Alliances

by B. T. Robertson

  "I had control of it,” Tristandor shouted, holding his right arm. Aerinas could see the tear in the fabric, and the blood seeping through. “Now you have compromised the front line! Get back there!” Tristandor shoved Aerinas violently. Aerinas’ eyes burned with hot magical flame. His lip curled in anger. He wanted to lash out at his father, but instead turned and scurried across dead Cray toward Foran, using the fury for killing the creatures.

  The Cray onslaught started to intensify, while the members of the party were growing visibly tired. Wounds started to accrue. Though exhausted, Aeligon realized emergency measures were overdue in order to save his fellow fighters’ lives.

  "Pull back, Tristandor,” Aeligon ordered. “Tell them to pull back now."

  "We can't! We have to stand our ground! Where are we going to run to?"

  All the while, King Hrathis and Timothy were crouched a few yards back in a crack in the wall. Upon hearing Aeligon's order, the young aide shouted to him. “We're nearing the exit according to our map, Tristandor. If we pull back, we can make it to the exit!” Timothy wrung his hands together, his nerves overwhelmed by the continuous bloody onslaught.

  Tristandor nodded then. “As you say.” He turned to the fighting giants and elves. “All of you pull back! Now! Get behind Aeligon!"

  The giants obeyed and started backing down the passageway with the elves following. Everyone was covered in green blood and brain matter. A large gash had opened on Foran's forehead, and Lynais was limping with a wound to his lower leg. Still, they pulled back down the passageway behind Aeligon.

  Just as a new wave of Cray came flooding down the tunnel toward them, Aeligon stood up. Tristandor grabbed Pux and threw himself down on the ground. The others followed suit. Aeligon closed his eyes and folded his hands in front of him.

  "Looks like he's ‘bout to say a prayer ta’ some god or somethin',” Farrin said, pointing.

  "Just watch,” Tristandor barked.

  At the very instant the creatures were about to impale the wizard, Aeligon's mouth opened up, and a purple wave of sound spewed forth. It was as if the Cray hit a wall. The force of the shockwave blew apart the first line of them, while sending the others reeling back. The walls of the tunnel started to shake and break apart, and boulders fell from the ceiling, crushing some of the creatures. The Cray went tumbling and flailing back up the passageway from where they came, and the falling rocks formed an impassable wall between.

  The sound died; Aeligon fainted. Farrin stretched out his massive arm and caught him. The corridors continued to shake and peel apart.

  "There's no time!” Hrathis shouted. “Make for the exit! It's just up ahead! Go!” He grabbed Timothy and headed down the corridor. Foran, Ithyllna, Lynais, and the other three giants followed. Farrin scooped up Aeligon and lumbered toward the exit. Tristandor went next, and Aerinas last.

  "Wait! Don't forget me!” Pux screamed.

  Aerinas snatched the staff up a second before a large boulder crashed down at the exact spot Pux had been.

  "Whew, thanks a million,” Pux sighed.

  "No problem,” Aerinas said. “Although, you could not have done the

  same for me."

  "Ya’ know, one of these days you guys are going to learn what it means to be armless and legless; then come talk to me about that."

  Aerinas sped down the tunnel with rocks and dust flooding the corridor at his heels. On his way back, they passed a section where a Cray had exploded all over the walls of the tunnel.

  "That was mine,” Pux chimed in, proudly. “My bubble spell explodes them after floating them peacefully for a while. Sick, huh?"

  "Very,” Aerinas answered, disgusted. “There's the exit!"

  Just up ahead, the first light that Aerinas had seen in what seemed like forever shone through a wide opening like the Light of Arunir.

  "We have to jump for it!” Aerinas shouted. “And I have to throw you out first to do it!"

  "All right, but don't throw me into a river or anything."

  Aerinas gave Pux a heave, and he went flying through the opening. Then, the elf jumped with all his might. Just as he exited, landing on the hard ground outside, the mouth of the hole closed and collapsed in on itself. Dust and rocks shot out, covering Aerinas in a layer of dirt and debris.

  He got up slowly, and, when the dust cleared and his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw the others.

  Wait, something is wrong. He knew it as soon as he saw the gathering. The were huddled around the form of Aeligon. His eyes were closed, his hands still and cold; his breathing was shallow, his chest barely moved. Ithyllna had a tear in her eye, and Tristandor was saying a prayer in Elvish. Overhead, Wesnoc—the colossal war bird charged with carrying Aerinas to Gudred—circled in the fading sun.

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  Chapter 2—Drothghight Rising

  They were twisted creatures, he knew. After only one look at them, Haarath knew he'd created his masterpiece, a masterpiece to best even the Cray. Hydrais Himself couldn't even do better than the Cray. The first of the beasts stood before him for inspection. As they were not yet tamed by his magic, they were secured behind bars and chained to the wall. The shaping of a direwolf/human hybrid was not an easy task. It wasn't accomplished by breeding—that would take too long and would produce too random of a result. The gender similarities between the two species were also a hindrance. They had to be perfect. Twisted, yes, but perfect for what he had in mind for their purpose.

  They were named Drothghight—half human, half direwolf, and purely evil. Standing over seven feet tall, the Drothghight's legs, torso, and limbs were like a human's, but were more muscular and rigid. The gray fur normal to a direwolf was gone, revealing skin unlike any of natural descent, leathery and grotesque. The long snout of the direwolf wasn't compromised; fangs protruded from its black mouth dripped with venomous saliva. The eyes were without pupils, large yellow globes set deep within its hairless face. A small bone was forced through the rough cartilage between their large open nostrils. Designed by their Maker, it was a clever way to indicate rank. A smaller, more intricate bone indicated a higher intellect, while the larger, rougher bone signified the more uncivilized and brutal among them. There were very few with the smaller bone.

  They were perfect.

  "D-d-do you like them, My Lord?” Benafor licked the salty sweat from his lips when it trickled down his nose. The furnaces built to keep the surface dwellers warm in the winter were always hot near the core of the floating island. With the rock exposed to winter's onslaught from every angle, it chilled considerably faster than the mainland's surface. As much as Benafor disliked tasting his own sweat, it reminded him of how cold it would be up in Resforian.

  Haarath paced a line in the dirt in front of the cages. The Drothghights weren't tame and violently threw themselves into the bars to try and break free. They reached through with their claws and swiped at their Maker with hatred in their eyes. Haarath, silently deliberating, paid them no mind. Benafor knew better than to ask the same question twice, since the second was usually met with some brash insult before the answer actually came. He stayed quiet and waited patiently for his master.

  Finally, Haarath stopped. The Drothghights, at least the intelligent among them, shrank away to the back of the cell, still growling and snapping their jaws. Some of the lesser minded ones continued to force their will against the unbending cage. Haarath started to approach the bars slowly, a look of disdain on his face. He got closer, and the violence seemed to subside. The closer he got to the cell, the more the creatures shrank back.

  Haarath held out his hand to one. Benafor took a few steps forward and wanted to shout to his master to stay back, but failed to find the words. Haarath's hand approached, and the closest Drothghight turned to its new brothers, seeking approval.

  "Don't look at them,” Haarath snarled. “Take my hand, imbecile."

  The Drothghight paused, but did as it was told. It shoved its huge, clawed hand through the bars
and held it out as commanded.

  Haarath's eyes narrowed, and angrily he took the hand in his own. Benafor smiled, knowing that his master approved of the creation...no, the abomination.

  Suddenly, Haarath's hand began to glow. The Drothghight started to whimper and shake. With one quick motion, Haarath pulled the Drothghight hard against the bars of the cage. They didn't give way, but the Drothghight's body did. It split apart where the bars pressed, and the dismembered carcass flew across the dirt floor in pieces.

  Haarath, still holding the disjoined arm of the creature, turned to Benafor. “No, I do not like them at all. They are not battle-ready creatures if they can't withstand the smallest of mind alter spells. They aren't ready. See to the destruction of this batch and make sure the Cray bring in more men and direwolves from the surrounding lands. I need to perfect this soon. I grow impatient.” Haarath flung the limb of the corpse into the cage with the other Drothghights when creatures known as sweepers were led into the room. The Drothghights began clawing at the wall of the cell, trying to escape what they knew was their death. When Benafor and Haarath were clear, the doors of the cages were flung open and the sweepers released. Hissing and licking their daggered teeth, they slithered along the ground, into the cells, and devoured the failed creations.

  The walk back to Haarath's chambers was accomplished in complete silence. Benafor followed dutifully, but felt as if he should leave now while he still had all his limbs. Haarath was not above slaying anyone who happened to catch him in a mood as foul as the one he was in. Why aren't these creatures turning out as hoped?

  "Because the magic required to do this kind of physical manipulation is wilder than any of the Wild Magics in existence,” Haarath answered after snatching Benafor's thoughts. “It takes time and practice, and, in this case, requires the lives of two beings to create a singular consciousness."

  Benafor nodded. “I thought you'd be more upset, M'lord."

  Haarath pounded his fist on his desk as his voice thundered, “I am, you fool! My patience hangs by a thread. Why have you not ensured the mental quality of the subjects those mindless Cray procure for me? Are there no bloodlines of men left with intelligence since the War of Calaridis?"

  "Y-yes, M'lord,” Benafor stammered, “there are plenty of men with

  intelligence around, b-but..."

  "But what?” Haarath's eyes burned with anger, and Benafor could see the irritation swirling in the yellow pupils.

  "M'lord, they are people of Resforian. I thought we'd scavenge the countryside in search of others suitable for your purposes."

  Haarath hollered and knocked over a stack of books with his arm. “I don't pay you to make judgment calls on my commands, whelp. I pay you to find me men with intelligence, even if they be from the herd of my own people."

  "But what if the townsfolk start questioning their losses? It's a just question, My Liege."

  "The people will bite their tongues and continue to live under my protection without question. If not out of fear, then because my magical influence holds them fast to their obedience.” The sorcerer calmed, not something he was accustomed to doing often. “Make up stories; tell their families these men had been working on the outskirts of the city when they fell to their death from high crosswinds. I can think of a dozen stories to tell them to quell their whining. My Drothghight must be ready in a moonturn, and I won't tolerate another failed lot of men who are tainting my direwolves. A secure and spotless mind is required, not this dimwitted filth you've provided me thus far."

  Benafor, sensing he'd lingered overlong, nodded silently and fled the room to obey his master's commands. He wouldn't get another chance at redemption if he failed again.

  Once his mercenary had left the room in haste, Haarath went to his desk. Strewn across its surface were maps, plans for devices of all sorts and scrolls of rolled parchment. In the middle of the mess was a small leather pouch. He picked it up and emptied its contents into his hand—a single small stone fragment, rigid and angular in shape. It had a curved side as smooth as marble, with white lines etched into the surface in graceful patterns. Earlier versions of the wizard's Drothghights had obtained the object. He couldn't wait for them to be perfected to secure this prize; besides, his creations needed to be tested in the field. Some of those he sent possessed a small amount of brainpower to accomplish the mission, but were used mostly for their brute strength.

  "I have nearly all that is required,” Haarath said aloud. “Two more and it is complete. My conquest will begin, and soon the underground city will give up its prize to me."

  Benafor started his assignment as soon as he reached the surface of Resforian. It was daylight when he came up, and his eyes spent many painful moments adjusting to the rays of the winter sun. Snow floated lazily in the air, the wind brisk.

  His lies began at the print shop.

  "I need to print out some signs to post around the city.” Benafor addressed the young girl working the clerk desk at Zane's Prints.

  "That'll be two crowns, sir."

  Benafor dropped the silver coins on the desk, handed her a sheet of paper containing the words the signs were to display, and took a seat in the foyer to wait.

  "It'll just take about a half an hour, sir,” the girl said kindly as she dropped the coins into a metal box with a slot on top and a lock on the side.

  Benafor was dirty, tired, and smelled of old sweat. In fact, he realized he'd been down there for two straight days. No one would've missed him, not even his family. They had all bought his story of going down the lifts to the mainland to barter with traveling merchants for two days. Fortunately, this was common practice in Resforian during winter, since supplies ran low due to scarce resources. Two-day trips were considered short for such duties. He folded his hands across his belly and fell asleep.

  He woke with a start when the young girl shook him awake, still smiling.

  "I have your order, sir. If it please you, inspect them to be sure they are to your liking."

  Still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he flipped through all of the signs

  carefully, but quickly. No mistakes, they have to be perfect. Each sign read: SKILLED MEN WANTED. NEW EXPANSION PLANNED FOR NORTH RESFORIAN. CONTACT BENAFOR LANDY FOR DETAILS.

  Benafor nodded silently to the girl, gathered up the signs quickly, and rushed out the door. He stopped by the horse stables to fetch his hammer and nails, then raced around the city blocks fastening signs to as many wooden posts and corners as he could find. It would only be hours before he would be contacted at his office.

  But what of the questions that will be asked? he thought.

  Do not be troubled, no questions will be asked of you that you cannot answer, said a voice inside his head. He didn't bother to question whose voice it was, nor of the methods it employed to silence doubts.

  Over the next sennight, Benafor collected information from the applicants to his “job posting". He was surprised at the favorable response he was receiving, and it was all he could do to contain his excitement over the level of intelligence each man possessed. Some were craftsmen of weaponry, armor, footwear, and clothing; some were masons, carpenters, and blacksmiths, while others were architects and geologists. All were far more intelligent than the scraps collected from the mainland.

  All were perfect specimens for Haarath.

  After the allotted time had passed, he gathered the applicants in a common place away from the populated sections of the city. No paperwork was filed, and no questions were asked of Benafor, thanks to Haarath's magic, about details of his so-called project. During the “screening” process, each of the ninety-eight men present were led individually to a separate room where they were drugged and then led out the back to the island's core entrance.

  Wives would grieve, but would never know what became of their husbands. Children would weep for their daddies, but would never know what monster had taken them away. The Church would speculate, but the faithful would say it was the will of their gods, a
nd that they were led into the world to bear witness.

  Down below the surface of Resforian, the drugged bodies of the Intelligents were stripped naked of their clothes, washed, wrists and ankles bound with rope, and laid on stone tables lining a cavernous room. They couldn't see each other in the darkness, but as each of them awoke from their delirium, their echoing whimpers crept cacophonously around the space. Some screamed, others shouted for silence, but all were fearful of what was about to happen.

  Their fears were met with the loud crash of the iron door slammed open to admit a line of figures. Once they were all let inside, the door flew shut again, vibrating dust and bits of rock from the walls. An eerie silence swept through the dark room as the Intelligents held their breath at what would happen next. It felt like an eternity, but finally the room started to brighten with an amber glow like candlelight. The captives strained their necks to search the faces of those who'd entered the room. At the head of the column was a hooded man, hunched and hidden within his cloak. Behind him stood eight other taller figures who wore black masks over their faces, leather sleeveless tunics, and leather aprons covered in blood. Their exposed arms indicated quasi-human creatures of immense strength.

  The hooded man started to walk between the formations of stone tables evenly spaced from one end of the room to the other. He eyed each man from beneath the shroud of his hood, grinning with satisfaction at times, grimacing in disgust at others. At one point in his journey, he paused.

  "My, my, if it isn't Mr. Tummert, Mayor of the White City. Well done, Benafor, though I doubt this man fits into our group of Intelligents as much as I would like. But, well done."

  Eventually, the man walked to what appeared to be the front of the room. There was a raised section of flooring, and many intricate contraptions lined the wall behind him. In the dim light, it was hard for the quivering men to make out much detail. They quailed at the hate in the man's speech.