by Levi Samuel
Several of the groups slowly tossed their weapons to the side and raised their hands overhead. She looked over the men, silently judging them. It was impossible to ensure all opposition was eliminated, but perhaps enough could be separated to prevent any future plots. “Gather and bring them to me.”
The loyalists engulfed the prisoners and pulled them toward the command tent. Placing them on their knees in front of their commander, they backed away just enough to show support while preventing a crowd.
Senaria watched the numbers grow. One by one her army diminished, leaving her with less than half of what she started with. There was no telling how many loyal soldiers had fallen during the attack, but judging from the number still in their beds it had to have been upward of fifty in the initial assault.
She shook her head, scanning the faces before her. The sun was on the rise, illuminating the carnage of the small camp. It was much worse than she had feared. “I had such high hopes that we could live in a world not bound by greed and oppression. But you had to go and jump on the first wagon back to all of that.” Senaria sighed. It was painful, seeing how many clung to the old ways. “As I'm sure you're aware, I cannot allow you to coexist with those of us in search of a better life. To allow such poison into our home would be to destroy us all. But I'm also not without mercy. I'll offer you this one final chance. Abandon the corruption and seek out a better life with the rest of us, or face exile from our ranks. Either choice will not be an easy one. If you stay, you'll have to work twice as hard to reclaim lost faith. If you go you'll head east, away from these lands. You'll face unknown risks, with the promise of death if you ever return. Think carefully, for I will not tolerate another outburst such as the one that occurred this evening.” She turned, abandoning them to their thoughts. Pausing outside her tent, she looked upon Ravion. “Will you please join me?”
Stepping into the tent, Ravion glanced at the dead mul'daron lying against the wall. “My apologies for ruining your tent.”
She approached the table and tossed her sword onto it. Glancing to her guest, and down to the body, she returned her attention to her armor. “It's a small price to pay for knowing the truth.” Senaria laid her armor to rest over the small, wire stand and turned to face the man. “You mentioned an abandoned fortress last night. Do you believe it large enough to house upwards of three thousand?”
“I believe it would. It'll more than likely need work. I don't know when it was last used and I'm sure time has taken its toll. Though I'm afraid I don't fully understand. Even before the attack, you had maybe five hundred. You're down to roughly a third now. Forgive me, but that's a long jump to the thousands.”
“You're a smart man. I know you have secrets of your own. I can tell when you're obscuring details. Do you really believe I would do any different? I had to be sure I could trust you. This is but a single unit of our people. The rest remained in the catacombs, awaiting my word. We've been locked in a bloody civil war since the curse broke. The dreualfar want us dead as we aren't them any longer. And we want a home of our own.”
“I see. Well, I've already promised you my assistance. That promise holds true, regardless of how many of you there are. But I would have one request, if you'd be so gracious to accept.”
She arched an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.
“You knew who I was, so I'd assume you're familiar with Gareth. I haven't seen him in over a month now. If your men happen to come across him, could you make sure he's okay? Though I'd recommend they use caution. I can't promise he won’t attack on sight, especially if he's faced his own challenges.”
“I'll send word immediately.”
“Thank you.” Ravion turned to leave, pausing a moment longer. “Oh, and your assessments weren't wrong. I do have details I'd like to share with you. But I feel now it not the time, though if you have the resources I urge you look into a race called the dalari.” Ravion stepped through the flap, leaving her to her duties.
Chapter VI
Fantastic Beast
Blue and silver light beamed from the large stained-glass window overlooking the ancient throne. The colored rays splayed out forming a perfect sigil across the marbled floor, interrupted only by the blue carpet running the length of the room. Baron Remle De Leon's voice echoed across the grand hall from his elevated perch.
“Son, how many times must I tell you? Magic is not what our people need. They need to be led from a position of morality and strength. Not some fool who rushes after the next Holy Grail. Or do I need to remind you of the outcome to that fable?”
“Father, hear me, please. I've done all the work. This is not some fool’s errand. I had the information authenticated at The Tower before it left. This is what our ancestors used to protect our lands. I'm just asking you to follow in their foot prints.” Erik pleaded, holding out a stack of parchment.
Remle sighed heavily and took the stack. Flipping through pages he skimmed the hundreds of scribbled words and occasional depictions. He was surprised at how much information was available on the subject. Strange that he'd never heard of it before. Though his people were known to be prideful at times, it was likely they didn't wish to admit that they needed help. Handing the parchment back to his son he stood and stretched his legs. “Very well. I'll accompany you to Heroes Gate. We'll explore this little fail safe. Though I want you to promise me that if it turns out to be hog wash, you'll drop this pursuit and learn to lead as I have.”
Accepting the stack of research Erik felt a tinge of success flow through him. “You have my word. I'll have the horses readied. How many men do you wish to accompany us?”
Remle paused, thinking over the question. Heroes Gate was just over a week's ride and he didn’t wish to leave the throne empty long. If they head up Kings Road, they could stop over in Aldridge, and again in Marbayne. From there it's three days to wall and they’d reach the gate on the final day. “Start with fifty men. I'm sure others will join us along the way. Steward, send an emissary ahead to Aldridge. Tell them to expect us in two days’ time. From there we make for Marbayne and to the wall. After our stop at Heroes Gate, we'll run the eastern pass back home.” Entrusting his order were received Remle marched along the blue carpet, muffling the sound of his boots. Reaching the entryway he turned and disappeared. It was a long journey and he need to gather himself.
Dust fell from the rafters, rousing Krenin from him slumber. Staring at the shaking beams he could hear the cheers overhead. It was no doubt an exciting match. He could always tell from the volume. Sitting up Krenin felt the healing wounds along his torso stretch their displeasure at the movement.
Leather soles echoed off stone, announcing visitors. It was a bit early for another match. Why were they here? Attempting to act as if he wasn't listening to their approach, Krenin reached over and grabbed the wooden bowl resting beside his cot. Scooping the paste-like soup into his hand he stuffed it into his mouth, feeling the crunch between his teeth. No doubt a beetle had gotten in with the grubs. He hated when that happened. The shells always clung to his teeth when he chewed. Though it wasn't like he could refuse it. Food was food and it would sustain him. Looking up from the bowl he watched two guards approach his cell.
The closest one drew a large brass ring and began searching for the proper key. Krenin watched the other one. His hand rested against the head of an axe. It was rare for them to gather him armed. This had to be a special occasion. Speaking the guttural tongue of his ancestors, the natural words felt good in his mouth. “Why are you taking me out? I’m not scheduled to fight today.”
“Plans change. You been summoned. Special request from the chieftain.” The armed guard clearly wasn't happy with the arrangement, but he wasn't going to be the one to go against the chieftain's orders.
Finding a small, silver key the orc dropped the others, letting the ring catch them. He shoved it into the lock and twisted. An audible click sounded and the barred door swung open.
Krenin laid the bowl where it had been and pul
led himself to his feet. His muscles were sore and the bandages around his midsection were stained with blood. “I haven't yet healed from last fight.”
“Doesn’t matter. This your last fight one way or another. You win, you go free. You lose, you die.”
“Why?”
The armed orc reached behind him and pulled the twin axes from his belt. Tossing them on the straw covered bed he nodded to the other guard to leave the room. The orc did so, hurrying to avoid penalty.
“You were brought here as punishment for crimes against the Kuren Clan. None expected you do so well in pit. You made a lot of coin, which went to the clan you wronged. Victories have paid for the life many times over. And since you refuse to die in battle, clan decide to let you go with a final exhibition.”
Krenin stared in disbelief. He’d lost track of how long he'd been trapped and forced to fight as a gladiator. Now they were just going to release him? “Who do I fight?”
“You face Drognau, Terror of the Sands.”
The half-orc had heard the name in whisper, but it held no lingering meaning. He'd never seen the man before, though his stories were legendary. If he could kill this man it would bring him honor for the rest of his life. No orc would refuse him station with such deeds attached to his name. Perhaps this was how he was going to rid himself of his cursed heritage. He reached down, securing his axes and marched toward the door. “Lead the way.”
They marched through the twisting labyrinth of tunnels held up by wooden supports and clay. Krenin couldn’t help but dwell on the anxiety building inside him. He was torn between hope and fear. This would be the fight to decide which one ruled him. He’d recalled the few tales he'd heard of Drognau and, truth be told, they scared the shit out of him. If this man was truly as powerful as they claimed, he would be a difficult adversary, but he was the key to freedom. That alone would see him succeed. Turning toward the large gates, Krenin watched the chains slowly pull the heavy portcullis up.
The guard grabbed the piled armor off the table and held it out for the half-orc to step into. Krenin laid his axes down and poked his head through the central hole, placing his arms one at a time. The movement was torture, but he had to endure. If anything, it would loosen him up. He felt the heavy layers of leather clap around him.
The guard buckled the sides into place and took a step back. “Be well, slave. Fight with honor and you'll spend the rest of your days outside these confines.” He offered a final salute to the half-blood and turned, leaving him to his fate.
The orc's actions sent a sense of pride through him. It meant he'd made an impact. That alone was enough to boost his confidence. Krenin took a deep breath and secured his axes. Marching up the ramp he heard the crowd erupt in cheers at his sight. He searched the large arena, hoping to get a glimpse of his opponent. The empty ring seemed odd. He was the challenger in this battle. That meant he would be last to enter. Where is he? A deafening roar tore into his ears sending shivers down his spine.
Krenin could have recognized that roar anywhere. Glancing up, he noticed the massive wings circling overhead, though the dragon didn't look quite right. Is that him? Nobody said anything about a dragon! Taking a deep breath, Krenin placed his axes beneath his arms and knelt down, grabbing a handful of sand. Rubbing it into his palms, he let the coarse grit dry and add friction to his sticky grip.
The chains lowered behind him sealing the reinforced portcullis.
Krenin wrapped his fingers around the leather wrapped handles of his axes and marched toward the center. If this beast was his opponent there was no sense in delaying further.
Another ear shattering roar echoed overhead and the creature began to lower. It touched down in the center of the ring, looking upon the small half-orc.
Krenin watched it land. It was the strangest creature he’d ever seen. It stood on hind legs, roughly eight-foot-tall giving it about a head and a half over the largest orc. It had the head of a dragon, and a long, thick tail. Several black spikes ran from its crown, down its back, and to the tip if the tail, jutting out like vicious weapons of death. Serrated scales of dark green covered its body, overlapping at the joints. Its talons were complete with razor-sharp claws. Though the most disturbing thing of all was the bat-like wings folded neatly behind it. As if it wasn't enough to be able to kill with every part of its armored form, it had to be able to fly as well. In all rights it had to be a dragon, but what kind of dragon stood upright like a man. The creature stared into him as if it were accessing him, as he was it. If dragons had the ability to look smug this one certainly managed to pull it off.
A high-pitched hiss escaped its mouth, revealing a blood-red forked tongue. Krenin felt the pressure threaten to pop his eardrums. He had to find a way to escape it or risk going deaf. Covering his ears he watched a mist-like fog roll from the creature's nostrils. It pooled on the ground, making its way toward him. How could he survive this? He didn’t even know what it was capable of. The urge to do something, anything, overcame him. Abandoning all reason, Krenin charged, raising his axes. A battle shout echoed across the arena exciting the spectators beyond control. Unconcerned with the need for air, Krenin darted across the growing pool. It separated like a cloud in the breeze.
Drognau hadn't expected him to charge. Most opponents fled from his toxins. They were always too afraid to risk entering. This one was different. He didn't seem to care. The half-orc was upon him quicker than he was ready for. Watching the axes speed in toward him, Drognau spun around, whipping his barbed tail.
The armored tail caught him in the ribs. Krenin felt them break once more, shooting pain through his body. Surely the fresh wounds had reopened from the impact as well. Slamming hard into the sand, he landed on his back. The ground shook under the creature’s massive weight. It was upon him before he could move. Staring the beast in the face it towered over him, confirming its nefarious plot. “Why is it always my ribs?” Krenin cried.
The dragonkin broke its gaze, rearing back to stretch his thick, muscular neck. Sucking in large bouts of air, his lungs filled. It was ready to spew lethal toxins atop the downed orc. His snout shot down, aimed at the pathetic half-breed. Why do they continue to give me such pathetic toys? It didn’t matter. He’d end this one quick enough. Then he’d claim his treasure and return to his lair where he could count them again. They did’t have anyone good enough to best him. The green-skins were lucky he chose to play their little games in the first place. He could slaughter every single one of them if he so desired. But that would do little to fill his coffers. No, it was best to let them break themselves against him. He’d gladly take their riches. Who didn't like resting upon a bed of jewels and gold? Not to mention the precious virgin sacrifices they occasionally threw at him. He licked his lips, lost in the thought.
Krenin watched the creature's maw open slightly. He could see green smoke boiling behind the pointed teeth. He had to move. If the dense fumes touched him, whatever it was, it most likely wouldn't be good. Searching for an escape, something caught his eye. A small gland rested near the underside of its jaws. It wasn't any bigger than a walnut, but it looked soft, unlike the rest of the large monstrosity. It was a long shot, but he had to do something. He had to survive. Ignoring his pain, Krenin lashed out, swiping his axe at the beast's throat. The blade tore into the soft scales, nicking the fleshy sac. A yellow fluid drained out, soaking into the sands.
Drognau roared in pain. How did he cut through my scales? Even his softer belly scales were too dense for most weapons to pierce. The abomination must have keen weapons. They clearly weren't magic. Anger flooded him. He stepped back, sniffing at the small beast to make sure he hadn't missed anything. No, not magical. Not anything for that matter. What are they made of? He’d never smelled that ore before. Shaking his head, Drognau soothed the torn venom sac. His forked tongue shot out, wetting his scaly lips. “You’re going to pay for that. And once you’re dead, I'm going to add your weapons to my collection. Something that rare doesn't deserve to be in your f
ilthy hands. Maybe I'll put your head between them so I can remember you.”
Krenin couldn’t deny the intelligence the creature possessed. It was clearly more astute than the orcs gave it credit. But how did it know his axes were made of drastol? More importantly, how was he going to defeat it? It was strong, fast, and smart! And he couldn’t match one element, let alone all three. Picking himself up, Krenin tightened his grips. The last thing he wanted was lose his only advantage. Calmly strolling toward the beast, he searched for any weakness, hoping to find one before he arrived.
Drognau tried forcing the poison from his throat, but it was no use. The muscles were cut. They couldn’t contract enough to force the venom into his windpipe. He would have to do this the hard way. Flexing his wings he stretched them to their full width. The cocky half-breed was taunting him. If he knew what was in store for him, he'd run to his death, not walk. “You'd be smart to throw yourself upon your axes now. It'll be less painful than what I'm going to do.” Drognau brought his wings in, flapping them harder and harder. The amount of force put into the motion was amazing. Such a display of brute strength was nearing the boundaries of natural. The heavy gust of wind lifted him off the ground, showering the half-orc in abrasive sand. He didn’t have to try so hard once he was in the air. Pacing his wings, Drognau lifted himself higher and rocketed into the sky. Nearing peak height, he leveled out and locked his sights on the abomination below. He was but a speck at this distance. Adjusting his eyes, his vision shifted to give a much closer look. His death was going to be agonizingly slow. No one hurts me and lives to tell about it! Drognau folded his wings, letting a free fall claim him. Twisting around he brought the wings out to guide his attack. Extending his claws, he prepared to snatch the orc into the air.