Izaryle's Prison

by Levi Samuel

  About the Author

  Levi Samuel was born in 1986 in Elk City Oklahoma, though he was raised in Springfield Missouri. While in Highschool, he discovered the game, Dungeons and Dragons, as well as a Live Action Role Playing group, where he truly discovered who he was. Graduating Highschool, he joined the Army, but quickly realized that wasn’t the life for him. He returned home and went to work in manual labor jobs. Being a quick study, he became a skilled tradesman in a number of fields, but the quest for happiness and purpose evaded him. In 2008 he became a father and has raised his daughter by himself ever since. In 2009, he decided to write a book, which was the start to a lifelong and rewarding career. His first book was published in 2013 under a penname, and he’s since established a laundry list of qualifications and achievements. Levi lives in southwest Missouri with his daughter and their cat, Alona.

  Please subscribe to his newsletter for a free book, as well as first access all new content. http://eepurl.com/dxRUvL

  What you hold here is the product of several years of growth. This was his first completed book, though it’s since been revised many times and is far from the original concept. Whether you enjoy this book or not, leave us a review on Goodreads, Amazon, or any other online retailer. Reviews help open the door for other readers, as well as teach the author new ways to entertain.

  Heroes of Order Trilogy

  Volume Two

  Izaryle’s Prison

  Levi Samuel

  ELDARLANDS©

  Heroes of Order Trilogy – Volume Two

  IZARYLE’S PRISON

  Eldarlands Publishing

  Copyright © 2015-2018

  All rights reserved. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without express permission. You are supporting writers and allowing us to continue to publish books for every reader.

  The story, cover art, and illustrations by Levi Samuel.

  Edited by Edward Gehlert

  Foreword by Bob Dixon

  Genre: Fantasy / Series

  Publisher's Note

  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used with expressed permission. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, and locations not covered by a release is entirely coincidental.

  This work, including all characters, names, and places:

  © 2018 Eldarlands Publishing, unless otherwise noted.

  Find all the author’s projects at http://www.LeviSamuel.com

  Foreword

  I had the pleasure of meeting Levi a few years back at Tri-Con in Evansville, Indiana. In the dealer's room, he had the misfortune of being seated at the table next to mine. Setting up our tables, we struck up a conversation, as many authors do. The conversation would soon be joined by fellow author, Ed Gehlert and his wife Eva. At some point during the day we decided that since author, Shane Moore was late to the con, it was our civic duty to decorate his table with as much trash as we could find. It escalated quickly. How odd it was for the con goers to make this easy by adding their own garbage to the ever-growing pile. Throughout the convention many more shenanigans happened, more than the courts will currently allow me to speak of. That's a joke by the way. Courts were not involved. But there was one thing that did come from that amazing and eventful weekend. The friendships I made with many of the guests and staff.

  This past fall, 2016, I reprised my role of comedy superstar and general goofball at Tri-Con. I was in the midst of my own book release, Snafu Fubar: Nothing Heroic when my first sale approached the table while I was setting up. It was Levi. He handed me a ten-dollar bill, to which I had to laugh a little. The reason being, Levi was releasing his own novel, the predecessor to what you now read. I'd already intended to pick it up from him, and for the same price no less. My humor aside, and a brief explanation on my part, we agreed it made more sense to just trade books. It wasn't until I started reading that I realized how truly gifted of a writer Levi was. Over the past few years, since our meeting, we'd had plenty of talks, either in person or via internet messages. I knew he was a down to earth, intelligent, and good person, but I never realized how well he made a story come to life until I read the words within that book. I found myself in awe as I read each page so naturally. As you can imagine, when he asked me if I would write the foreword to the second book of the series, I considered it a great honor.

  One of the things I like to do as an author is to help promote those friends who are on this creative adventure with me. That being said, I'm usually seen at events sporting a T-shirt that features a local band I like, or an artist, or what have you. At the 2016 Tri-Con release, I noticed Levi had shirts printed up for the event that sponsored both the convention and his new novel. It was about one in the morning, after we'd both been to the Mojo Brothers Party (a party one must attend if ever given the opportunity) when I realized I hadn't had the chance to grab one of the shirts. I wanted to help support my fellow author and the convention, to which we were both welcomed to with open arms. But unfortunately, the dealer's room was closed and I was scheduled to leave extremely early the next morning due to the long drive back home. Levi literally took the shirt off his back and handed it to me.

  When I suggest authors or musicians to people, especially if I know them, my recommendation is based on two criteria. The first, obviously being talent, and the second is how good of a person they are. Levi meets both of these categories in high fashion. If you ever have the pleasure of meeting him at a signing, you'll see exactly what I'm speaking of. He treats the patrons just as he does the main attraction, each with respect and a friendly, welcoming smile. When you approach his table, you'll feel as if you're talking to an old friend that you haven’t seen in a while. And I promise you, before the event is over, he'll be that friend. Rare in today’s world do you find such an amazing talent, not only as an author but as a human being.

  Bob Dixon

  January 2017

  I struggled, longer than I care to admit, with the decision of who to dedicate this book to. I've so many people that have shown interest in who I am and what I do that I had trouble picking just one in the long list of names that raced through my head. These people push me to keep moving forward. They ask me how to get involved and help spread my name. They've earned a place in my life, and for that, I'm eternally grateful. I truly wish I could list each and every one of them, but alas, this page is intended for a single person.

  As this will not be my last book, I'll have many other dedications to send out into the world, but I believe this book needs to be solely dedicated to my mom. She's a wonderful, strong, twenty-nine-year-old woman, or at least that's what she claims anyway. I wouldn't be where I am if I didn't have her guidance throughout my life. She always inspired me to be unique and creative, especially when the rest of my world tried so hard to crush my desires. From her, I learned to fight for myself, and to stand for what I believed in. So, thank you, mom. I'm happy to have been raised by you. And even though we've had our problems in my younger years, I'll always love you!

  Contents

  Chapter I

  The Shadow’s Rise

  Chapter II

  From the Ashes

  Chapter III

  The Bigger They Are

  Chapter IV

  Chosen Regrets

  Chapter V

  The Price of Trust

  Chapter VI

  Fantastic Beasts

  Chapter VII

  Slipping Shackles

  Chapter VIII

  Proving Ground

&nbs
p; Chapter IX

  To Know Thyself

  Chapter X

  Once Lost

  Chapter XI

  The Hawk and the Wyrm

  Chapter XII

  Mirror Mirror

  Chapter XIII

  Through the Looking Glass

  Chapter XIV

  A Way Home

  Chapter XV

  Tribulations

  Chapter XVI

  The Heist

  Chapter XVII

  Parting Ways

  Chapter XVIII

  Lost Time

  Chapter XIX

  An Orc of a Different Color

  Chapter XX

  Ties That Bind Us

  Chapter XXI

  The Long Walk

  Chapter XXII

  Out with the Old

  Epilogue

  And Then There Were None

  Chapter I

  The Shadow's Rise

  Rolling clouds of gray soar across the heavens leaving an eternal darkness over the world below. Far to the south an explosion of energy washed across the land, not seen, but felt. The mystical wave traveled in all directions, announcing its arrival to all capable of understanding.

  The city of Idenfal was the largest for months in any direction. Its northern face was protected by a wall of mountains wrapping around and swallowing the ancient fortress settlement. A large chasm blocked the south limiting access to a handful of snow covered bridges stretching across the deep ravine.

  The clank of swords and guttural laughter echoed from the west where a massive army of orcs engaged in their training. They displayed thick armors and heavy weapons, built for purpose rather than show. Crude structures stood around the orc grounds. These were lined with fur against the harsh winter winds and steady snowfall. It was a city in its own right on the outskirts of Idenfal.

  A great many orcs stood in a large circle cheering those within. Of the two castes, the veterans were easy to identify. They wore trophies of fur and hide over their crude armors. Their gray-tinted flesh was marred, serving as both resume and medal in their battle-hardened society. The younger orcs wore no such markings having not earned that honor yet.

  Several unarmored orcs fought back to back, fending off their circling aggressors. Lashing out, they struggled to keep them at bay. As one fell, the others engulfed them, tightening the ranks.

  The strongest of orcs watched from his perch of bone. He wore the pelt of a black bear over his shoulders. Its head mounted atop a helm, giving him the appearance of the large creature. The weathered skin clinging to his face displayed scars of victories long past. He sat in his chair watching the younglings train. Only the strong would survive. They had no use for anything less.

  The elder orc looked up from the fight, sniffing at the air. Pressing his calloused hands against the arms of the rugged throne, he pushed to his feet, towering over the others. “Stand down!” The booming voice echoed across the field, halting all within earshot.

  A somewhat smaller, but equally marred, orc approached. “Warchief, what do you command?”

  “Time for training is over. Gear and group them. No more than four paired. Something's coming. We need to be ready.” The grizzled warchief stepped from his platform and into the layered snow. He felt the pain of his years starting to catch up with him, though he was still strong enough to hold off any who dared challenge him. Glancing over his shoulder, he gazed upon the orc once again. “That one on the end is a bit scrawny. See how he fares against the rest. Make sure they know their place.”

  “As you command, Warchief.”

  The old orc marched across the field, listening to the snow crunch beneath his boots. Reaching one of the towering archways of the ancient citadel, he pulled the wooden door open and stepped inside.

  The chiseled ashlar of the looming fortress was weathered from time and element, but it held strong. The massive cathedral was formed into the mountain, stretching up into the rolling clouds.

  Near the peak of the tallest spire, a figure stared out the stained-glass window, watching the commander leave the field. The orc was nearing the end of his days but he was too stubborn to die in his sleep. He'd have to go with a weapon in hand. But none of the orcs were strong enough to surpass him. New blood was needed, though it seemed a disservice to get rid of him through simpler manners. No, the old orc would die. But it would be in service to him. He’d been a loyal servant. That was the least he was owed. The shadowed figure felt a sensation erupt a great distance away. There was only one thing that could be responsible for such an outburst.

  “Time has come.” Spinning on his heel, Rezerik marched across the throne room and into the grand hall. The walls were decorated with black and white tapestries. Each one embroidered to show an antlered face stretched and overlooking the world. They fluttered as he passed, falling back into their stagnant status afterward. Between each hanging cloth, a sconce was mounted to the wall. Orange and yellow flame danced across the top seemingly to its own rhythm. Not even his passing made them alter direction.

  His boots echoed along the bare, stone floors announcing his approach long before his arrival. Rounding the corner, Rezerik passed into a narrow stairwell and rushed down, circling several times. Reaching the bottom, he watched the dust fly from his steps. It'd been so long since he'd visited this place. Taking a deep breath he continued on, staring at the large doors of black stone in the distance. They seemed so far away despite the relatively short walk.

  Cautiously making his way forward, Rezerik placed his gloved hand upon the ancient stone. It was cold to the touch even through the thick leather. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes. For the briefest moment, Rezerik was unsure if he was ready for what awaited him on the other side. Clenching his hands around the pitted rings he pulled, watching the seam between them split. Stale air and dust rushed through the widening crack showering him in its stench. He wasn't surprised. It'd been a millennia since he'd last opened them. None of the others would dare, even if they knew where it was.

  Opening the doors just enough the pass, Rezerik stepped through. While it had been gone for an eternity, the lingering presence of the divine might that once occupied the room felt remnant. The twelve towering statues glared down at him, their faces gone long before his time. Rezerik marched through their pensive gaze stopping in front of the dull mirror on the far wall. A thick haze drifted over the surface like a cloud of smoke in the dust filled room. Placing his hand against the dirty reflection, he pushed.

  Magics swirled within the reflective surface and it flexed slightly, swallowing his hand. The tension was that of a pool of water, waiting to claim him whole. He pushed harder, forcing his arm into the mirror. Buried to the elbow, the resistance increased. His arm quivered against the force, unable to pass further. “Izaryle, damn it. Let me go!” He strained with all his might trying to pass through the standing portal.

  A dark shadow fell over the room. The lilliputian light breaching the open door was snuffed, out leaving the ancient chamber in total darkness.

  Rezerik felt the abundance of power surround him. It twisted his insides making him feel sick. So much evil in one place was too much for anyone, even him. Burying the pain as best he could, Rezerik held his resolve against the entity. “I'm surprised it took you this long.”

  “Why do you use my name in vain, Rezerik? You should have known you can't leave me so easily. None can.” The words resonated in his mind, more than he heard them. Though the power behind each syllable shook the foundations of the towering statues, knocking dust from the ceiling.

  “Save it. Why can't I go through? It's open. I feel it.”

  The expanded shadow rolled into a single orb and began to take a humanoid form. The misty tendrils solidified and took on features. Within a few moments, a woman stood the chamber beside him. Her long, brown hair was pulled into a tail at the back, draped over her lavender plated robes of ivory. The booming voice silenced, replaced by smooth, compassionate vocals. “It'
s true that it's been opened. But you're bound to this place, as am I.”

  Rezerik trembled beneath his armor. As a shadow, she couldn’t touch him. But like this— in this form, he was helpless against her. She could destroy him with a mere thought if she so desired. Dropping to a knee, Rezerik bowed deeply. “My apologies, Izaryle. I didn't mean to offend.”

  She stepped toward him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Rise, you own me no apology. I've come to help you.”

  Help me? Why would she do that? Rezerik stared up at her, lost in the words. “You brought me here to rule? Why would you help me leave after all this time?” Rezerik picked himself up. Even in his larger stature, he felt dwarfed by her.

  “We want the same thing. To return home. In a roundabout way you serve as a part of my lock. So long as the nightkings remain, I'm trapped.” Izaryle turned away from him and approached the mirror, looking deep into the hues of speckled shadow.

  “My Lady? If we're what's keeping you here, why don't you just kill us and take your revenge? You're more than capable now that the way is open.” Rezerik studied her movement. It was as if he was looking upon the essence of existence, slowly losing himself to her glory.

  She turned to gaze upon him once again. “Things aren't so simple. Even if I wanted to harm you, I can't. This body is mere illusion. It can't physically act in this realm without a host. That's why I speak through my devoted.”