Izaryle's Will

by Levi Samuel

  A slender dreualfar with long white hair stood in the center of the room, his back to the entrance. He was dressed in elegant robes made of a royal blue with pearl colored runes around the cuffs and neckline. It stared into a large mirror, set in the far wall. The function seemed misplaced in the large structure.

  Gareth couldn't help but notice it wasn’t reflecting as it should. Where the contents of the room, dreualfar included, were clearly visible, it also showed the inside of a crypt. Gareth’s attention shifted back to the dreualfar. Searching him up and down, he noticed a sabre strapped to his left hip and a brown leather satchel hung from the right. There was something unsettling about the creature. Something dark and dangerous, more so than his kind usually were. Gareth slowly made his way behind the beast, lifting his mace. If he could get close enough to strike before it realized he was there, it would be over quick. But did anything ever go as planned?

  Nezial stared deeply into the ancient mirror, studying the magics flowing through it. He couldn't begin to understand the mysteriously woven strands, intertwined and layered unlike any he’d seen before, save for the speculum’s twin. It was as if they didn't belong to any of the arcane schools, yet held elements of them all. But it was more than that. His knowledge of divine magics, while sparse, suggested they had a hand as well. But there was so much happening he couldn’t comprehend. This mirror was something else, something forgotten.

  A sweet scent drifted past his nostrils, a familiar flavor, coppery and dark. Dreualfar blood. Nezial’s face contorted, stretching his wicked smile across his lips. "The commander of the fabled dreuslayers has come to pay respects. I must have done well to gain such honor." Nezial turned to face his would-be killer.

  "Your kind has no honor!" Gareth spat, his mace at the ready, raised and ready to deliver the killing blow. Knowing he was too close to do much else, Gareth rolled his shoulder, flinging shield from his back and around his arm. Snatching the grip, he locked it into place and brought the mace down.

  Nezial casually waved his hand, letting his power flow. It erupted in a violent burst, exploding into the blackened walls.

  Gareth felt the flood of energy wash over him. His feet left the ground and he flew back, slamming into the far wall. What the hell was that? Did he misfire? Gareth had never seen like that before. Picking himself up, he watched the wild remnants of magic soak into the walls. Maybe this place, this stone, was warded against magic. Maybe that was why the spell reacted as it had. Though that was more maybes than he preferred to work with.

  "This place is becoming increasingly annoying." Nezial demanded, his amused smirk faded slightly.

  "It seems you can't get it up. Don't worry, it happens to the best of ‘em." Gareth taunted, letting his rage build. Kicking off the wall, he launched himself toward his target, ready to deflect the explosion if it came to that. He brought the mace down, aimed for the slender creature's head.

  Nezial’s hand shot out with unnatural speed, catching the head of the mace. The swing halted, unable to advance another inch. "I don't need magic to kill you." Nezial forced the thick weapon back, letting the human's own weight do all the work.

  The blood-coated handle slipped from Gareth's grip. The impact shot pain to his core. He staggered back, clutching his face. Shaking his senses back into place, Gareth noticed the bright red droplets splatter on the onyx floor. "Alright, you wanna play that way— let's play!" He spit the blood from his mouth, glaring his hatred at the creature. Tossing his shield to the side, he drew his cutlasses.

  Nezial smiled, discarding the stolen mace. Sliding his sabre from its scabbard, the metal drug across the enclosed sharpening stone and echoed through the small chamber. He flipped the weapon around, gently grazing the floor with the razor-sharp tip. It left a mild scratch in the polished surface. Flipping it around a second time, he arched the blade and plunged straight down, embedding it into the stone floor. Taking a step back, Nezial revealing his empty hands, inviting a clear shot. The curved blade wobbled gently from the forceful thrust.

  The dreualfar’s confidence was shaking. If he was willing to offer a free shot, there was no telling his level of skill. And unfortunately, Gareth hadn’t seen him fight. Accepting the challenge, Gareth charged and swung his right blade, while preparing to block with the left.

  Like a bolt of lightning, Nezial shot out, snatching his sword from the floor. Rolling his wrist, he easily sent the first attack wide. Spinning, his back connected with the dreuslayer’s and he wrapped around, carrying his original trajectory. Seeing the opening, Nezial danced around the sloppy block and stabbed inward. His saber buried itself deep into the Dreuslayer's left shoulder.

  Gareth winced in pain. Growling his irritation, he hooked his left sword, keeping the piercing weapon in place. Using his footwork, he retracted himself the blade. Gareth pushed the sword from him, realizing his options were limited. Wildly swinging his wounded arm, hoping to distract the superior swordsman, Gareth redirected and attacked with his right-side cutlass. It was a narrow window, but just maybe he could get past the dreualfar's defenses.

  Nezial knocked the feint wide and brought his sword across to parry. Using the blocked attack as leverage, he stabbed the tip of his sword into the wounded shoulder once again, careful to keep from tearing the wound further. He took pleasure in the anger growing in his opponent's eyes. It gave him something to strive for.

  Gareth’s rage intensified with each miss. He was nearing exhaustion and hadn’t even broken skin yet. Something had to change, and soon. Otherwise, this abomination would have bested him. And that was unacceptable.

  Nezial chuckled at the pathetic human's attempt. He was so slow and his strikes were easy to predict. It was his rage that made him such an easy opponent. Surely this wasn’t the man of fabled repute. There was no way he’d killed so many with these tactics.

  Gareth turned red, his anger overflowing at the dreualfar's laughter. He sent barrage after barrage, but nothing connected. It was as if every attack was announced by trumpets before it arrived.

  Nezial deflected the wild swings, losing his patience. "I'm done toying with you." Bringing his sabre around, the strike was quick and full of purpose. It caught the dreuslayer just above his right eyebrow and sank through the socket, stopping in his cheekbone.

  Gareth dropped his swords, grabbing his ruptured eye in pain. He couldn’t see anything. Just a red glow in the darkness. It burned to his core, the rage and pain pumping through his body with each heartbeat. It thundered inside him, like the rhythm of a drum, recalling him to the day he found his wife. Staggering backward, Gareth tripped. He stumbled and spun around, his knees impacting the black stone floor. Tears and blood ran down his face. Gareth sucked the dusty air through his nostrils, trying to calm himself. Rage overflowing, a coolness settled in the air, surrounding him. His pain soothed. The bottled anger manifested itself into something else. Something that was no longer him. Blinded, yet aware, Gareth could feel the shadow approaching him. The dreualfar was ready to land the killing blow. He couldn’t have that. His work wasn’t finished. Gritting his teeth and clenching his fist, Gareth focused his hatred on the creature. He wanted to strangle him, wanted to feel his body go limp beneath his grip.

  Nezial smiled at the defeated dreuslayer. His eye was severed beyond repair. Even the strongest of magics had no chance of restoring it. A sense of satisfaction overcame him. It was time to end the threat this man posed to his people. Approaching the kneeling man, Nezial raised his sabre, prepared to land the final blow. Caught unaware, a powerful grip wrapped around his throat. He struggled against the unseen force, searching for the energy. It wasn't magic, he would have felt that. But what else could it be? His smile faded, confidence turning to concern. His feet left the ground, dangling him several inches in the air. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breath. And still, he couldn’t find the spell responsible.

  Gareth squeezed, hoping to strangle the evil creature. He felt his fingers wrap around the vermin’s throat
, though his fist were nowhere near him. He couldn’t see what was happening, but he knew he was in control. He could feel it. Hear it. Sense it.

  Nezial knew he had to act fast or he would fail. His vision was beginning to fade to the crippling grip. Focusing the last of his will into a single action, Nezial let his power explode. As before, they expanded in all directions, flowing straight into the walls. But it served its purpose. The grip was gone and air was returning to his lungs.

  The energy blast slam into him, breaking his concentration. Gareth flew backward, landing on his back and sliding toward the wall. Something was wrong. He felt sick, like he'd eaten something bad. Only it was more than just illness. He felt as if something dark had crawled inside him, tainting his soul. Pressing his knuckles against the cold floor, Gareth pushed himself up. His good eye was beginning to adjust, slightly. He could see the torch light through the teary opening. Movement caught his attention. It was him, in the mirror. Only it wasn’t him. A wounded dreualfar stared back, one of his eyes missing and clotted. A yellow fluid ran from the puffy, ruined socket. The facial structure and clothes matched his own, but it wasn't him. It couldn't be him. Confusion took hold. Gareth jumped, doing the only thing he could do. Charging the imposter, he tripped over the dreualfar commander and slammed face first into the reflective surface. It reverberated, knocking him back.

  Nezial heaved from the floor, trying to regain his composure. How the human had gotten past his defenses was a very serious question that would have to be answered. What was more concerning was how did he absorb the blast? He could see a piece of himself inside the frightened human, though such a feat should have been impossible. Struggling for breath, Nezial forced his words out his bruised throat. “How's it feel to be one of us?”

  Gareth felt the hoarse words resonate inside him. It couldn't be true. He'd never be one of them. Death was a preferable alternative. But those cards were stacked against him. Glancing at the reflection again, it didn’t lie. Somehow, he’d become one of the creatures he’d hated for so long. Scrambling to his feet, Gareth wiped the tears from his good eye. It was already feeling strain from its new dominance. Glancing at the prone dreualfar one final time, Gareth spoke. “I'll never be one of you!” Reaching down, he snatched the loose satchel lying beside the downed commander. Whatever was in it, would be better suited out of the dreualfar’s possession. It wouldn't be long before the beast would be on its feet again and he didn't have the strength to finish him now. Gareth made for the stairs. He needed to get out of the catacombs and heal up if he was going to continued his obsession. He only hoped his new appearance wouldn’t cause too many problems for him.

  Chapter XIX

  The Dreu War

  Moonlight blared across the grassy plains of Shadgull. Light fog slowly drifted over the land delivering a calm, but potentially deadly night to the people of Dalmoura. Armies stood throughout the massive grasslands, assembled and awaiting orders. The myrkalfar were split into several battalions and positioned among the humans. Colors littered their mass, displaying blues, greens, reds, and orange. The southern nations had come together for the first time since the construction of Heroes Gate. Or as the stories went anyway. The races of myrkalfar and men stood ready. Their archers at the rear awaiting the command to rain death upon their enemy.

  The dreualfar army spanned as far as the eye could see. They made no attempt to hide their number, lining the far side of the field by the thousands. Shouts echoed across the vast plain, preparing the formed units for the night’s adventures. Several dreuki marched behind the soldiers, awaiting orders from their commanders.

  Drums of war bounced along the flat terrain, delivering a steady tune of death and despair to both sides.

  Ravion, Kane, and Malakai stood at the head of one of the large formations. The men behind wore the symbols of the Tower and the Trident, their red or green capes flowing in the night breeze.

  Ravion glanced at his brothers. “It appears war is finally upon us.”

  “So it would seem.” Kane replied, stating the obvious. “Have you heard from Gareth or Krenin?”

  Shaking his head, Ravion glanced at the grass beneath his feet. “No. Gareth has yet to return from the catacombs and Krenin hasn't been heard from since we asked him to speak with the orcs.”

  “Maybe the orcs will arrive with him shortly.” Malakai interjected his hope.

  “It’s possible, but unlikely.” Ravion rebutted. “I've had a few dealings with the orcs of Krondar. I doubt they’ll be much help considering their relationship with the alfar.”

  They nodded their agreement.

  “I would have thought Gareth to be here. It's rare for him to miss an opportunity like this.” Kane added, scanning the massive force ready to charge across the field.

  “Aye, but remember, he was in the catacombs. I’m sure he's having his own fun there.” Ravion sighed. “Once we're done here, I'll search for him.”

  “I'll join you. Two heads are better than one. That is unless you're fighting a hydra. I've heard that's not much fun.” Malakai chuckled, accepting he was the only one who found humor in the joke.

  The three took a final glance around, steeling themselves. All hell was about to break loose. And they were at ground zero.

  The battle horns sounded, alerting Osirus to prepare his reapers. Both armies charged toward one another, the echo of their footsteps and battle cries drowning out the deep, rhythmic drums. Archers fired their load, launching a volley of flaming arrows into the dreualfar forces. Before the wooden shafts hit the ground, they had another set ready and lit.

  The dreualfar did the same, returning unlit arrows to catch the surface dwellers off guard.

  Ravion dodged and ducked the wicked shafts, making his way toward his enemy.

  Kane was nearly struck, an arrow glancing off his thick breastplate. Another inch and it could have struck home.

  Malakai felt the iron head bite into his flesh, leaving a shallow but painful graze across his arm. He glanced at the minor flesh wound, growling his irritation at the approaching army.

  They collided with an explosion of bodies and blood. Neither side yielding to the other.

  Ravion cut and dodged, avoiding strike after strike.

  His brothers did likewise.

  Within minutes the field was swarming with soldiers of the two sides. Each one in all out combat, fighting for their lives. The archers of both armies continued firing, choosing single targets in the chaos.

  Kane dodged a scimitar, realizing his great sword was too bulky for the close quarters combat. Tossing it to the blood-soaked earth, he drew his short sword and dagger. Slicing into one of the dreualfar, he ducked another. To his surprise, it was remarkably easy to hold the wicked curved blades at bay. Almost as if they weren't trying to claim ground.

  Malakai spun, stabbing his sword into one of the dreualfar's back. Retracting the battle rapier, he threw his shield up, shoving another attack away from him. Pushing off he brought the protective barrier down, breaking the arm of the dreualfar in front of him. It was one thing to hide behind the steel, quite another to turn it into a weapon. Seeing an opening, Malakai stabbed his sword into the chest of the broken armed dreualfar and released the blade. He reached under the metal and wood barrier and flung a small, balanced dagger into another dreualfar. Before it could fall, he ripped his sword free.

  The three held their own cutting down foe after foe, but the battle was young and thousands more dreualfar flooded toward them.

  The glowing fungus faded into memory, returning to familiar walls and known territory. Gareth felt the beads of sweat running down his face. His hatred exhausted, but lingering on edge, he struggled to keep moving. He needed it to survive. And right now, he hated everything. It was directed at more than just the dreualfar. He felt an equal hatred for himself. He felt the pain inside him, his body begging for rest.

  Unable to take another step, Gareth leaned against the cavern wall. His legs buckled and he slid to the hardene
d clay floor. Pulling the brown, leather satchel to him, Gareth inspecting the bag. Flipping the wooden button through the small loop, he opened the flap and peered inside, feeling his remaining eye burn from the salty tears and sweat. A shimmering black book stared back at him, begging for attention. Gareth removed it and unbuckled the binding. Flipping it open, he was taken back by the blank pages within. “Why the hell do I need a blank book?”

  A mixture of blood and sweat rolled from his cheek, speckling the flaky page.

  Gareth watched in wonder, seeing it spring to life. While it was faint and hard to read, he could see words appear in the red writing, scribbled across the page. Reading the once hidden secrets, Gareth couldn’t help but notice, it was an answer to his question. The book was explaining, in great detail, why it was blank. And more importantly, why it was written. Quickly growing bored with the technical information, He flipped through the pages, in search of pictures, or at the very least, something entertaining. Gareth ran his finger over faded, red scribes, wondering how a single drop of blood could reveal so much.

  Footsteps echoed down the corridor, returning him to the now. Gareth shoved the book back into the satchel and slung it over his shoulder. Pulling himself to his feet, he reached for his swords, realizing he’d abandoned them. Their absence hadn’t been felt until now. And that hurt nearly as much as losing his family. Snarling, Gareth took a defensive position. I may die, but I'm gonna take as many of those bastards with me as I can!

  Several dreualfar stepped into sight, freezing at the sight of the lone dreuslayer.

  Gareth charged, welcoming his impending doom. He slammed his shoulder into the first dreualfar, grabbing its sword and ripping it from grip. He spun around and punched the next closest, letting the poorly crafted scimitar slice into a third.

  The dreualfar surrounded him, their shock wearing off.

  Gareth chopped and hacked with the crude and unbalanced weapon, catching another in the neck. Something slammed into his side, launching him from his feet. Gareth fought to get up, trying to hold them off. But they were too quick. He was surrounded, with nowhere to go. A sharp stab burned through his leg. It went numb in an instant. Gareth tried to fight, but it was no use. He harder he struggled, the faster the numbness spread. His body was shutting down. Each beat of his heart left him more and more helpless. His chest was getting heavy, then his arms. Gareth watched, a prisoner in his own body, unable to act. Staring blankly ahead, he couldn’t blink. His eye watered, burning its discomfort. A familiar hair covered legs step into sight. Suddenly Gareth knew what had happened.