by Levi Samuel
Turning to face the gate, Krenin casually walked toward it, throwing his axes into the sand. They struck blade first, sinking nearly half their heads into the moist floor. He ignored the crowd, defiantly marching down the ramp. They wanted more. They always wanted more. But he was not here by choice. He'd give them just enough to stay alive. Nothing more was required.
Passing the iron runs, Krenin ran his hand along the crude walls, feeling the change from iron to wood. He was in a long, dark tunnel. The thick beams were rough and nailed together, the excess ends protruding into the walkway. If he didn't know any better, he'd guess they were hacked into shape, rather than tooled. Rounding the corner, Krenin made way through the reinforced wooden door and into the slave pens.
The gladiators roared with his passing, shaking the bars of their cells and rattling empty tankard and bowls.
He smiled as he passed, trying to ignore their chants and cheers. His face tightened around his small tusks. There was a sense of honor to be had, slaying one’s opponent in the arena. Such a welcoming was customary for the survivor of the games. It was a far better alternative than bleeding out in the sand. Though he didn’t care for the attention.
Kicking the straw covered floor as he walked, Krenin noticed the gladiators grow silent. Something wasn’t right. He caught a flash of movement out the corner of his eye. Reacting on instinct, he tried to duck, but it was too late. A large fist connected with the side of his head. Krenin jerked, hitting the iron bars lining one of the cells. Before he could recover his aggressor was upon him.
Krenin moved his head, avoiding the blows long enough to see his attacker. The human was larger than any he’d ever seen, dwarfing even Remle back home. He recognized the man as the friend to one of the alfar he’d just killed in the arena. Wrapping his legs around the man's waist, the half orc squeezed in an attempt to drain him of air.
The man twisted in an attempt the break the half orc’s footing.
Krenin rolled with his movement and released him.
The large man staggered from the force and slammed face first into the iron bars. He impacted with a thud, staggering against the jarring blow. Glaring his vengeful anger at the prone half orc, he grabbed his broken nose and straightened it with a repulsive snap. Blood trickled down his face. Dropping his shoulder, he charged, hoping to finish the job before the guards arrived.
Rolling to his knees, Krenin searched for the next attack.
Boots echoed down the corridor in unison, the hurried footsteps timing the guard’s arrival. The gladiators cheered louder than ever, witness to their own blood sport.
Krenin tightened his stomach in anticipation to the man’s attack. Setting his feet, he prepared to intercept. The man smashed into his midsection, carrying him back. Krenin brought his elbows down on his back, forcing him to the ground.
The human gasped. His lungs unable to function from the unexpected blow. Panic set in, forcing him to catch his breath.
Wrapping his arms around the man's midsection, Krenin squeezed, hearing his ribs pop in protest. He wasn’t sure if it was his own, it his opponent’s. Bending at the knees, he lifted the large human and stood, the man’s head dangling near the floor. Without hesitation he let go, watching the man crumple into a heap.
The man collapsed, resolved in his actions. Rolling over, he pushed his fist into the dirt and straw covered floor, trying to pick himself up.
Seeing the man's continued fight, Krenin knelt down beside him. Drawing back, his muscular arm flexed, displaying the dirt and sweat clinging to his green flesh. Squeezing a tight fist, Krenin released, punching the man across the jaw.
His head snapped and he arms gave out.
Fist locked and ready to strike again, Krenin stared into the swollen eye of the defeated man. “You are done. If need to finish, we fight in arena. Not here!” Lowering his fist, Krenin stood and backed away, hearing the guards bust into the room.
Spears aimed and shields forceful, the guards surrounded the half orc and his human counterpart, ready to attack any who gave them reason.
Krenin raised his hands. There was no sense in dying over something stupid. Their heavy grips secured him, yanking him out of the dusty chamber.
Krenin walked toward his cell, escorted by the orc guards. They pushed him through the open, barred door and slammed it shut behind him. Krenin heard it latch. Walking to his bed, he pulled the woolen blanket to the side, revealing a thin layer of straw matted atop the wooden cot. Sitting down, he placed his hands in his lap and recalled the battle in mind. There were mistakes, places he could have killed quicker. But he walked away. That was more than his opponents could say. If he remembered those mistakes, there was less chance to make them again next time.
The crowd above echoed through the rafters, signaling the start of another battle.
Closing his eyes, Krenin laid his head on the straw pile and pulled the green wool over himself. Within minutes he was fast asleep.
Gareth gritted his teeth, pushing the black ooze between them. It ran into his beard, matting the strands of red hair. Spitting a chunk of flesh onto the ground, he glared his hatred at the remaining dreualfar. Like a demon, he charged, digging his claws into whatever exposed flesh he could find.
The dreualfar screamed in pain, feeling his hide shred beneath the primal dreuslayer.
Gareth tore at him, finding the soft spots of his throat. Sinking his teeth, he shook violently, ripping away as much as he could. The chunk came free, leaving a large hole in the dying dreualfar’s neck. He continued to shake the torn esophagus long after the creature quit moving.
Dreualfar cheered from the safety of their perch, watching the captured animal defeat the weaker recruits.
His sanity was slipping away. All he could feel was the sticky blood running down his skin. The hiss of their vile language echoed in his ears, whispering dark thoughts to him. What was worse, he was beginning to understand it. They taunted him. Reminding him of his child, his wife. How they tore her apart after they penetrated her body again and again. Gareth screamed, letting his hate radiate in the stone pit.
Several red strands of energy shot through the air, wrapping themselves around the cheerful creatures. They were helpless to the unseen power. Their bones crushed beneath the tightening grip. They tried to cry out in terror. But the vice like hold didn’t leave any room for sound.
Gareth fell to his knees, his anger released. He felt empty inside, drained of determination. They could kill him now. At least he would be reunited with his family. “Didn’t you bastards hear me? Kill me!” He paused, hearing nothing but silence. Summoning the strength to raise his head, Gareth couldn't see the wicked creatures. Picking himself up, he staggered toward the wall. Peeking over the ledge, he saw the crushed bodies of his captors. For the first time in weeks he felt hope. Did they find him? Was he rescued? “Ravion? Kane? Is anyone there?” The silence stung like a hot knife.
The whispers resumed in his head. It’s a trap. You’re all alone. Nobody’s coming to save you. He knew how they got into your mind. How they made you see things that weren’t there. They’d give hope just so they could snuff it out. You’re being broken. You’re going to die.
“Shut up!” Gareth charged the rock wall, jumping as high as he could. His hands pawed the jagged stone, searching for any place he could grab. The sharp mineral cut into his flesh, but he pulled himself up. Once again, he was free. And this time, they weren’t going to stop him.
Outside the Urdurnie fortress, two powerful beings appeared out of thin air. Frozen in the moment, they stared at each other, taking in what had just happened.
Nezial felt the freedom the cavern offered. The darkstone road was still pulling at him, but it was nothing compared to the sanctum. Out here he was the master. And this masked figure was going to learn that. Flexing his power, it radiated around him. Swirling and spinning, more for show than anything, a display of color splashed through the air. “You should have left me in there. I was crutched by the stone,
unable to fully harness my power. Out here you don't stand a chance.” The smile returned to his face.
Perrimen screamed, hoping to regain control over his body, but it wouldn't respond.
The mask tilted, seemingly curious to see what the dreualfar mage was going to do next.
Nezial channeled his power, launching a volley of arcane bolts at his unsuspecting prey. The multicolored bolts launched without fail, flying out in a barrage of missiles. They hit one after another, exploding against their target.
Perrimen closed his eyes, expecting his death to follow. He felt the power impact against him, but it didn't feel right. It was as if the energy dissipated as it touched him, like he'd dispelled it at the last second before impact. But that was impossible. Nobody was strong enough to dispel magic that quickly. It took time and focus, neither of which he had, even in the peak of his skill. But the facts said otherwise. He remained unaffected.
Nezial's smile faded to a frown. His magics should have torn the mysterious figure apart. Yet he remained unharmed. Straining his will, he fired another barrage, this time relying on destruction rather than evocation. Again, the man remained unharmed. It was as if he was immune. But nothing was immune to all magic. Not even the gods. Worry gripped him, forming a knot in his stomach. Am I going to fail?
Perrimen fought for control, hoping to finish the dreualfar mage. He needed to kill the creature before it got resourceful did the same to him. Try as he might, his body wouldn't reply. He felt his head tilt further, as if it was curious.
A sense of hopelessness washed over him. Unable to harm the figure in the slightest, Nezial did the only thing he had the power to do. He smiled. The masked man was too much for him. How anyone could best him was a mystery. He possessed the strongest magics this realm had to offer. Nobody should be able to rival him. And yet this man, this figure did so without lifting a finger in defense.
Perrimen recognized something in the dreualfar commander. A sweet stench. The smell of hopelessness and fear emitted from him. It was an acquired taste, one he hadn't realized he liked. Yet it brought an unexpected pleasure with it. Moving quicker than he realized was possible, Perrimen swiftly stopped in front of the dreualfar. He could feel his breath upon the mask. In one fluid motion, Perrimen ripped the kris dagger from the commander’s hand and plunged it deep into the dreualfar's chin. It erupted out the top of his skull with a spray of blood and brain.
The mask pulled the wavy blade from the dead commander letting him fall to the ground in a puddle of tainted, black ichor.
The voices in his head screamed, erupting a deep pain in his core. They separated, filling him with worry and doubt, drowning him in their fear. Among the cries, he heard a question. What have you done?
“It wasn't me. He did it. Not me!” Perrimen argued with the voices, trying to clear himself of their accusations. He felt something extremely powerful flood him. Something much bigger than this one mage. Turning, he took a single step toward the fortress, disappearing in an orange glow. It wrapped around him and he appeared in the antechamber, staring into the ancient mirror. A black glow appeared in the center, growing wider. He watched helplessly, feeling the emotion of the voices weep inside his head.
The glow grew wider, reaching the reflective edges. The entire surface shimmered, releasing a wave of energy.
His feet left the ground, an overwhelming power exploded from the mirror, launching him into the far wall. Perrimen hit the ground with jarring force. He stared helplessly at the awakened vortex. “This isn't good!” Picking himself up, he glanced at the dagger, still in his hand. It was too powerful for just anyone to carry. And with this awakening, time was limited. He needed to find some way to share the load. Stuffing the blade under his duster, Perrimen disappeared from the chamber in a glow of orange.
The story will continue in Izaryle’s Prison
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Author's Notes
Some stories come more naturally than others. One day you’ll be thinking about how you're going to handle a particular section, striving to make it all come together in a fashion that's both believable and cohesive. The next, random pieces start falling from the woodwork and landing perfectly into place, leaving you, as the writer to ponder how the hell that fit so perfectly and why it took you so long to think of it. You run into these welcome plot hooks quite frequently when it's a story you enjoy.
This book took the latter. There were some major changes from my original vision, but I believe the end result was for the best. You see, it started when I was just reaching my teen years. I was in high school, sitting in my journalism class, at that point in time I never thought I would strive to be a writer of any sort. One of my friends, who just happened to be sitting next to me, was cleaning out his backpack when he pulled out this four-page sheet with all sorts numbers and text written in pencil. I studied it, lost in its function. I'd never seen a Dungeons and Dragons character sheet but I found it strangely wonderful, despite my ignorance to its purpose. My friend, noticing my interest, explained it to me, and while not directly related, he invited me to a gathering at one of the local parks. It started at 2 pm every Sunday and I desperately wanted to go.
When I arrived, I may as well have stepped into another world. People were dressed in the most fantastic garb and carried a wide array of duct taped covered weapons. Amidst all of these people, I felt at home. I continued to go and by the time the first monthly event arrived, I was a character living in this new world. At that first event I met some of my best friends, whom retain that status today. The day I was introduced to it, the LARP known as Eldaraenth truly changed my life. Over the years my friends and I formed a fighting company of mercenaries called The Order of the Trident. We specialized in combat against a race of black-skinned elves, which were inherently evil. I'd write their commonly used name, but, as was the case in using that name in this book, there's a lot of confusion surrounding the legality of its use. To be safe and prevent any form of law suit, I renamed them dreuaflar— It just doesn't have the same ring to it. Anyway, seasons came and went, members left and new ones arrived, but it was the family away from home that I cherished most. Well, that and dressing in armor and beating the crap out of each other with foam weapons.
The original draft of this novel was written at a low point in my life. My right leg had been shattered and I wasn't able to walk for several months. The fears and doubts that began to find their way into my mind were frightening on a level I never expected to experience. I’d already had another book published by that point, and my writing career was steadily growing, but it was in those months I was trapped that truly showed me the therapeutic power words can bring. I couldn't go for a walk outside, so instead I'd go for an adventure through my characters.
In the original draft, I took key events from the world of Eldaraenth and experienced them in manners suitable to the characters my friends and I portrayed. It went quite well for the first half. Then, like an idiot, I followed the storyline of the game and abandoned the potential story line waiting for me on other paths. A friend of mine read the manuscript, making sure there were no copyright concerns between the game and my story. And while that concern was minimal, he pointed out the mistake I’d made by sticking to the game world. I ended up scrapping the entire second half and went back to the drawing board. It took about a month to finish it a second time. And now, the story flowed in logical manner following the bread crumbs laid out in the first half.
I truly wish I could have published the second draft. It was by far the best thing I’d written at the time, and in my opinion, was a far superior story than the one before you. But due to a lack of foresight, and the stupidity accompanied with forgetting to back up and save multiple drafts, I had a computer malfunction and lost the entire manuscript. I was furious. I was heartbroken. And I was lost. I’d spent all that time and effort, just
to have the entire thing gone in the blink of an eye. I tried rewriting it several times, but the words wouldn’t flow. Outlining became a game of staring at a blank paper, struggling to recall the smallest detail. I spent hours staring at that blinking cursor, awaiting my command. And nothing happened. I'd write a line, and then erase two.
Unable to touch the story, I moved on. I took a few other contracts and published a couple books, but in my heart I desperately wanted to finish this story. One day I decided enough was enough. I opened the word processor and started plugging away. Before long, I had something resembling the start of a novel. I kept working at it, the complications of life and the need to pay bills slowing my progress. There were months of late nights and early morning, raising my daughter and working a day job in between, but I’d finally finished it.
At last, you’ve received a product, years in the making. I hope everyone enjoys reading it, as much as I enjoyed writing it. With your help, I'll continue to work toward bringing you better adventures in a timely manner. The next two books of this trilogy are complete and releasing shortly after this one. So please, if you enjoyed this book, or even if you didn’t, but would like to give a few pointers, please take a moment to leave a review at your preferred online retailer. Reviews help us in every way.
Additionally, if you’d like a free book, as well as a sneak peek at some of my other endeavors, feel free to join my newsletter. http://eepurl.com/dxRUvL There, you’ll have first access to every book, event, and detail that comes my way. Plus, each letter contains a piece of a new story that’s never been published.
Thank you for your support. You guys are awesome!
Levi Samuel
September 2018