The Order of the Trident: Speculum (Eldarlands Book 2)

by Samuel Rikard

  “Even we can’t stand up against a full army in unknown territory… Wait! This way.” Ravion pointed down one of the adjoining passageways.

  “How do you know?” Demetrix redirected to take the lead once again.

  “I’m not sure exactly. I just feel it. Like the book is telling me.”

  “That damn book’s talking to you now?” Gareth raised his eyebrow, forcing a show of concern.

  “Not exactly. It communicates with me, but not in the traditional sense.”

  “In what sense then?”

  “I don’t know. I just feel a connection. Like I know what the pages say before I read them. I don’t know how to explain it. I just know the mirror is this way.”

  “Do you think it’s wise to take directions from a book that tells you what to do?” Gareth stared at him, waiting for a response.

  “It’s not telling me what to do. And it may not be wise, but it’s all we’ve got right now. I don’t see what the big concern is.”

  “The big concern is I don’t want you flippin’ sides in the middle of a fight. Corin knows what that cursed book would tell you to do. And I'd hate to have to mess your pretty face up.” Gareth laughed.

  “As would I. It wouldn't be able to get your ass out of trouble, were that the case. Besides, I don’t think it can possess me. It just communicates with me with… emotion.”

  “Well if you get a wild hair up your ass and feel you have to express emotion with your sword, warn me first. I’d like the opportunity to fall on my own blade.” The larger warrior gave a light chuckle, ducking one of the settled rafters.

  Demetrix rounded the corner and stopped. “Guys.”

  Ravion froze, staring down the long corridor and into the open doors at the far end. He could feel the mirror staring back at him. “This all seems a little too easy.”

  “I agree. Weapons out?” Demetrix raised his bow, ready to fire if needed.

  “Weapons out.”

  Ravion and Gareth drew their swords and slowly followed the youngest of them through the dark catacomb.

  Reaching the chamber they stared in awe at the sights before them. The twelve pillars lining the side walls lay broken on the floor. They recalled the ancient temple realizing this was nearly the same, aside from the dilapidation. The usual ever-changing faces were fearfully blank, radiating a sense of dread. The ancient runes were worn away showing little more than minor etches in the crumbled stone. The onyx temple seemed drained of its ore leaving the once masterfully carved stones in ruin. They looked as if they would crumble with the slightest touch.

  Continuing through the room they headed toward the mirror. Ravion searched the murky image just ahead. A familiar voice echoed through the ancient chamber.

  “I see you’ve made it.”

  Ravion spun around seeing the aged man. “Krizere? What are you doing here? I thought you were captured.”

  “Well, not exactly. I had to make you think I was detained. There was no way the keeper would have given you the book if he knew I was working with you. And I think we can both agree that I couldn’t just tell you everything up front. That would have revealed too much of my plan. And revealing too much, too early, is a good way to fail. If I haven’t learned anything else in my years, I’ve certainly learned that lesson.” He opened his arms, offering greetings. “I’m glad you’re here. And I apologize for my deception. You’re a little too clever for your own good. Had I given you more than a piece at a time you would have found some way to derail my plans and I can’t have that.”

  “Ravion, what’s going on?” Demetrix steadied his bow, unsure if he should release his arrow or not.

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I know something.”

  Gareth stormed toward the elder man. “What in the hell is the big deal about sendin’ us on this wild goose chase. You got Krenin captured with your damned tests. Now he's dead. Your hair brained schemes have cost us dearly. Got us traipsing through—” He suddenly was flying through the air. He slammed into the far wall, feeling several of the aged stones crumbled beneath the force. Hitting the floor he rolled over and began to pick himself up.

  “Does he ever shut up?” Krizere smiled, keeping his hand out in front of him. “Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. I was about to give formal introductions.” Waving his hand his appearance altered. The earth tones of his simple, yet well-made clothing, faded away to be replaced by black and silver robes. His armor flared out, locking itself around his growing form. The jagged leather covered him from neck to knee. Vicious spikes formed on the pauldrons, arching out to threaten anyone who got too close. His hair drained color and elongated leaving a platinum white in its place. The humanoid features twisted and grew dark. Within a heartbeat the once pale skin was black as night, revealing two glowing green eyes “Rezerik is my true name, but you may call me Nightking.”

  The sight of the dreualfar sent Gareth into a rage. His strength renewed. He jumped up, glaring his hatred. “I was ready to kill you before. Now I’ll be takin’ pleasure in the task!”

  Ravion's hand shot up, stopping the enraged warrior. “Gareth, hold. There’s something different about this one. He’s not like the others we’ve faced.”

  “He’s a dreu, how much different can he be?” Drawing his swords, he anticipated what he was going to do.

  “We can’t risk rushing in half-cocked.” Ravion pleaded, wishing he could keep his eyes on both of them at once.

  “Ravion, we’ve got bigger problems.” Demetrix motioned to the entrance.

  Krenin and another orc stepped into view.

  Krenin marched toward the center of the room. Barely containing himself he plucked the ruined harness from his shoulder and launched it onto the floor. A bellowing battle roar echoed from him shaking dust from the walls.

  “Krenin, I don't know what you've been through, or what you've faced, but you need to quit fuckin’ around and get over here to help us.” Gareth waved the half-orc over.

  Stretching his lips around his tongue he spit their harsh language at the shirt haired man. He was a warrior, that much was clear, but he was going to die just the same as the elf man. “Don't dare speak my name. Do it again and I'll cut it out!” He raised his warvich gesturing the action. Without hesitation he charged, bringing his sword down upon the large man.

  Demetrix fired, sinking his arrow into the gray orc. Nocking another he watched him approach. The orc reached down and plucked the first missile from his gut. Snapping the thin wooden shaft, he dropped it. He raised his smaller sword. His aim true Demetrix released his second shot, watching the arrow plunge into the orc's eye socket. The force rocked his head backward and he crashed to the floor.

  Ravion drew his longsword, advancing toward Rezerik.

  “Are you sure you’ve got what it takes to handle me? You have no clue what I’m capable of. I might be more than you’re prepared to handle.”

  “It’s a risk I’m going to have to take. You’re in between me and getting home.”

  “Funny you say that. You’re in the exact same position.” Rezerik extended his hand. The air around it shimmered briefly and a heavy morning star appeared in his grip. Letting the weight of the head fall he used the momentum to carry the mace around.

  Ravion deflected the blow, feeling the impact in his arms. He flew backward landing hard against the wall. Forcing the roll he stopped on his hands and knees. Realizing his sword was missing he searched the room. He found it lying at the nightking’s feet.

  Scanning the room Demetrix watched Ravion slam into the wall. He reached into his quiver, grabbing his shorter blade. Flipping it around so the edge was facing up, he hooked the notched pommel over the string and drew back as far as he dared. Releasing, he saw the sword fly straight toward the dreualfar.

  Rezerik wrapped his morning star around, knocking the projectile away from him.

  Gareth charged, ducking the spiked head of the morning star. He slashed into the black armor, but couldn’t tell if it penetrated or not. Slash
ing again, he stole a glance at his brothers. Demetrix needed his help. Forcing his hatred aside he disengaged and charged Krenin, blocking him aside.

  Demetrix nocked and fired another arrow, feeling the bottom of his bow take a hit. The arrow disappeared overhead. Seeing a green hand he hooked the bottom of his bow around the half-orc’s wrist and twisted, binding it in the string. Releasing his bow he pulled his remaining sword, letting the half full quiver fall to the ground.

  Ravion charged forward and dove, grabbing his sword. He rolled seeing the spikes headed toward him threatening to crush his legs. Kicking himself out of the way, he heard the stone where he'd been crack beneath the powerful blow. Using the opportunity to his advantage he jumped up and stabbed as many times as he could, watching the enchanted blade glance off the nightking’s armored ribs, refusing to let the narrow blade through.

  “There’s a reason I chose you, Ravion. You possess something your companions don’t. It’s not that you’re dalari.”

  Ravion paused, backing away from the dreualfar.

  “Yes, I know of the dalari. At one time I was counted among their number. Long ago before I felt the call of Izrayle. That’s not it. I choose you because you’ve tasted power. You can relate. In fact, in a different lifetime, you and I might have been kindred spirits.”

  “I’m nothing like you. I’m not controlled by power. I was strong enough to control my thirst. You… You’re just a coward afraid to let go of something that will never be yours. Not truly anyway.”

  Rezerik laughed. “Well, there you are right. This power will never be mine, but I’ve got the next best thing. Once I get home I’ll be the vessel for Izaryle. What’s the old saying? If you can’t beat them, join them. I’ll be sure to eradicate every last dalari in your honor when I return.”

  Ravion felt a pang of guilt swell within his chest. Swallowing hard, he raised the sword and stabbed. The sword's tip pressed firmly against the unnatural armor. He saw the blade flex as he had hundreds of time before. This time it buckled and snapped, sending jagged pieces back toward him. He collapsed, feeling his will crack like the unbreakable sword. He watched the armored hand grab him, easily flinging him across the room. He crashed down only a few feet from the mirror.

  Seeing Ravion fall Gareth abandoned the half-orc and charged, hoping to reach him before the nightking landed the final blow.

  Twisting his warvich Krenin cut the bow in half, freeing his arm. He looked down at the young archer. This filthy excuse for a warrior had killed too many orcs. It was time to dull out punishment. Raising his warvich he flipped the blade, angling the pick so it would sink into his weak skull. Looking upon the weakling one final time, he let the blade fall. What was that? His eyes locked on a small leather sigil at the man's waistline. It was colored green and had a black trident carved in the center. I know that mark! Memories rushed into his head. A man's face came to view. Malakai? The realization hit him. Jerking the blade he felt it connect. With growing fear he glanced at the archer, feeling his guilt subside. The blade had missed its mark, though it hadn't missed entirely.

  Demetrix felt the pop long before he heard it. Pain shot through him, too great to truly comprehend. Staring down at his destroyed leg he wasn't sure what to do. It was twisted and mangled beyond repair. The shattered bone where the pick had buried itself was little more than a gory paste. The vicious weapon had torn him from knee to foot, the blood soaked pick protruding through the bottom of his boot. He felt the warm blood flowing freely from him. A numbness set in leaving his vision fuzzy and blurred. He felt his head hit the stone floor and darkness overcame him.

  Gareth stopped himself. Stuck between the fate of his brothers. Spinning around, he slammed into the half-orc, landing atop of him. He punched, feeling his knuckles tear open against the rough stone floor. He was free of thought and anger, he felt the power within him. The resounding pop echoed in his head. Sound had no meaning. Staring down at the green body beneath him, he saw the thin line exiting the top of his head and the thick bulge in his neck. What have I done? He grabbed the half-orc's shoulders, pulling him up. Trying to rouse him, he knew it was no use. His head hung limp, draining its fluid out the hole he'd caused. Sighing heavily he laid him down and picked up his swords. Demetrix was wounded, but he was out of harm’s way for the moment. Ravion didn't have such a luxury.

  The air escaped his lungs. Ravion stared into the mirror seeing the nightking’s reflection approach him. He crawled toward it hoping he could pull himself up.

  “I trust you’ve already read the book? I’d hate to have to explain this next part to you.” Rezerik kicked him in the ribs. The sheer force flipping him to his back. “I was never willing to pay the price to open the portal on this side. That's why I needed you, my kindred spirit. You’ll take all the risk while I receive all the reward.” Reaching down he grabbed hold of Ravion’s head and lifted, pulling him upright. Pressing him against the mirror's frame, he knelt down in front of him.

  Ravion gasped, reclaiming enough air to speak. “You can’t make me!”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, dalari. I can and I will.” A wispy black smoke flowed from Rezerik’s mouth. It danced through the air as if it were sentient. Searching, it traveled toward Ravion forcing its way into his nostrils.

  Unable to move, Ravion felt the power spark inside him. It seemed familiar. Akin to how the dagger made him feel. The dagger! Looking down he could see the skin on the back of his hand start to darken. His felt his hair grow. The few strands he could see began to fade. “No, I’ll never be like you!” Shaking himself, he forced the change to subside.

  Gareth slammed into the nightking, jabbing his curved blade up under of his thick breastplate. He felt the warm fluid run down his hand, coating him in the darkest blood he'd ever seen. Forcing all his strength into the weapon he twisted, snapping the blade from the hilt, leaving it trapped inside his body.

  Rezerik gasped, feeling the blade rip through his insides. Weakened from the exchange and the unexpected attack he felt his power wane.

  Ravion looked into the wounded nightking’s eyes. “Want to know why I’m nothing like you?” He choked, feeling his body return to his control. “I have friends who watch my back.” He slipped the kris from beneath his vest and jabbed it into the dreualfar’s temple.

  Rezerik's eyes crossed, feeling the blade pass behind them. Ravion pushed the dead dreualfar away from him letting him fall to the stone.

  Gareth extended his hand offering to help him up.

  Pulling against his friend he got to his feet. He watched the body explode, coating the room in the same black smoke he'd expelled moments before. It collected where the body lay.

  As if targeted, it surrounded Ravion, forcing its way down his throat.

  He felt the power spread through him. Exhaling slowly he turned, watching the mirror come to life.

  Gareth picked up the broken pieces of Ravion’s sword. Handing them over, he glanced at the swirling vortex of energy. “Looks like the mirror’s open. Guess we can go home now.”

  Ravion took the blade. Reaching down he picked the kris up off the stone. Glancing over at Demetrix he handed the dagger to Gareth. “Get Demetrix home and lock this in the vault. We can’t risk it falling into the wrong hands.”

  Gareth took the wavy blade, stuffing it into his cloak pocket. Pulling the unconscious archer up to his shoulder, he lifted him and walked toward the mirror. Pausing, he turned and looked upon the seemingly stronger version of his friend. “Aren’t you coming too?”

  Ravion casually walked away from the mirror. Refusing to look back he calmly spoke, letting his words resonate within the temple. “Sadly, no. There must always be a nightking. Maybe I can slow this Izaryle from reaching our world.” Passing through the enlarged doorway he raised his hand, giving a gentle motion.

  The stone crumbled, sealing the entrance behind him. A thick cloud of dust spread out, hiding the remnants of the ancient doorway.

  Epilogue

  And
Then There Were None

  Thick layers of dust coated the trident carved table at the center of the council room. A stale, musty odor lingered in the air refusing to dissipate. A series of maps were unrolled and sprawled out covering on half of the once polished surface.

  With his weight resting against the edge of the solid top Demetrix stared down at the inked landmarks, straining his eyes to comprehend their meaning. "Where’s the battle taking place today?"

  "Culhaven and Aeron were hit pretty hard. Many of the women and children were hidden within the fishing vessels, but most of the men were slain." William replied, wearing his lieutenant's badge proudly. The green background was in great contrast to the silver lined trident.

  "Are the wardens en route?"

  "They are, My Lord, though they were delayed in Gamora. We lost two detachments in the assault, but order was restored. They reported a day's travel from Fender's Spear, saying they had them on the run. Unfortunately, the enemy was able to slip away. There’s no telling where they’ve gone from there, but we'll find them."

  "Keep looking. There’s been enough death already. I won't have the people of these lands thinking we can't protect them. I also want a list of the fallen. It's our responsibility to ensure their families are taken care of."

  "It will be done. On another note, my progress into the Black Lotus is going well. They’ve used nearly all the coin I brought them. The war’s been hard, forcing them to lay down their weapons and focus on their people. It shouldn't be long before they’re back in business."

  “Very good. As per our arrangement, I expect a list of every hit. I don't want a gnat falling if I don't know about it."

  "Understood, My Lord!" William picked up a rolled piece of parchment and a small, brown bag lying beside the maps. Lifting the flap he stuffed both into his satchel.

  Demetrix watched the young spy gather his belongings. He would make a good leader one day, though he had much to learn. "Travel well, until we meet again."