to see.
Whispers filled the room at its sight.
An ancient woman rose from her central chair, naming her as the eldest of elders. With a gesture toward the others, she made the whispers subside. “Tell us what’s been revealed to you.” She leaned against her podium, anticipating his words.
Nezial recited the story, leaving no detail unattended.
The whispers resumed, growing in volume, yet too sporadic and mumbled for him to decipher.
“Interesting,” The eldest woman commented. Her voice gained strength as she spoke, “We’re aware of whom the book is referring. The oldest of our kind have always believed the unspoken one is responsible for our existence. We do not know what happened to him, all knowledge of that time having been lost or forgotten. We only know of him from an old tablet found thousands of years ago. If this book can tell us how to free him, then it’s our responsibility to do so. There is however one thing you must do before we can provide the assistance you'll need.”
Nezial listened carefully, hanging on her ever word. As far the elders went, she was the only one whom had never openly mocked him. That in of itself demanded his respect. He felt overjoyed that she believed him and even more excited that she would help him. “What do you need of me?”
“
You’ll need to travel to Eldarian, to the tomb at the center of the city. There, you’ll learn everything you need to know.” Reaching to her neck, she pulled a thin, black chain from her robes. “You'll need this.” Tossing it to him, she returned to her seat.
Nezial looked over the amulet, noting the strange icon. He studied the stone symbol, cracked down the middle revealing half of a demonic face. It was an odd sigil, but perhaps its meaning would come to him soon. Placing it securely in his satchel along with his book, he returned his focus to the elder woman. “I’ll return once I have this knowledge.” Refusing to wait a moment longer, he turned and made his way from the chamber.
The ancient woman waved her hand, watching him exit the thick stone doors. Dust fell from the archway with the vibration of the slabs moving into place. Within moments the passage had opened, allowing his exit, and resealed itself, as if it had never been opened.
Nezial waited for the stone to settle. Spinning on heel, he placed his ear against the barrier. It was commonplace for the dreualfar to try and hear what was being discussed beyond those thick doors. Yet many didn’t possess the ability to discern more than a faint echo through the stone. The voices were muffled and difficult to understand. Contorting his fingers, Nezial recited a quick chant to the stone and placed his ear against the slab. Instantly, the voices cleared, as if he was still in the room with them.
“Nadilia, do you truly believe he's capable of bringing him back?”
“He found the book. According to the markings we were able to translate from the tomb, only the one that can read the book can unlock the prison.” The eldest woman responded.
“But Nezial? He's an accomplished magician and decent swordsman, I’ll give him that, but he lacks the determination and blood-lust of our people, let alone how the legend describes the chosen one.” Khronis burst out, challenging any who would oppose.
Nadilia responded, “Khronis, my old friend, I’m aware of his personality. I’m also well aware of the legend. However, the legend states the chosen one is unlike any other. He both found and fed the book. That in of itself means he’s the only dreualfar that can read the tome in its entirety. When he returns I think you'll agree that he’s quite different.”
Nezial had heard all he needed to. Turning from the sealed doors, he let his spell dissipate. He needed to visit his personal chambers. There were a few things he was going to need if he was going to undergo this perilous journey.
Beans of sunlight pierced the darkness, creating an inverted tunnel ending in a blinding glow. Nezial shielded his eyes, hoping they wouldn't burn forever. One foot in front of the other, he made his way through the catacombs, rapidly approaching the end. His satchel was bulged to capacity, allowing his hands to remain free. He would need them if he came across any unexpected encounters. A polished sabre hung loosely at his side, sheathed and positioned for quick draw if needed. He preferred the light weight of a rapier but his fighting style was more fitted for the curved blade, using mostly slashes as opposed to the fencing posture the flimsy weapon required. Throwing the hood of his heavy cloak over his head, he took his first sanctioned steps into the sunlight. The heat burned through the layers leaving him in a constant state of nausea, but he was, in a roundabout way, doing what he'd dreamed of his entire life.
Hours passed and Nezial was still in the rocky canyons near the human settlement of Makshield. He was much closer than he preferred, but this was on the only path that didn’t lead directly to the human stronghold. Peeking through the dense cloth, shielding him from the bright overhead orb, he was surprised at the resilience he was showing. It was as if something was protecting him from the burning rays. The book? The necklace? There was no way to tell. But that didn’t mean he was completely free from harm. The brightness left a dull ache behind his eyes. Perhaps he’d grow accustomed to the glare over time. He could only hope. Listening to his footsteps on the dried, crunchy dirt and rock, Nezial recalled the maps packed away in his satchel. Their details were fresh enough he didn't need to consult them again. Glancing around, he searched for the landmarks he’d noted on one in particular. Seeing the abandoned, ancient tower in the rocks, he altered course and made for the river crossing. It was larger than he’d expected, but small enough to walk. Though he’d have to be careful of the current. It wouldn’t take much to drag his legs from beneath him and wash him out to sea.
Slowly making his way across, Nezial reached the other side and turned north, looking into the misty hills far beyond the seemingly never-ending forest in the distance. Fear, excitement, hope— all of it burned into his stomach.
Miles of deep-green trees, tall and broad, sprawled across the land. An occasional patch towered over the rest. Those were areas he needed to exercise the most caution. The myrkalfar were notorious for building their cities in such places. Beyond the forest of Evinwood, the hills rose like mountains in the distance. Less rocky and equally covered in vegetation, but they felt more inviting. Perhaps it was due to the dangers between here and there, he couldn't say. There was only one certainty he could offer. His goal was there, somewhere, hidden beyond the alfaren borders. He’d have to be extremely careful. Not only were the villagers a danger, but there was the possibility of soldiers between him and his destination. Many carried a wide array of opinions in the world, and most weren't favorable of his people.
Aside from the common man and soldiers, he'd also have to keep an eye out for the other races of Ur. Some could be trusted, others not so much. In fact, it'd be safest to reserve trust for those who've earned it. He chuckled to himself at the correction. He would be crossing many borders after all, and his kind were enemies to most. For that reason alone, he'd earned a death warrant before he was even born. None of these concerned him as much as one specific group. Among all the threats he could possibly face, the most dangerous obstacle would be the Dreuslayers.
Nezial recalled the stories he'd heard when he was younger. They were ever a mystery to the dreualfar. Sprinkled throughout his people's history, riddled in their lore and myths, yet disappearing time and time again. Such a thing was nearly impossible as far as he could find in his books, yet no logical explanation offered advice. The Dreuslayers were the one thing his kind feared. They specialized in the destruction of his people. If not for their methods, they were feared for their tactics. They were the one force known throughout history that was known for standing off against an army of dreualfar on any terrain, above or below ground. Numerous cities of the Underdark had fallen to them in ages past, earning a permanent residence in their history. They were the nightmares the monsters dreamed about, their leader especially, who claimed an ear from each dreualfar he killed.
Nezial straightened his spine, letting the chills pass. He swallowed hard, forcing those thoughts from his mind. He didn't need to focus on them. Such a thought could cause him to see things that weren't there. His fear would dilute his focus. It was not productive to plan for their arrival. He needed only concern himself if they showed up. Closing his eyes he centered himself, bringing his purpose back to the forefront.
Staring through the distance, calculating his trip, Nezial guessed he had nearly another week’s walk to get through Krondar. From there he'd continue north to the hot plains, which marked the border between the barbarian lands and Evinwood. There was no telling how long he'd be in the forest. Distance alone suggested another week, maybe two, but that didn't account for unexpected encounters or getting lost. He sighed heavily and took his first step into the open plains lands, hoping to reach the forest in the distance.
Several days passed, moving him closer to his goal. Nezial hid at the edge of a small section of forest along the eastern pass. The sun was retreating for the night, disappearing behind the mountains to the west. He wrapped himself in the cloak and hunkered down into a thick patch of leaves. Closing his eyes, he drifted off to sleep.
The rustling of leaves woke him. He instinctively wrapped his fingers around the leather wrapped hilt of his sword, ready to dr
aw the curved blade. Opening his eyes, he could see an orange glow reflecting off the trees. A burly human staggered toward him, taking a rather long draw from his tan colored wineskin.
Nezial watched the hulking man. He clearly hadn't seen him. With any luck, that fact would remain true. He squeezed his hilt, contemplating his options. I don't know how many there are. If I kill this one, the others are likely to come looking. I don't need a search party on my ass. Perhaps he'll continue on, without incident.
The drunken man rested his forearm against one of the trees and pressed his head into the thick muscles along the back side. Fumbling with his leather breeches, he got comfortable.
Nezial felt the mist splash off the leaves, spattering all around him. If only the barbarian knew how close he was to death. Holding his breath he waited, letting the man finish his business. Clearly, the human believed himself to be alone.
Shaking the last few drops, he tucked himself away and spun around to head back toward the caravan.
Nezial watched him wander off. He needed to get out of here now. He'd grown too comfortable. Cursing himself for allowing anyone to get that close, he quietly picked himself up and slung the satchel over his shoulder. Making his way from the occupied woods he stepped into the moonlit plains, leaving the encamped humans behind.
He crossed several dusty roads, remembering the layouts as best he could. They were few and far between, but even one meant civilization. He was drawing close to the main pass to Heroes Gate. The moon radiated a dull white, leaving dots in his vision. It irritated him. He could see so much better without it. The massive glow was more a distraction than anything. It made shadows seem like figures, each one watching, waiting for him to relax. His vision played tricks on him. One moment a perfect silhouette would be standing. The next, a fallen limb or patch of wheat remained in its stead. Night travel was much harder than it seemed.