by Levi Samuel
Ripping free of his hold, it sealed itself against the other piece, becoming whole.
Curiosity gripped him. Nezial stepped toward the statue and lifted the assembled icon. It came free. He heard a whisper in his mind. Put it on!
Cautiously, he laid the thin chain over his neck, letting the sigil relax against his chest. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but the urge had to have come from somewhere. Glancing up, he was much closer to the figure than he'd realized. He tried to move, but it was too late.
The statue lunged forward and grabbed him.
He struggled against the large stone gauntlets clenched to the sides of his head. He could feel warm blood running from its grasp. It pulled him closer, forcing him to stare into those cold, lifeless eyes. A purple glow burned into him, melting away his mind with each passing moment. He flailed his legs, trying to reach the ground. He couldn’t feel it. He tried to pry against the stone fingers. They were too tight. His body betrayed him. His resistance drained, he fell limp.
A pain unlike any other shot through his head, dwarfing the melting purple light by comparison. The chamber, the statue, the glow, all of it faded from view, leaving him a calming serenity to settle over him. Even the pain he felt burning throughout his body took the form of pleasure.
He was lying broken in the desert sands. Two extremely powerful beings towered over him. He felt a kinship toward them. A connection he'd never known. They were brothers. His brothers. He was beaten, unable to stand. His mind rushed with the desire to lash out, desiring to kill the two beings, both frail looking old men. But he also loved them. Why would he raise a finger against them?
The older was well dressed, wearing robes black as night. He held his weight against the long handle of a wickedly shaped scythe made from bone and steel. His bright blue eyes fell on him, full of conflict. They showed disappointment and support.
The other held himself against a tall staff, weathered in places, but constantly renewed. His face was wrinkled by time, his eyes full of youth known only to an infant. He couldn’t help but feel lost in them. The bronze robes surrounding his ancient form were trimmed in a black stone-like material. He could feel its effects, pulling at him like the stone door.
“Ozmodius, Osirus, my brothers, nothing you do can stop me. I will return and when I do, your followers will be lost to you.” Nezial heard the words escape his mouth but he didn't know why he said them.
The two men looked down on him. He could feel their thoughts. They smelled of remorse and pity.
A strange energy grabbed hold of him, pulling him from their presence. He tried to fight it, but it was too strong. He closed his eyes, screaming his anger at his brother’s betrayal. Opening them, the pull disappeared. He stared out over a dark new world, watching legions of followers drop to their knees at the mere mention of his name. Though it wasn’t his name. It was the name of his god, Izaryle. It was good they knew their place. Unfortunately there were many in the south that evaded his influence. They would suffer like no other had.
He felt the power flow through him. Spreading his wings, he shot into the heavens, ascending to his rightful godly stature. Flying over graying clouds, he soared to the south. Positioning himself over the heretics, he focused his will toward their destruction. Conflicted emotions filled him. He wanted to kill them. But he also wanted them to live. To his surprise, his magics wouldn’t obey. Like they were trapped between realms. He could still feel them, but they couldn't affect the mortal planes. Screaming his discontent, he cursed his brothers one last time. If he was going to crush these infidels, his followers would have to do it for him. But they deserved a fair chance at redemption. They were, after all his children.
The world shifted again. The lands were decimated. Armies of gray orcs marched through the people of the realm, slaughtering any and all within their path. They were commanded by men clad in black robes and armor. Several strands of a wicked purple and black energy flowed from him and into the armored men below. They redirected the energy into his will. No, not his will. Their will, but conveyed by their commanders as his will. He was having trouble understanding. There were so many conflicting emotions. Returning his focus to the soldiers, he could tell who held complete faith in his divine right and who doubted his presence. The strands couldn’t lie. Within minutes the world was his leaving only the persistent southlands beyond his rule, protected by a collection of alfar, men, and dwarves.
Again the world shifted, and again, each time filling him with knowledge. He witnessed an eternity of events, watching each one as if he was the source. He felt his sanity slipping away, replaced by bits of knowledge. Knowledge too great for any living being to possess. And suddenly, as quickly as he’d disappeared, he was back standing over a crumbled statue at his feet.
He fell to the stone floor, feeling the last bits of information settle into place. The fading purple glow of the seeming living mineral disappeared from sight. It was all inside him now. All that power. All that magic. It was all his. No, not all of it. Nezial took a deep breath, seeing a single piece of the glowing mineral intact and holding strong. He reached down, picking the shard from the rubble. Inspecting it, it appeared to have been split from the statue years before as a light layer of moss was beginning to claim the rough break. He felt power rush through him, flowing into the fractured piece. Shifting before his eyes the jagged piece elongated and thinned, retaining its wavy curves. A moment later, a purple blade with a black hilt sat idle in his hand. Admiring the kris dagger, he felt the remnant energy flow through the blade, trapped inside the material. Fingering the hilt, he spotted a broken setting where a gemstone once rested. Now that’s annoying. Why give me the key to limitless power only to have it crippled by an incomplete bridge? Nevertheless, it belonged to him, and he to it.
Urgency called to him. He glanced at the mirror, knowing what secrets remained on the other side. Recalling his purpose, Nezial shook the thought from his mind. He had to find the other one. Izaryle would be freed. Stuffing the dagger into his satchel, he turned and rushed up the stairs.
The two orcs waited patiently outside the dark temple, looking into the deserted city around them. The little sunlight that pierced the dark clouds faded when their companion stepped from the chamber.
Nezial locked eyes on the orcs, patiently awaiting him. They seemed much smaller than he recalled. He glanced at the darkening sky. It felt good to stand in the sun without the constant pain. Dropping his hood, he felt the sparse rays on his flesh.
The larger orc stepped toward him. “You look different. Find what yo—” His words fell short.
Nezial placed his hand on the old orc's breastplate. A smile crept to his lips. The thick hide began to contort and turn black under his touch.
The orc screamed, feeling his body burning beneath the armor. He tried in vain to get the straps loose, but they burnt him further. He fell to his knees with the loss of muscle. He tried to take a final breath, but it would not come. Falling forward, his charred body crashed into the ground with an explosion of ash. A discolored husk was all that remained of him.
Nezial glanced at the younger orc.
He stared in horror, watching his commander's body blow away in the wind. He raised his axe and charged the traitorous dreualfar. Bringing the thick blade down with all his strength in that single blow, he hoped to cut the mage in half.
Nezial's smile grew wider at the inexperienced orc’s attempt. Clapping his hands together, he caught the thick cutting blade moments before it would have bit into his skull.
The orc stared in confusion. How can such a small creature stop the strength of an orc? His shocked expression turned to worry. Fear crept into him, feeling the pain take hold of his arms. He tried to release the axe, but his hands wouldn’t comply. He felt it flow into his chest. The orc watched his flesh turn to stone before his eyes. It passed into his legs and moments later he was fully engulfed, vision locked on the smug dreualfar less than an inch from the edge of his axe.
> Nezial looked into the fading sun. He took comfort in its inability to harm him. With a final glance at the eternal orc, he turned and disappeared, leaving the living statue all alone in the abandoned city.
The young orc silently wept, unable to give his fear voice. He stared blankly at the open tomb wondering if he would ever see another living being.
The dark passageways were full of dreualfar, each one avoiding him. They cowered when he was near, moving away as quick as possible, keeping watch until he was out of sight.
Nezial marched through the catacombs. The smell of dirt and fear caressed his nostrils. He wasn't sure why they feared him. Maybe due to the power that flows through my veins? It doesn’t matter, I have a job to do and they'll help me or be swept away by my prosperity. He rounded the narrow corridor, spotting the elder’s chamber just ahead. Approaching the sealed slabs, he released his power.
The heavy stone exploded, leaving the chamber door open for entry.
The elders were sitting in their chairs, surprised by the intrusion. Many jumped to their feet, watching him storm into the room.
“Nezial, what’s the meaning of this interruption! Do you think these actions will go unpunished?” Elder Khronis jumped in a fit of rage at the intrusion.
“I’ve returned as I said I would.” A wicked smirk formed on his lips.
Nadilia smiled. “I see you've succeeded in your task. This is good, I’m glad that you’ve accepted the mantle set before you.”
Nezial felt a fondness for the vicious old woman. She was just as dangerous as the rest of them, but she had a vision similar to his own. The rest of the elders were petty and acquisitive. He had no purpose for them. “I’ve discovered a great many things since I last stood before you. I now know who I’m searching for and what I must do to free him.”
The chamber filled with whispers, each one attempting to conceal their thoughts from him.
Nezial found it amusing, the efforts they took to hide their motives. The attempt was fleeting, he knew what they were going to say before they did, but it was still entertaining. They were schemers, each one scheming against him, all except Nadilia. The old witch sat quietly, waiting for him to continue.
“It might behoove you to know that I’ve also learned something none of you were aware of.” Nezial interjected, silencing their whispers. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve learned a great many things none of you were aware of. But there’s one thing in particular I wish to share.” He looked over the feeble, so called, Elders, letting his words sink into their ears. “You see, I’m not the scared little pup I was when I left. You might say I’ve matured. I’ve gained more knowledge than this entire council combined and I now have the power to escape age. These two details have made me more than any of you will ever be.” His hand danced, creating an expanding disc of purple energy over the void beneath him. Pacing far beyond the narrow platform, he added to his insubordination. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, it’s not me, it’s you. By the rites of our people, I hereby disband this council of elders.” Nezial gave a sadistic smile to each of them. “You’re dismissed!”
The once whispering elders stood, outraged by his insolence. As one, they demanded his respect. Of all their voices, one in particular rose above the rest.
“What's the meaning of this betrayal?”
Nezial glared at Khronis. His taunts and mockery lingered in his memory. “The meaning of this, old man, is you’re no longer needed to lead our people.” The wide smile held steady on his face. Snapping his fingers, Nezial watched the inflated ego of the abusive elder take hold. Khronis' head grew nearly twice its original size. With a sickening pop it exploded, sending bits of skull and brain matter against the wall behind him.
The elders, save for Nadilia, panicked, rushing for their personal exits, trying to escape their doomed fates.
Nezial slaughtered them, one by one, taking pleasure in each kill. All but the eldest laid dead on the cavern floor. Appearing on the high-rise platform, he approached the woman, still sitting calmly in her chair. “Nadilia, you’re a smart woman. Serve my purposes and you’ll be around much longer than you intended. The commanders are loyal to you. Bring me their obedience. We march for Maradar Keep within the month.” Nezial turned, stepping over the bodies littering the floor. “Oh, and Nadilia, I know you were the one responsible for sending me the book. You have my thanks for that. But just so we're clear, I’m the sole ruler of our people. I’ll remain so until someone emerges to take that status from me.”
Nadilia nodded, her expression solemn and absolute. “As it should be, My Lord!”
Chapter XI
Booty and the Beast
The sweet scent of decay lingered outside the wide cavern entrance. Sunlight beamed through the trees, melting the light layer of snow at the mouth. The white contrast against the black, rocky wreath ebbed warning. Five figures looked upon the entrance, lost in the darkness within.
“What do you reckon’s in there?” Sean asked, fumbling with the crates stacked neatly inside the small wagon.
“Treasure. Lots of treasure.” Their leader replied, hiding his fear behind his excitement. “Krenin, go on in and check it out. Let us know what you see.”
“Why Krenin have to go first?” The half-orc questioned, studying the nervous humans.
“Cause unlike us, you can see in the dark. Now get your ass in there and tell us what you see.” Kelly shot an angry glare at the brute. “Unless you're scared.” He quickly added.
The half-orc puffed his chest at the challenge. How dare they accuse me of scared? “Krenin not scared of anything!” Raising his axe, he marched toward the opening and disappeared inside.
They others watched in anticipation, awaiting word, be it screams of terror or otherwise.
A moment later, Krenin stepped back into the light, axe dangling limply from his side. “Nothing in here!” He shouted, hearing the echo reverberate around him. He turned and stepped back into the shadows.
The others, still on edge, followed after, guiding the single horse and dilapidated wagon inside.
The scent grew stronger at the mouth, carried by the warm air exiting the cave. The snow at the entrance had melted long before the rest, erasing any evidence of other trespassers. One by one they stepped into the darkness.
Krenin watched his friends slowly make their way forward. Ha, they call me scared. Looks like they the scared ones. He glanced at the scattered remains lying about the moist floor, mostly animal carcasses, but many were unidentifiable to his eyes. He couldn't help but feel small compared to the deep gouge marks along the stone walls and floor. “Look like claw marks.” He stated to no one in particular.
“What?” Sean jumped, searching for the half-orc in the void. “I can't see anything. James, light a torch.” He rubbed his scar. It always seemed to hurt when he was nervous.
Krenin saw the first bright sparks ignite from one of the men's flint. He shielded his eyes, knowing the pain that would follow if he didn't. The torch flared to life, illuminating the dank room. The humans stood relatively close to one another watching every nook and cranny in search of the most evil of foes. Wandering near the far wall, Krenin glanced back at his companions. “What made them ain't here.” He assured.
Searching for the marks he was referencing, Kelly froze, spotting the deep scores. “Just keep your axe ready. We don't want nothin’ jumpin’ out at us.”
“You the boss, Kelly.” Krenin raised the dull weapon, wandering deeper into the underground chamber. He needed to keep the light to his back so it didn't affect his vision. The shadows grew dark, fading in the distance. He followed the rough wall, realizing it was a tunnel, twice his width, but nearly a foot shorter than him. Craning his neck, he slowly made his way along the passage, pausing at the entrance of the next room. Before him laid pile upon pile of gold and silver. He couldn't imagine ever seeing that much loot in one place. Yet here it was, waiting to be claimed. “Found the treasure!” His deep voice echoed along
the corridor, resounding much louder than he'd intended.
“Quiet down you idiot. Last thing we need is visitors when we're tryin’ to get out of here.”
“Sorry, Kelly!” He shouted back, forgetting what he'd just been told.
Kelly spoke just over a whisper. “First chance you get, get rid of him. Every damn job, he finds some way to fuck it up.”
Sean nodded his understanding. “Consider it done.”
They rounded the corner, finding the half-orc lost in the sight. “Well, don't just stand there, you oaf. Get to loading the crates. The wagon can't fit back here. Someone has to carry it.” James jabbed him in the ribs, extending an empty sack.
Krenin lumbered forward and scooped handfuls of coin and jewels into the bag. It quickly filled to the top. Setting it aside he loaded another, and another. Before long he had nearly twelve full bags.
A deep roar shook the walls, causing the unstable piles to vibrate and tumble downward.
“What the hell was that?” Sean asked, ducking low, as if somehow it would shield him.
“Sound like a roar.” Krenin raised his axe, searching the enclosed ceiling.
“No shit! Where’d it come from?” Kelly drew his sword, leaning in to whisper. “Now's your chance. Use him as a distraction. The rest of us can get out of here with what we can carry.”