by Levi Samuel
Gareth waited impatiently, uncaring about ancient tomes or the knowledge surrounding him. “Where can we find the mirror?”
“Why, Idenfal of course. It’s located in the lowest levels of the nightking’s castle. But you can't just walk in. It's the strongest bastion of shadow this side of the icelands. You'd never make it inside.”
“Has anyone ever tried?” Gareth asked, challenging the glowing man's statement.
“Well— No. Most don't have the courage to try. And those that do rarely make it out of the city alive.”
Ravion shot a glare to Gareth. He had to learn to choose his battles. It wouldn't serve them to pick a fight with their only ally. “Do you happen to have a map to Idenfal and possibly the layout of the castle?”
“I can help you with direction to Idenfal, but I’m afraid the castle is unknown to me. To my knowledge nobody who’s gone in has ever made it back out. Though I suppose you have one benefit over the rest. If you succeed you won't have to worry about making it out.” The man hobbled to a standing case. Opening the door he reached in and retrieved a large piece of worn parchment. Rolling it, he extended it to Ravion. “That'll get you there. Keep the mountains to your left. If you do that, you'll be heading north.
Ravion stuffed the book and scroll into his pack. “We understand. Thank you for your assistance. Should the tides ever change and you’re able to leave this place you can seek refuge in a land called Marbayne. Your debt will be repaid.” He gave a respectful bow. Turning around Ravion made for the stairway, Gareth at his heels
The keeper watched them leave. Placing the scepter in a bronze holder he closed the drawer, speaking to himself. “If the tides ever turn I fear my purpose here will be long finished.” Sealing the door he followed them up the stairs. Removing the locks he opened the door, allowing escape. “Good luck storming the castle. I hope you’re able to accomplish what you came for, but a word of caution. Regardless of what happens there must always be a nightking.”
Chapter XVIII
Lost Time
The forest was dark and gloomy. Yet it held an odd comfort. It wasn't so much the outstretched limbs overhead blocking out the little light made it through. Nor was it the constant roll of clouds, or the continual downfall of snow. It was an eerie presence, lingering in the shadows, like he was being watched. Of course he knew he was, but that wasn't the point. There was something else, something ancient and powerful. It felt tranquil, yet deadly at the same time. Putting the feeling to the back of his mind, Demetrix followed his escorts through a wall of thorns. They passed through as if they weren't really there. Chancing fate, he followed after, surprised by the illusion. The most serene and beautiful city he'd ever seen rested on the other side, awaiting exploration.
It was elevated off the forest floor by hundreds of thick, stilt looking beams carved from the still living trees at their base. Luscious, green ivy stretched across the white marble-looking wood, climbing its way to the elegant rails. The suspended platforms stretched out in four teardrop shaped balconies. A white series of towers shot to the heavens in the center, arched and contoured perfectly between one another. If a fortress city could be described as perfect, this one qualified.
Lost in the sight Demetrix realized he had stopped. It was short lived. One of his captors shoved him into action, forcing him onward. He obeyed, continuing toward the magnificent structure. They led him under one of the towering rises and approached the thickest of pillars. It was as if the low light was playing tricks on him. Out of nowhere a spiraling ramp appeared, wrapping its way up and disappearing into the underside of the ceiling.
Reaching the top, elegance grew. Not only was it a sight to behold from afar, but close it rivaled no other. This city glowed bright in a land of dark. Every beam, pillar, and wall was the color of pearl, unmarred by a single smudge of out of place dirt. Platforms lined the manicured gardens, forming walkways between the smoothed buildings he hadn't seen from the ground. Every so often pearl vines grew from the emerald green grass, intertwining around one another and separating at the top, forming an odd cage of sorts. A glowing blue orb floated freely inside each one, illuminating the landscape in all directions. Lost in the sheer magnificence of it all Demetrix hadn't noticed the group of alfar approach him.
“Captain Taroul, what have we here?”
Demetrix turned, hearing a voice made of honey. As beautiful as the city was, it didn't hold a candle to her radiance. A thin white dress covered her slender frame, revealing much of her shoulders and back. The long, pointed ears shot through her straightened brown hair. She carried no weapon yet her muscle tone suggested she was familiar with a blade. He felt his heart race beneath his chest, finding it hard to be in her presence.
“My Lady Elalon, we found this one in the Fields of Shanar. We ambushed an orc caravan headed for Idenfal. He killed two of our men from Kenoar Pass.”
“Kenoar Pass?”
“Yes, My Lady.”
She arched an eyebrow, looking the prisoner over. “Let me see his bow.”
One of the alfar stepped forward, handing her the wooden instrument. The limbs were cover in a runed, brown leather and held in place by tightly wrapped forest-green sinew. The braided string matched the sinew, strung on one end.
She took the weapon, examining its construction. Quickly stringing it she drew, inspecting the flexed wood. Letting the tension fade, she unstrung it and returned it to the alfar. “That's a nice weapon. Did you make it yourself?”
Demetrix didn't know what to say. Lost in her beauty, he found the first words that popped into his head. “Uh— yes?”
Elalon smiled at his discomfort. “Release him.” Directing her words to the archer, she continued. “Walk with me. And know, any hostility shown toward any of my people will be met with swift and unforgiving justice.” She turned and strode away.
Demetrix hesitated uncertain why she would trust a perfect stranger, not that she didn't have enough security in the event of an attack. He followed after her.
Seeing he was at her side, Elalon led him through the center archway and into the main keep. “You're quite the shot. Kenoar Pass to the Fields of Shanar is a one in a million shot and you did it twice. I could use an archer like you, but I'm troubled. You don't seem like an agent of shadow. Why did you kill two of my men? Surely you understand the danger the orcs pose, yet you interfered in a successful ambush resulting in a greater number of casualties.”
Finding his ability to speak, Demetrix chose his words carefully. “I regret having to kill those men. I didn't want to. They were attacking the wrong target.”
“Wrong target? There were humans? Elves? The orcs don't typically take prisoners to Idenfal.”
“I'm afraid you misunderstand. One of my companions was captured and loaded onto the caravan. I'd been tracking them for quite some time when your men attacked. I had no problem with that. When they went after my friend, I had to step in.”
“I understand protecting your friend. I'm sorry my men got in the way of that, but I feel like you aren't telling me something. Unless your friend was an orc he shouldn't have had anything to fear of my men.”
Demetrix paused, uncertain if he should tell her or not.
Elalon stopped, turning to wait for him.
“Krenin is half-orc, though not of this land. He's not like the orcs here.”
“I find that somewhat hard to believe. I've never met an orc that didn't raid, rape, and pillage for the pleasure of it. Much less one that was capable of having friends.”
“Have you ever seen a green orc?”
“No!”
“You've never met an orc like Krenin then.”
“Well, even if your friend is different I fear he won't be for long. Once he reaches Idenfal he'll be trained to forget everything he's ever known. If he survives that, they'll rebuild him to be like them. It's a safe assumption that your friend is gone.”
Demetrix took a deep breath. There was logic in her words. Resuming his pace he too
k position beside her once again, walking wherever she was leading him. “I fear he won’t make it that far. He was wounded when I was captured. He’s probably dead by now. Even so I owe it to him to make sure. And if by some miracle he lives, I have to try to rescue him.”
“I can't fault that. It's that very attitude that spawned the rebellion and makes us different than them.” She passed through the inner courtyard and into the center most building. It shot into the sky, seeming to reach the clouds.
Demetrix found it strange. The size of this place should have made it visible for days in any direction, yet he couldn't recall seeing it prior to being here. “How are you able to keep this place from being overrun?”
“We have the area cloaked. From the outside it reflects back, making it seem as if it's not here. It's taken hundreds of years, but the orcs won't come into the forest. Our survival is dependent upon discrepancy. We never attack from the same place more than once and we never lead our enemy to our gates.” Following the twisting corridors, she stopped outside a single door.
Demetrix stood upon the red carpet lining the hall. The walls were mostly bare, save for the groomed ivy and other plants hanging here and there. He stared at her, uncertain why she stopped here of all places.
“You're welcome to reside in this room while you're here. If you need anything you can find a guard at either end of the hall, or you can find me to the right and at the end. I'll have all your gear returned to you. Please take a moment to clean up. I'd appreciate if you'd join me for dinner.”
He hadn't expected any of that. Blushing, he thought as quickly as his mind would let him. “It would be my pleasure.” Giving a shallow bow, Demetrix mimicked Ravion curtsy.
Gareth twisted the arrow, probing deeper into the wound. “Don't play games with me. You know who I'm talking about!”
Wiping the blood from his longsword Ravion sheathed it and picked up the heavy bow. He approached and knelt beside Gareth, staring at the defeated and bloodied orc. “Getting anything yet?”
“He was just about to tell me where they took him.” Twisting the shaft a little harder Gareth forced the head into meat, watching it tear the hole wider. He pressed his knee into the muscle of the orc’s arm, constricting the veins and keeping it numb and unable to function. Straining to focus he forced his will into the brute’s mind. He could feel the defying thoughts, urging him to dig deeper. The answers were there, he just had to find them. Images of battle and blood filled his mind. He could see this orc's desire. It was almost as if he was a slave to his own bloodlust.
The orc howled in pain, feeling the iron head wedge itself between his ribs. “I don't know! Why don't you ask someone else?”
Ravion glanced at the fleeing humans. Most of them wanted nothing to do with this. The few that watched kept their distance for fear of retribution. “This isn't getting us anywhere. We need to get moving. I’m sure another group is on its way by now.”
“Almost.” Returning his attention to the orc Gareth continued. “I know you're dumb, but you're really going to tell me you don't remember seeing a smaller, green orc within the past few days. I mean, come on, the way I understand it he's the only green orc this land has.”
The orc was silent for a few moments, clearly searching his memory. “I saw green orc months ago. He taken to Idenfal. Trained as orc.”
“Impossible, he was taken from the tavern just yesterday.” Gareth felt the orc’s mind unlock, revealing all his secrets. The orc's telling rang true. How is that possible?
“Kill me if want. Changes nothing.”
“We’ve learned all we’re going to from this one.” Gareth brought his dagger down, cutting into the orc’s meaty throat. It gargled in protest, drowning in its own blood. “Tell me, how could we lose a few months in a single night?”
“You don't believe him, do you?”
“I was able to see into his mind. He wasn't lying.”
“Interesting. The only thing we've done was go to the library. I've heard stories of certain places that remain outside of time. I suppose that would make sense as to how they keep the magic from being detected.”
“I guess. If it's been a few months where do you think Demetrix or Krenin are?
“It's hard to say. Though it seems our answers await in Idenfal. The sooner we get there the sooner we find out what the hell is going on.” Ravion tossed the orcish crossbow over shoulder. The crude weapon was unwieldy, but it was good to have distance if they needed. “The tunnels are this way.”
Ducking into the alley, they disappeared from sight.
A cool cloth rested against his forehead, absorbing the beading sweat pouring from him. Lying on a wooden table his eyes shot open, taking in the sight of the hide covered hut. Krenin watched the heat waves rise to the open top, melting the bits of snow that dared float into the hole. The room was warm, he knew that much. Yet he remained cold. Trying to sit, a shooting pain erupted in his chest.
“Rest. You not ready yet.”
Krenin turned his head to find a gray-skinned orc standing a few feet from him. He held a stone bowl in his hand, working a wooden pestle inside. The contents crunched, echoing a coarse grinding sound. Straining against the pain, Krenin inspected his chest seeing where the spear had pierced. The wound was swollen and black, packed by a faint green, near white paste. Thick yellow fluid bubbled around the edges. “What happen?”
“You run through. Lucky from the look. Nothing important got hit, but the poison took toll. You got infected.” The orc approached and wiped away the bubbling fluid.
“How’d I get here?”
“Warg riders brought you. Only three survive. The shadow lookin' out for you. Warchief say you important. Don't want you to die without honor.”
“Warchief?”
“You meet in time. Rest now. You take care of pups tomorrow. Go to train when healed.”
Laying back Krenin watched the heat roll from the opening, feeling his strength fade away. Closing his eyes he drifted off to sleep.
The following day Krenin sat up, feeling the wound pull. It was numb, but didn't hurt any less. The deep purple skin had faded, returning to a bruised green. Pulling the wool shirt over his body he hooked the wooden buttons running the chest, pulling it together. It was a few sizes too big, but it was better than nothing. Stepping out the leather flap Krenin felt the cold assault him. It burned his lungs and froze his nose hair. The light bits of moisture clinging around his mouth instantly froze. The sounds of combat echoed all around. Searching all directions, Krenin found himself in the middle of the largest orc settlement he'd ever seen. Even the capital of Tulgrimm was nothing compared to this, though it was more pleasant to look upon.
In the distance there was a huge stone castle surrounded by a wall. A large mountain range wrapped around engulfing much of the stonework. The orc buildings were crude in comparison, but equally magnificent. The majority of the space was taken by a series of pits. Most of them filled by orcs locked in melee. Each one wore little more than rags, though their supervisors were dressed in full armor.
A wolf's howl caught his attention. Recalling his duties, Krenin noticed what looked to be a rather large stable, though it didn't have the typical corral he'd grown accustomed to seeing in such places.
The churned snow beneath his feet was packed tight, refusing to make a sound. Pressing a heavy soled boot into it Krenin took his first steps, nearly stumbling. Catching himself he took another, finding his rhythm. Rounding the corner, the most fantastic sight came into vision. The largest dogs he'd ever seen ran from one end of the pen to the other. They were nearly twice his size and covered in a variety of patterns.
“You there, greeny!”
Krenin turned finding on orc standing beside one of the massive beasts. He ran a thick bristled brush through the warg's fur, removing clumps of hair.
“Get over here and do this.” He laid the brush on the table and moved, letting the half-breed move where he'd been.
Krenin picked up t
he brush and pulled it through the coarse hair. He was amazed at how thick the fur was.
“When you done, there's more.”
For several days Krenin collected mats of fur, stuffing it into heavy sacks. He'd wondered what they did with it, but his questions were soon answered.
Krenin heaved the final sack onto a wooden cart, watching the wooden wheels carry it away. Following his supervisor as quick as his body would allow, they traveled to the edge of the orc city.
“Unload the sacks and dump the fur into that barrel.” The grizzled orc abandoned the cart and wandered off toward one of the other huts.
It didn’t take long to finish his task. Awaiting the warg master, Krenin watched one of the orcs pull several handfuls of fur from one of the other barrels. He dropped it into a metal container and poured molten wax over the top, tapping on the side every so often. Capping it with a plate, he pulled a lever. The metal container tilted on edge, moving away from the flame. It flipped on end and fell into the snow with a hiss. The orc grabbed another container and positioned it where the first had been. Breaking the seal he removed the plate and reached in, pulling a blanket like sheet from inside. Laying it over a mold he pressed it into shape and tossed the finished piece onto a piled cart.
Krenin saw everything from clothing to training dummies piled high. It seemed they used the fur for nearly everything. Inspecting his own clothing, he noticed the pressed fibers intertwined.
“Come on, greeny. We have cleaning to do.”
Krenin glanced back noticing the warg master had returned. The scent of strong alcohol radiated from him. Moving as quickly as he could, he grabbed the handles of the cart and guided it. Following his supervisor, they returned to the pit.
“Clean pens of shit, but stay away Uma. She due for pups and you don't mess with ‘em.”