The Realm of the Drells

by Kenneth Zeigler

  Debbie nodded.

  “And tell me, you know them more intimately than I, what is the feeling among yer people?”

  “Sheer terror,” replied Debbie. “Most of them have only met a drell once and that was enough. They don’t want to ever see them again but they know that they will. Today is but a taste of what is to come for all of them and they know it. They fear the drells but I think they hate them even more.”

  “Enough to fight them?” asked Lukor.

  “Yes,” said Debbie, without the slightest hesitation.

  It was nearly the fifth hour when the procession arrived at a great portal, an archway that had the shimmering quality of gold. The finely crafted double doors within the archway also appeared to be made of gold and towered above them, as if intended for the use of a race of giants. The doorway opened on its own accord to allow the grim pilgrims to enter.

  Within, they discovered a chamber of awesome dimensions. The lofty ceiling glowed a bright yellow, bathing the great circular arena in a somber yellow light. They stepped out onto a fifteen-foot-wide track that ran the entire way around the great arena. Its circumference was easily a third of a mile. Above them, thirteen rows of stone seats formed ever larger concentric rings about the central stadium, with another wider track beyond that also circled the arena. Beyond that was a great wall of rock fifty feet high that met the arching ceiling. On this upper track stood several dozens of Malfacian’s archers, bows at the ready. Apparently the drells were taking no chances.

  Before them was a wall about three feet high, and beyond it a drop of about twelve feet to the level stadium floor. Four gates of heavy black bars guarded four tunnels that led into the floor of the arena, an area replete with carefully positioned poles, pits, and stakes. Even a mysterious idol in the form of a giant bull was to be found here. They spoke volumes of the meticulous preparations for the cruel spectacle to come.

  Human guards robed in red directed the wulvers and humans up a stairway on the left and into the thirteen rising tiers of stone seats that encircled the arena.

  The slaves moved clumsily in their chains to the lower tiers, which would afford them the best view of the grim spectacle to come. It was the wish of the drells that it be so.

  Debbie gazed from her seat on the second tier of cold gray benches to behold the drells, robed in black and gold, seated in comfort high above stadium floor at the far side of the coliseum. They were separated from their slaves by several hundred of Malfacian’s troops. The drells seemed dwarfed by the size of the great amphitheater and the empty seats around them. It was a scene that spoke of a time when their numbers must have been much greater. In an arena that could easily have seated ten or fifteen thousand, they numbered but a few hundred.

  Wulver soldiers moved the large boxes of food into the stands, yet their progress was suddenly hindered by several of Malfacian’s guards. One by one they went foraging through the first two boxes but found nothing but food. Then they came to the two containing the weapons. Debbie gasped.

  Upon opening the first box the guard turned away in disgust at the odor. He spoke to the wulver carrying it in some foreign tongue, but apparently he didn’t understand. Another guard approached.

  “What is that smell?” he demanded.

  “Raw uyon fish from the great sea, very tasty,” said the wulver.

  “How can you eat such a thing?” gasped the guard. “It smells terrible.”

  “Not to us,” said the wulver.

  “You’re disgusting,” said the guard, turning away. He bid his fellows to follow.

  Debbie heaved a sigh of relief as the boxes were moved into the stands. She looked to Lukor who sat in the seat directly above her. “You don’t actually eat that stuff do you? I can smell it from here, it’s awful.”

  Lukor smiled. “Uyon fish, certainly not, they’re poisonous, you know. But their essence will make our blades all the more deadly.”

  A hush fell over the subterranean amphitheater as the drell lord, Dre Kon, dressed in his golden robe of state, rose to his feet. He stepped to the threshold of a great balcony that overlooked the floor of the arena. All eyes were upon him as he scanned the unwilling human and wulver spectators. “I bid you welcome, to our arena, and the entertainment that has been prepared for you, a celebration of life and death.” He paused. “Mostly death.”

  His voice was like the thunder, deep and powerful, reverberating from the dome of rock above, from every quarter of the great round amphitheater. Young wulver children clung to their parents in terror, and even seasoned warriors shuttered.

  “I have called you here that you might know and feel the power of my authority,” proclaimed Dre Kon, pointing an accusing finger toward the wulver and human slaves. “Your work has progressed too slowly, you have become lazy and unproductive. You have lost your grandparent’s fear of us. Now that fear shall be restored. Yet I issue you a warning, least you fail to profit from this experience. Those who would turn away from the tragedy played out before you this day shall be doomed to become a part of it, no matter how young or old they might be. Watch, learn, and live.”

  “Braggart,” grumbled Lukor, fire in his eyes. He clenched his fists in an effort to control his growing rage.

  Dre Kon turned to his fellows, gathered in the stands behind him, his arms outstretched. “Behold, my people, soon the seats of this arena shall be filled with our young and our slaves. We shall prosper once more under the new Pact of Twilight.”

  A roar of approval arose from the drells. They stood to their feet, hailing the coming golden age and the leader who would usher it in.

  Debbie was confused. The new Pact of Twilight, what was that? And how were they going to have children? Abaddon hadn’t spoken of it. Perhaps there were things about the drells that even he didn’t know.

  Dre Kon lowered his arms, and for a moment, a stern expression dominated his countenance. The crowd grew silent. “Yet, for a moment, our triumph was threatened by thieves who would have stolen the souls we depended upon for our very survival. We have, fought a terrible battle and won a glorious victory. There have been casualties, but the enemy has been crushed and their weapons destroyed. In the tradition of the conqueror, I have brought the last of their number to our realm as a captive. She shall be our guest of honor, destined to view the spectacle to come from a unique perspective.”

  Debbie watched in horror as a black metal door along the far wall of the arena burst open and a young woman came forth, clad in a ragged loincloth and top that little more than covered her more intimate parts, roughly escorted by four burley warriors of Malfacian.

  The barefoot woman was literally dragged across the dusty stadium floor, kicking wildly. She was taken to a place from which she could view the spectacle to come, and in turn be viewed by all. Here, a tall black cross was laid upon the ground.

  The poor woman was thrown upon the insidious instrument of execution, knocked nearly senseless by the impact. Her arms thrust wide across the traverse as her back slammed into the rough wooden upright. The crowd gasped as one of the executioners drew a huge hammer from his belt and a six-inch-long nail with an oversized head. He placed the point of the nail into her right wrist amidst the gasps of the human and wulver spectators.

  “Dear Lord Jesus, deliver me,” cried the woman, closing her eyes tightly.

  The hammer descended upon the nail, slicing through flesh and into the solid black wood of the traverse. Amidst a flurry of sparks, the hammer came down on the nail a dozen more times until the head of the nail came to rest against her soft defiled skin.

  An insidious cheer arose from the drell quarter of the arena, as the executioner moved to her left wrist and drove the nail in even as his associates held her wildly twisting and contorting body. Then he propelled the third nail through the woman’s crossed ankles and into the upright.

  It was then that Debbie recognized this defiled soul. A woman she had seen but once, and then only briefly. She struggled to remember her name, Connie. Debbi
e turned in disgust as the cross was lifted from the ground, and dropped with a thud into a prepared hole, suspending the crucified victim a dozen feet above the ground. Malfacian’s guards drove large wedges in around the base of the cross to hold in in place.

  This was the terrible proof of the drell’s boasts. Those who would have helped her and those around her were surely dead. They were on their own.

  She thought of David, the only love of her life. He at least had escaped the drells. Even if they would never spend another minute together, never touch one another, his escape was her only victory. She wondered how he must feel now, her eyes clouded with tears. “Live, David,” she whispered. “Please, don’t mourn for me for a lifetime.”

  Connie stifled the screams that she longed to give utterance. She would not give the drells the satisfaction of hearing them. Blood oozed down her arms as she fought against the excruciating pain. She scanned the stands, agony in her eyes.

  Her gaze settled upon Debbie. “You mustn’t give up hope,” she cried at the top of her lungs. “Don’t any of you give up hope! I promise you, the drells are doomed!”

  Her cries met with a sudden hush from the drell mob, a silence that spoke of their hate.

  Dre Kon seemed unmoved by this human’s courage, it would not last. In time she would beg for death, the end of her pain. He scanned his audience, that on both sides of the arena. No, this was as it should be. Her initial courage, her defiance, would work to his advantage.

  “Observe well the tragedy that shall unfold before you this day, Miss Connie Price,” he proclaimed, turning once more toward her. “Before it is through, you shall be praying to me for death.”

  “I’ll never pray to you!” cried Connie, trying to focus her thoughts, trying to put the pain out of them. She had to hold out, help would come. Yet within her she found a new and unexpected strength. The strange new words formed within her head. They were accompanied by a sense of warmth and peace, then boldness. “Hear me Dre Kon,” she cried in a voice so loud and steady that it surprised even her. “Mark well these words, for the Lord God has weighed you in the balance and found you wanting. Know this, that your kingdom is forfeit, gone this very day. As for you Dre Kon, you shall die by the sword, and your body shall be tread under the feet of the multitude.”

  Connie’s words were met with a combination of jeers and surprise by the drells within the arena. Then all eyes fell upon Dre Kon.

  “Bold words, wench,” replied Dre Kon. “We shall see.” He pointing to another black metal door, below the wulver and human spectators. It opened wide in response to his gesture. From the darkness beyond, a wulver soldier was cast forth. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving him no route of escape from the arena.

  For a moment the soldier seemed disoriented. He rose to his feet, gazing at his fellow soldiers in the tiers of benches above him. He shuttered for a moment, but quickly regained control. His right hand crossed his heart and then rose high into the air in a salute to his fellows and his captain.

  Lukor hesitated for a moment, then returned the young lieutenant’s salute. Regardless of the risk, it was a tribute that he could not deny the brave warrior.

  From the far side of the arena, a second and larger door opened, yet nothing seemed to emerge, and a moment later it closed. The crowd became quiet as the warrior drew his dagger.

  For over a minute he stood in silence, eyeing the seemingly empty arena before him. His heart beat loudly as he fought to control the fear within his mind. The tension mounted as he began to retreat to the right, his eyes affixed on apparently empty space. He moved along the high stone wall at the edge of the arena at an ever increasing pace, as if trying to avoid some unseen thing.

  Debbie didn’t at first see what had forced the wulver’s retreat. She gasped as a massive claw print materialize upon the loose earth below the stands. Two more appeared in rapid succession, drawing ever closer to the retreating warrior. A second later the warrior was thrown from his feet and cast over a dozen feet through the air, landing hard on his back. For an instant he seemed stunned, then he rolled swiftly to the right, just seconds before a loud thud resounded through the arena and a claw print appeared where he had just been.

  In desperation the warrior picked up handfuls of earth and cast them forcefully into the air. For an instant, a ghostly apparition came into view amidst the drifting dust. It was a glittering disorganized mass of flesh, long tentacles, claws, and stalky legs. The enormous creature turned toward its intended victim, observing him keenly with a half dozen eyes supported from the ends of spindly stalks. Two long phantasmal limbs, whose ends bore enormous mouths filled with razor like teeth, advanced toward their prey.

  “By da oracle,” he gasped jumping to his feet and fleeing from the beast, yet there seemed nowhere to run. The dagger in his hand was wholly inadequate as a weapon against such a leviathan, even if it had been visible. He could hear the footfalls of the great beast behind him as he racked his brain for an idea, a defense.

  His plight brought a roar of laughter from the drell congregation. This flight of fear was the sort of spectacle that they had anticipated, they were elated.

  For several minutes he avoided the beast he sensed only through his keen hearing and intuition. He maneuvered amidst the stakes, mounds, and pits in an effort to evade the thing that pursued him. Yet he was growing weary, he could not avoid the beast indefinitely.

  He hesitated just long enough to scoop up a long metal spike, half buried in the dirt. He turned about and cast it in the direction of the beast. It flew no further that twenty feet before being deflected forcefully to one side. The unseen thing was closer than he had anticipated. He picked up his pace.

  Another minute passed before he paused by a tall black pole he had passed twice before. He did his best to keep the post between himself and the unseen creature. He pivoted to the left, then to the right, responding to the loud foot falls of the beast. The cheers of the drell masses in the stands above him hampered his concentration yet strengthened his resolve.

  “Where are ya, devil?” he gasped, throwing another fist full of earth into the air. It was then that he noticed the long chain and ankle shackle attached to the base of the pole. It was, no doubt, intended for some as yet to be unfolded tragedy. Yet it was not an instrument of restraint that met his eyes, but a weapon. He grasped the black ponderous chain tightly in hand and began to swing it about his head. He let out the chain a little bit at a time, hurling the heavy shackle in an ever wider orbit.

  Silence fell over the arena as drells, wulvers, and humans watched the puzzling drama unfold. The warrior struggled to keep the massive projectile in its expansive course. His painful muscles bulged and sweat poured from his brow as the seconds passed, yet he didn’t relent.

  “Come, beast,” he gasped, gazing about, “face me!”

  He could see the foot prints of the beast, just beyond the orbit of the hurtling shackle. Boldly he moved toward it. A second later, the heavy projectile plowed into the invisible stalker amidst a flurry of sparks and surging blue bolts of fluorescence that danced around the indiscernible form. For a split second the beast became visible, rearing back on its two massive gray legs.

  Its weakness became clear. It lacked agility, a failing it made up for by its phantasmal existence.

  The warrior swiftly pulled in the chain and tried to place it back into motion, yet he was cast aside by the beast’s mighty blow. He rose to his feet, blood coursing from a deep gash in his left leg. Before him, he beheld the beast, fading in and out of view. He searched for the chain, it was beyond his reach, on the other side of the creature. He scanned the arena then ran, scooping up a three-foot-long black metal pole in the process. With all of his strength he flung the heavy shaft in the direction of the invisible monster.

  There was a resounding thud as the bar was deflected in mid-air. It was stained with bright orange blood as it fell to the ground.

  The warrior lunged past the stunned creature, and a moment late
r had placed the chain into motion once more.

  The half seen beast withdrew, the memory of the pain the projectile had inflicted still fresh in its mind. Yet its own rage and pain overcame it, and it began to move toward the wulver once more.

  The warrior retreated enticing the beast to quicken its advance. He was not disappointed.

  Without warning the wulver reversed his course and the whirling projectile plowed into his encroaching adversary. It burst into full view, writhing in pain. Three of its eye stalks had been broken and hung limp upon the ground. One of its two mouths had been shattered, dripping bright orange blood onto the gray earth. It appeared stunned, disoriented.

  The wulver pulled the chain back toward him, ripping out the eye stalk it had wrapped itself about in the process. The beast reared up, its tentacles lashing randomly about in search of the quarry that it could no longer see. The wulver maintained his distance from the beast, praying that it would be too stupid to withdraw from the range of his weapon.

  It charged, or was it the attempt of a nearly blinded beast to retreat? The effect was the same, the shackle dealt another crushing blow.

  Again and again the chain wielded by the warrior struck its mark, producing eruptions of blood and convulsions of agony from the patchwork nightmare before him. The arena echoed with the unearthly high pitched wail of the beast, causing many of the drells to cover their ears in pain.

  At last, the warrior charged the leviathan, dagger drawn. Again and again he drove the blade into the writhing mass of flesh, avoiding its every attempt to counterattack. The last of its eye stalks was hacked from its body even as a tentacle wrapped itself about the warrior. It lifted him into the air, towards a chomping mouth.