by Levi Samuel
The patrons stared at the half-orc, breaking their gaze when he made eye contact. It was strange to see such a large, barbaric brute wearing such finely crafted clothing and sitting at a table full of respected warriors.
Krenin liked the way the silk felt against his skin. It was much softer than the twill he’d been accustomed to. The ale was weak, but after several tankards he was beginning to feel its affects. The food was much better. Everything was sweet, from the meat to the bread. It tasted as if it had been made with the purpose of enjoyment, something far greater than to simply survive. He glanced out the north window, seeing another caravan of stone and lumber make its way up the hill. Leaning in his over-sized chair, compared to human standards anyway, it creaked under the shift in weight. “You think they be done soon?”
“No Krenin, it'll take several months for them to finish the keep.” Malakai answered.
“What take so long? Orc homes built in days, not months.”
“Orc homes are much simpler in design. Imagine building hundreds of orc homes into one large home with many layers.”
“I see. Still, it take so long.”
Malakai looked at the others, hoping for assistance. Realizing he was on his own, he sighed. “It must be nice to have such a simple outlook.”
“I already look, they not done yet.”
“No, I mean— Oh, never mind.”
Ravion busted into laughter at the sailor's failed attempt. Resolving himself, he pulled a large piece of parchment from his satchel and laid it upon the table, careful to keep it off the food.
The map showed the area for months in each direction, outlining the southern shores all the way up to the orc lands of Tulgar. Several rocky areas were marked with a circular stamp, embedded by a trident in the center.
“These areas have been inspected and we haven't found any evidence of dreu activity. There are several more locations to search north of Heroes Gate, but as it stands, Southern Dalmoura seems free, aside from the few cave entrances we haven't found yet.
“What's the news on the lowest level of the Keep?” Gareth asked, paying close attention to the map.
Ravion pulled a scroll from his satchel and handed it to Gareth. “The lowest level is complete. The vault is in place and the prisoners are well secured.”
“Have the locks been placed on the vault?” Gareth opened the report, deciphering the coded words.
Kane leaned forward, joining the conversation. “The stones are in place. Nobody can get into it without one of us being present.”
Ravion glanced around, making sure nobody could hear them. “Moreover, the contracts have been carried out. The only people that have any knowledge of the vaults existence, let alone the locking stone, are sitting at this table.”
Gareth sat back, content with the knowledge. “Very well.”
“The guards have been asking when the tabards are going to be ready.” Kane added.
“I'll be picking them up from the tailor tomorrow afternoon, along with the flag.” Malakai offered, taking a swig from his tankard.
Gareth sat up again, resting his elbows on the table. “Good, it’ll be nice to see The Order's colors on the chest of our men. I'll be taking a small detachment into the catacombs in the morning. Hopefully we can find it this time.”
Chapter XIV
The Fall of Maradar Keep
The full moon faintly illuminated his army. Their dark skin blended into the existing darkness, little more than their glowing eyes and sparse features to be seen in the night. Those gifted with white hair, like their ancestors, were more visible than the rest.
The cool night breeze felt good against the back of his neck. He'd suffered an unnatural temperature since he claimed the ancient power of his god. An unpleasant side effect, perhaps? He couldn't say for certain, though if that were the case, a mild fever was well worth wielding ultimate power. Nezial looked upon the unsuspecting keep. His army was ready to march upon his command. The humans inside were fully unprepared for what he had in store for them this night.
The sound of footsteps roused him from his thoughts. Preparing himself, he gripped his sabre, daring the on comer to try something. He knew many disliked him. And if any one of them caught him unaware, it wouldn't take much to claim command. But who among my army would have the intestinal fortitude to attack me?
“General Nezial, the army is in position.” The captain declared, stopping just out of threat range.
Nezial nodded, spinning around to look upon the frightened dreualfar. The stench was bittersweet. It was good they feared him. But fear made them weak. It meant they weren't ready. The whole lot of them needed to be conditioned, but time for that had passed. They had no choice but to fight, fearful or not. They would do as he commanded or they would die. “You're dismissed.”
The captain rushed off as quickly as he could.
Nezial glanced down the left flank, then the right. A smile came to his lips. They were in position and awaiting his command. All he had to do now was give it. It's a shame the young captain didn't try anything, that would have shown the others I'm not to be trifled with. Surveying the army again, proud of the mass he’d forged, he looked into the sky. It was time they served their purpose. They’d trained in preparation for this one night for years. And still, they weren't ready. But they'd have to suffice. The tables had shifted. The dreuslayers had stepped into the open. He couldn’t afford further delay. Mentally running through his plan one final time, ensuring all pieces were in play, he counted them off. The outlying villages were cut off. The garrisons had been destroyed, disabling any chance for reinforcements or escape. And the signal fires at Heroes Gate were under his control, ensuring no assistance from the south. These humans were defenseless. His smile grew wider. Every route has been covered. His victory was assured. He had but to take it. These humans have no chance of survival and it is all due to my plan, my perfect, flawless plan. That is unless these idiots find some way to muck it up. Feeling his anger start to rise, he glanced around once again, feeling the wind on his face. “Let’s do this.” He quietly whispered to himself, throwing his right hand into the air.
The army roared, breaking their halt. The sound of boots and the echo of war-cries shook the foundation of the very walls they were about to crush. Like a swarm of marbles rolling down a hill, they collided against the thick barrier.
Nezial watched them race toward the unyielding stone and mortar. They battered against it, numbers constantly renewed. The walls began to crumble, weakened by his magic. Seeing the first break, his horde seeped through the fallen barricade and into the courtyard.
Following after them, keeping a leisurely pace, he slowly walked toward victory. He was in no hurry. The keep would fall. It was inevitable.
Reaching the shattered walls, Nezial cautiously stepped over the crumbled stone. The courtyard stood defenseless, its protectors crushed beneath the fallen rubble and long past boots. He smiled at the carnage before him.
Dead and dying soldiers were everywhere, their bodies trampled and broken. A few of his dreualfar had fallen among them, their twisted and mangled frames mixed with the humans. It was obvious these few hadn’t trained enough. They proved they weren't worthy of remaining among his elite.
A maniacal laughter erupted from deep inside him, echoing through the courtyard. They thought they were invulnerable inside their capital. I’ve shown their folly. He made his way through the courtyard and into the inner bailey. The grass was coated in fresh blood, soaking the hems of his leather plated robes. Everything was going according to plan. Soon he’d impregnate the keep. And then nothing could stop them.
Lost in thought, he hadn't noticed a human guard headed straight toward him. Spotting the lone attacker, he shook himself from his thoughts. In a single, fluid motion, Nezial reached across his body and grabbed hold of his sword. He drew, swung, and sheathed it in the blink of an eye, refusing to slow for the distraction.
He moved so quickly the human didn't even see him
draw the blade. Locked in his charge, he overshot the wandering dreualfar. Unable to stop himself he arched, turning just enough to watch his enemy disappear around the corner. He slowed to pursue the trespasser, feeling an immense amount of pain overtake him. Searching his chest and stomach, no stab wounds were present. But something was clearly wrong. His body quit responding to him. He tried to take another step. It wouldn't comply. The pain subsided, leaving him numb. Lost in the fading awareness, he glanced down a second time, seeing a thin red line form across his chest. Pressing his fingers against the mark he lifted them, inspecting the fluid on their tips. The bright red blood clung to his bare skin, its contrast shocking and surprising. The comfortable numb turned to senseless. He could hear his heart beating inside his chest, pumping faster each passing moment. The line expanded, growing thicker with each beat. He fell to his knees, realizing his tunic cut. His left arm hit the ground, severed just below the shoulder. Staring at the lost appendage, unable to process what was happening, fear, pain, worry, it all escaped him. He was already dead. He just didn’t know it yet. Grabbing his arm, he felt the world spin. He impacted the trampled snow and mud, realizing his bottom half remained where he’d fallen. He was a severed torso, lying at the base of his collapsed legs. The human closed his eyes, drifting into death.
Nezial chuckled, listening to the man's final moments. Calmly walking toward his destination, he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like, death. Would it be quick and painless, or slow and drawn out? Either way, it was a lesson he didn’t expect to learn for quite some time.
Rounding the corner, Nezial found his army bottle necked at the reinforced wood and steel doors. They battered against it with one of the courtyard trees. Its limbs had been viciously chopped away leaving just enough to grip.
The doors were buckled slightly, but appeared to be holding against the impromptu ram.
Marched through the army, hearing whispers alert those in front of him. They glanced back, quickly jumping out of his path.
The gap grew wider, giving their terrifying master plenty of room for his tricks. They dropped the make-shift ram, stepping aside. It landed with a thud, cracking the cobblestone street where it’d fallen.
Within moments all was clear from his path, giving him direct access to the doors. Nezial studied them for a moment, running his fingers across the wood grain. Stepping away, he pulled his oversized sleeves up, revealing his blackened arms. Clapping his hands together, bits of dust flew from his leather gloves. As if they were cold, he rubbed them together. Exhaling slowly, he thrust them forward, shoving his open palms toward the sealed barricade.
A bolt of purple and black energy shot forth, striking the seal. It crackled and popped, following the intricate design of the grain. The wood groaned and twisted, distorting its resilient nature. A massive shock wave erupted from the barriers. It rippled outward, stretching the reinforcing metal to its limit. As if reacting in reverse, it slapped together, ripping the wood apart. The ancient doors shuttered and flexed, exploding into thousands of jagged pieces, launched all directions.
Dust and debris clouded the area, settling to reveal the open passage. Several humans laid dying on the back side of the now ruined doors, their flesh pierced and slashed from the explosion.
The army roared to life rushing into the inner city, their numbers resisted only by the width of the shattered frame.
Nezial waited for his army to pass. Watching from the rear, the dreualfar broke into several groups, flooding the streets and buildings. Screams echoed from the unsuspecting, like music to his ears. Breeching the shattered gate, he spoke, magically amplifying his voice. “Find every man, woman, and child. Drag them from their homes and slaughter them in the streets. Don't leave so much as a wagon unmolested. If it breathes, kill it. I want the streets of this city to run red each time it rains. Tonight, the citizens of Maradar Keep will learn to fear the dreualfar!”
Stepped over the broken barricade, scanning the central road, Nezial took delight in the destruction. Wherever they hide, we will find them. Every human of this city will perish this evening, save for one. He scanned the distance, searching for his prize. The keep stood high above the other structures, like a beacon to his desires. Its archers were in position, wasting arrows on scavengers. He smiled at their folly. By the time we advance on the keep, they’ll be spent. He wandered down a side alley, watching the carnage play out before him. Only one path mattered. That was the path he was on.
Battle horns echoed across the city, alerting him of their success. The city was theirs. The inner curtain had been breached. The only thing left was the defenseless throne. And they doubted me. Can't be sacked! He mocked silently. I've proven my worth. This victory will bring the others to my call. Floating on success, he launched his hands into the air, firing several bolts of energy into the night sky. They exploded in arrays of purple and green, illuminating every detail of the defeated capital.
He listened to the rhythm of boots marching along the pitching, feeling the vibrations in his own. It was time to finish this. He sauntered onto the main road, following the army of dreualfar headed for the city's heart.
Reaching the shattered doors, Nezial glanced at the belvedere. The archers were absent, either dead or fallen back with their dwindling ammunition. His men rushed past him, anxious for the taste of blood. He didn't pay them any mind. They were following orders.
Nezial stepped over the ruined barriers and into the keep. Recalling his books, he recited his knowledge of human architecture. Making his way through the labyrinth of hallways and corridors, he passed into the great hall. Sounds of battle echoed off the walls, resonating in the stone and wood. It was difficult to tell which direction the conflict originated. Following the clink of swords as best he could, he sought his prize.
Rounding the corner, several of his men were locked in combat against twice as many humans. He watched intently, certain his men would fall to this small band of surface dwellers. It was good to study their actions. It would tell him everything he needed to know about them.
The humans washed over the small band, locking their sights on the lone commander. They cautiously stepped toward him, weapons at the ready. His laughter was unsettling. As if he knew something they did not.
Nezial drew his sword, thrusting it straight into the closest man’s throat before he could blink. The blade shot out the back, sending a stream of blood onto the face of the man behind him. Twisting the blade, he spun. A gout of blood spattered just before the gore covered blade tore into the next. Nezial smirked, watching four men stagger to their deaths from his first strike. They clearly weren't prepared for one of his caliber.
The remaining humans paused, taking a step away from the lethal dreualfar. Centering themselves, unable to retreat for honor’s sake, they swallowed hard and raised their weapons.
Their hesitation amused him. These are the best Maradar Keep has to offer? What a jest. Perhaps they require more assurance? Daring them to advance, Nezial twisted his wrist and spun around, leaving himself open for attack. Arching the tip of his sabre, he plunged it deep into the wooden floor, letting the thin blade sway back and forth. He raised his hands disarmingly, holding them out as if he were going to allow them to capture him.
They glanced nervously at one another, unsure if he was surrendering or deceiving them. They cautiously approached, swords at the ready.
Nezial kept his hands up, allowing the human to get closer. He watched the first one step into threat range. It was too easy. If I struck him down, the others would hesitate. No, he needed to dispose of them all at once. The wicked smile stretched across his lips, staring intently into the approaching human's eyes. It was too late for all of them. Slamming his hands together, a resounding clap echo from his leather gloves. A light bit of dust flew into the air in front of him.
They jumped at his sudden movement, expecting his expert swordsmanship to dance to life.
Nezial grinned, finding amusement in their fear. The stench w
as so strong. Peeling his hands apart he cupped them, catching the airborne particles. They landed in light brown and gray speckles against the black covers. Raising them to his face, he gently blew them toward his audience.
The dust disappeared, lost in the dim light. Unaware of his plan, the humans inhaled the unseen particulates, being little more than common, everyday debris. After all the ability to breathe was one of instinct, not training. They froze, unsure what was happening. On edge, they turned, hearing one of their number gasp. Panic set in. Their chests grew tight, swelling like an overfilled bladder. The flesh covering their bodies stretched and contorted, displaying shallow purple veins beneath thinning layers. Like an animal carcass left in the sun for too long, they split wide open, spraying bright red blood from the ruptures. Their flabby skin wither and dried. Flaky hide chipped away into the dust they’d ingested. The more they struggled the quicker they deteriorated, falling into dried hunks on the floor. Blood seeped from the drying cracks like yellow puss in an infected wound. Desperately, they attempted to comfort themselves. They struggled several minutes against the inevitable, finally falling silent. Nothing remained but their dehydrated carcasses, shriveled upon the floor.
Nezial waited for the last one to draw his final breath, a sense of satisfaction on his face. Retrieving his sword, he stepped from the room, feeling their remains crumble beneath his boots, dusty clouds taking flight with each step. “I pray you aren't the best this city has to offer.” He turned and made his way up the staircase. The lord was nearly within his grasp.
Nearing the top, his soldiers lined the walls, awaiting his arrival. They scurried to the side, allowing him access. No one lingered for fear of delaying his path to the front of their mass.
The large decorated doors leading to the great chamber were busted, announcing his complete success. Watching his men nod their respects, he passed, refusing to return the gesture. They were beneath him. Not worthy of his acknowledgment. Nezial stepped into the lord’s council room feeling victory wash over him.