Izaryle's Will

by Levi Samuel

  The lack of wrinkles and scars on two of their number lad him to believe they were young. Whereas the third, stood nearly six inches taller with long white hair and a battle worn face to match.

  Each one carried a large weapon, nearly as tall as its bearer. The thick wooden handles were decorated with leather and carved markings, meaningless to those outside orc society. A thick axe head protruded from one side, wide enough to chop a human in half with a single blow, and a heavy mallet stuck from the other.

  Nezial had never seen an orc before. He knew their race only from the stories he'd heard and the books he'd read. These creatures, while large and brutish in appearance, were much more than they appeared. He couldn't help but wonder how much timber these three could clear if they turned their axes to labor rather than combat. This forest probably wouldn't last long against an army of lumberers.

  But such tasks were rarely mentioned in his books. The orcs, even the brown ones, lived in a constant state of battle, whether with other races or among their many tribes. Over the past thousand years, they’d focused their ferocity against the myrkalfar. Holding the woodland race responsible for their ostracism to the north. Nezial gave himself a light slap, forcing him to abandon his entire recollection of orcish history.

  The orcs spoke their guttural, deep tongue, unaware they were being stalked.

  He quietly watched, unsure how to approach them. If he wasn't careful, the wrong action could result in his death. Coming to a decision he stepped from the dense trees and revealed himself, ensuring he had enough distance if they decided to charge. Dropping the hood of his cloak, the sun beamed brilliantly through the thin canopy, burning his flesh instantly. He forced the pain aside, hoping it wouldn't show to the proud warrior race.

  The largest of the three grunted, raising his axe to a defensive position.

  The younger two followed suit.

  “I’m not here to fight.” Nezial announced, contorting his tongue to form the brutish words. “I know of your feud with the alfar and I do not wish to interrupt that. I do however need to travel deep within these lands. If you can help me, I will aid you against them.”

  The large orc lowered his axe slightly, but kept it ready. Replying in Undercommon his deep voice echoed, having trouble forming the words around his tusk. “Why I need your help?”

  This commander was much more than he'd initially thought. It he under the language of the Underdark, he was traveled and educated. That spoke volumes about the warrior race. His mind racing, Nezial continued, sticking to orcish. “Because— I have problems with the alfar, same as you. And I have something you don't.” He let a smirk come to his face.

  The large orc cocked his head slightly. “And what would that be?”

  Nezial lifted his arm, facing the palm of his hand toward the trees.

  The two younger orcs jumped in fear, seeing a cone of flame burst from the young dreualfar's hand. It sprayed out, engulfing one of the large trees. In a heartbeat, the ancient wood was completely ablaze. The autumn-brown leaves turned black and rolled up to be carried off by the wind.

  Nezial knew it wouldn’t take much to ignite the entire forest. Keeping his hand pointed at the tree, he whispered a different incantation. A jet of water shot forth, soaking the fiery tree and drowning the flame to little more than a cinder.

  The large orc smiled, his lips stretched tight around his tusks. “Maybe we have use for you. Prove your worth and we’ll help you reach your destination.”

  Forcefully returned the smile, Nezial hoped he could trust the brutish creatures. It would be dishonorable for them to betray him, honor being the one law their culture held most sacred. Still, he would have to be careful. Trust must be earned, never given.

  Late into the day, the group traveled deep into the forests heart. The air was thick and sticky from the lingering heat of the warming climate. They followed the river as closely as they could. It cooled the air and kept them on track, though it had to be abandoned some hours back due to the increasing number of alfaren outposts and patrols.

  Nezial trekked along behind the orcs. He was growing tired of their rapid pace and refusal to take a break. He couldn't blame them. Their numbers meant they could be found much easier than a lone traveler. But it didn't change the fact that they were conditioned for such strenuous travel, where as he was still adjusting to it.

  The orcs led him to a well-traveled path deep in the forest heart.

  “This is Evinwood. We have to keep our eyes open now. The alfar here aren't like the others we've encountered. Here, they travel in large groups and will attack on sight.”

  “I thought we were already in Evinwood.”

  “The alfar like to claim the whole forest. But no. The southern forests belong to my people.” The orc leader demanded.

  Nezial nodded his understanding to the lead orc. The alfar they'd encountered hadn't offered much resistance, being eliminated before they could call for help. But that didn't mean it wasn't difficult rooting them out. His magic had proven invaluable in their advancement, having caught the scouts off guard. But as far as he was concerned, it was more a matter of luck than skill. He felt a rumble in his stomach. If the myrkalfar were more organized in these parts, what chance did they have to make it through without having to deal with the whole populace?

  Nezial was beginning to feel a strange sense of belonging, something he'd never truly felt before. He didn’t know if it was because the orcs so far had respected his abilities, or simply because he was traveling with them as an equal. Either way, he was glad to have the company. He still didn’t know if he could trust them, playing every possible scenario in his head. But trust and respect didn't have to be mutually exclusive. I'll be prepared if they turn against me. If they don't, I'll still be ready.

  They traveled for nearly four days, leaving the ruins of Eldarian just under two days from their grasps.

  Nezial couldn’t help but think of everything that stood between him and the knowledge he sought. Trees, alfar, orcs, unknown obstacles, vicious animals— Something's not right! Pausing, he searched the trees.

  The orcs marched through the forest, unaware of their companion's halt.

  Three distinct swishing sounds echoed from the trees overhead, followed by just as many thuds. Nezial tried to call out, but it was too late. One of the younger orcs dropped his war axe and fell to his knees. The heavy mallet smashed hard into the ground, landing with the axe head pointing straight up. Three bloody arrowheads protruded through newly formed holes in the back of his hide breastplate. Small streams of blood ran from each of them. The lethally wounded orc fell face first to the ground, his head landing directly on the sharp edge of his axe. It split in two.

  Taking a defensive stance, the orcs scanned the forest in search of their unseen attackers.

  Nezial knew he wouldn't be able to warn his comrades, nor locate the alfar without help. Closing his eyes, he recalled a spell he'd learned from one of his many books. Finding the words, he looked into the tree tops and slammed his hands together.

  A wave of energy expanded away from him. Like a strong wind, it blew debris in all directions. Trees ripped themselves from the ground, through huge mounds of dirt into the air. Forcing its way past the orcs, it knocked them prone.

  Nezial watched his sonic blast clear the forest in all directions for nearly fifty feet, leaving the once hidden alfar to pick themselves up from the forest floor. He counted over a dozen of the long-eared, majestic creatures scrambling back to their feet.

  The orcs recovered, gripping their weapons to slaughter the exposed alfar. They rushed to the right side of the now cleared area, bringing their weapons down as quickly as possible. The closest alfar was cut in two before his sword left its sheath. The superior numbers had to be whittled down or they would be overrun.

  Nezial saw the anger on the large orcs face, certain some of it was directed at him, having been affected by his magics.

  The large orc swung his war axe, crushing one of the al
far between the heavy mallet and a toppled tree. The distorted body broke against the roots, flying uncontrollably through the air.

  The younger orc took position behind his commander, keeping his back protected by his own. He swung fiercely cutting down another, dancing as he'd been trained.

  The pair tore into the still recovering alfar, hacking and slashing at all within their reach.

  Nezial looked around. The orcs had the largest portion covered, but there were still several of the slender, would-be assassins all around them. He saw a group to his left, their weapons drawn and headed toward him. He thrust his hands forward, sending energy into the air. It wrapped around the approaching group, solidifying and forcing them together. Contorting his fingers he made the proper gestures and recited the words, calling the power to him. A cone of bright orange and yellow flame shot from his fingertips, the same spell he'd displayed to the orcs upon their meeting.

  Screams echoed from the flaming figures, slowly being devoured in their prison. They ran into each other desperately trying to escape the invisible walls containing them. Continuing to move after death they crumbled into a heap of charred meat, nothing left but smoldering bone and soupy gore.

  Nezial scanned the area. The few remaining alfar joined the battle against the orcs, attempting to surround them.

  Drawing his sabre, Nezial stealthily moved behind the group, hoping to avoid the broken branches and debris on the forest floor. His plan would fail if he couldn't remain silent. He moved into position and thrust his sword into action. A series of quick slashes and stabs laid waste to them, cutting the remaining alfar down before they realized his presence.

  The battle was over quick, leaving the dead to litter the forest floor.

  The large orc glared at him, choosing his words before speaking. “I'm grateful you exposed their location, but I expect warning before you act. I cannot anticipate chaotic decisions.” His deep voice echoed between breaths. He was exhausted, but clearly trying to hide it.

  Nezial felt regret hearing the commander's words, but it was meaningless. Forced to make the same decision, he had no doubt he would have done nothing different. “I’m sorry I caught you off guard, but I couldn’t think of a better way to force them out of hiding. It was that or risk losing the element of surprise.”

  The old orc placed his large hand on Nezial's shoulder, the size made him look small in comparison. “Overall, I'm glad to have you on my side.” He allowed a bestial smile to tighten around his tusk.

  They piled the bodies in the center of the clearing, away from the now shattered trees and foliage.

  Nezial held his hand over the pile, channeling his energy. The bodies burst into flame, burning to ash in a matter of minutes, leaving nothing but a few charred remains.

  Entangled vines and vicious barbs stretched from tree to tree, far removed from any remnants of a trail. The overgrown brush was nearly untraversable, slowing them to a near stop. The orcs heaved their axes, tearing into the brambles more than cutting. Several hours passed, carrying them long into night. The moon loomed overhead blocked out by the thick canopies, leaving them in near darkness.

  The three continued onward, their eyes accustomed to the lack of light.

  Nezial studied the faint outline beyond the trees. It looked like the top portion of an ancient temple, but it was still too far to tell for certain. Even at this distance it towered over everything around it, leaving him to wonder how such a landmark could remain unexplored for so long. It's not like its location is unknown. So why has there always been such mystery surrounding it? One thing was certain. Those questions would be answered very soon.

  They traveled into morning, watching the sun illuminate the forgotten city before their eyes. They passed into the lands that were once streaming with his kind, the dalari before them. Nezial stared in wonder, excited to be so close to his ancestral home. There was something about it that called to him. Something that made him feel powerful. Something that made him feel as if he could snuff out the sun with a single thought. The power was so intoxicating he almost hadn’t realized the absence of all life in this once populated site. Listening, he could hear nothing but the sounds of his companions. Not even the chirp of a bird nor the fiddle of a cricket sounded in the desolate city, leaving an eerie silence over the dead lands.

  They continued in, chopping their way through the overgrown brambles. The dry wood cracked and broke into several pieces, unnerving them further. It was so different from the resilient vegetation they'd traveled through moments before.

  Nezial could see the forest edge just ahead. Excitement filled him, growing with each step toward the large clearing.

  They crossed into the cleared landscape, lost in the sight before them. A dark shadow loomed overhead blocking out the sunlight, leaving a perpetual gloom. Several ruined structures towered throughout the city, left to the elements. Many of the large stone structures had fallen, nearly buried by time and dirt. The ground was barren, free of weed and grass. Only dry, cracked earth covered the floor in all directions. Even the trees branching over into the clearing were dead, their limbs petrified and jagged.

  “Welcome to Eldarian, the birthplace of my people.” Nezial passed the orcs, leaving them to take in the sight. He thought it strange considering the amount of overgrowth not a hundred feet away, yet the city itself was void of all life save for his group. He walked toward the center, eyes locked on the one structure that remained untouched by time and elements.

  The orcs followed slowly, their axes ready for the unexpected. Such a place was unnatural. It was best to be prepared if anything remained.

  The tomb stood tall, jutting into the sky like some kind of dark temple. It was made of black colored stone, appearing to have sprouted from the ground. A dark cloud wrapped around the peak of the spire, hiding it from view. The occasional bolt of lightning flickered from within, but the its absence remained steadfast, entrapped by the gloomy shadows blanketing the area.

  Nezial watched the other clouds drift past. Strange that one defies! He approached the thick stone cover embedded in the side wall. Several chiseled symbols marred the obelisk, half worn away by time. Running his fingers over them, he felt the rough texture and indentations. They grew bright beneath his touch, burning to the surface, as if they'd been there forever, only hidden from view. Understanding their meaning he read aloud, listening to the story flow from him. “Tides clashed against the shore, unleashing new revelations. In that time, the youngest was split, as all things are. Creation sobbed, her tears unheard. Only the three could restore what was lost. But ignorance is a curse, even among gods. In their opacity, they sealed their fates. Beyond this door, lies their greatest betrayal.”

  The ground roared and shook violently. The vibrations rattled and pulled against the spire, tearing the earth at the base. A crack splintered through the stone, shooting out like a spider web. It fell to pieces, littering the damaged ground beneath it. Obscured by dust, the outline of a large doorway remained.

  Nezial fanned the dust from his face, hoping to get a better look at the sealed door. Waving his hand, he let his magic flow forth to embrace the obviously heavy stone. To his surprise, it didn't work. He was certain the magic had taken effect, but the door didn’t budge. He placed his hands against the seal, feeling his magic flow into the dark structure. “That's odd?”

  “What's wrong?” The orc commander watched, uneasy over the entire situation.

  “It's my magic. It's like the stone is absorbing it. I've heard a few myths of such an ore, but never found evidence to its existence. That is, until now.” He pressed lightly, feeling the seemingly heavy slab rotate with ease. Studying its construction, he guessed it was pinned and counter weighted. How else would something so heavy move so freely? “I need to go inside alone. When I return, we’ll continue to your destination.”

  The old orc nodded his acknowledgment and turned to watch the perimeter.

  Nezial stepped through the doorway and into the shadows.
Instantly, his eyes felt better. The bright sunlight had left him with a mild headache for days now. The darkness seemed to have relieved the pressure. He marched through the narthex and looked around the open chamber.

  Several doors lined both sides of the room. The ceiling was beyond sight, but surely the height of this place wasn't wasted on the three layers of balconies he could see. Crossing the nave, he reached a shrine at the far side of the room. The symbols held a familiar presence, but he couldn't place them. Reaching into his satchel he retrieved the broken amulet, feeling an energy that wasn't there before. It led him to one of the side rooms, containing a stairwell and little else. The amulet nearly buzzing with energy, he stepped onto the stairs. His vision faded, leaving him in total darkness. “Um— This is new?”

  No sooner than the words left his lips, both sides of the ancient passageway flared to life. Every several steps a sconce was secured to the wall. A glowing purple flame danced from each one, omitting all heat. Stepping into the unnatural light, he traveled down for what felt like forever. The narrow passageway opened into a single chamber, revealing a large statue standing in the center.

  The figure was shaped like a man. It was wearing heavy armor and a shiny purple cloak, made from some kind of living mineral. The thick, jagged armor was molded perfectly, covered in places by the cloak. The raised hood concealed much of the facial features, obscuring the figure's race. Its hands rested on the pommel of a large sword, the lower portion buried beneath the stone base. It peered down, its lifeless eyes watching the entrance of the chamber.

  Nezial approached. Looking under the hood he tried to see any detail of who or what it may have been. An overwhelming sense of dread washed over him. Unable to turn away, he stared into the figures consuming eyes. An unbearable desire to flee overcame him, but he was too scared to move. His will consumed he forced himself to break contact, forcing the dreaded desires to abandon him. Avoiding eye contact, he noticed something hidden beneath the living stone cloak. A pendant was dangling below its neck, as if it were held by a chain. But no such device was present. He moved closer, attempting to get a better look. The sight of the broken sigil shocked him. The familiar emblem called out, begging to be rejoined. His clenched fist raised of its own accord, displaying the broken piece dangling from the thin, black chain. It twisted and aligned, revealing the complete symbol to him.