Young Writers Society

There was a dull throbbing coming from the back of Devlin’s head, and his eyelids fought to stay shut against his best efforts. Slowly they opened, blinking at the bright light coming from a torch nearby. There were people talking, although at first the voices floated by as nothing more than garbled noise. Devlin groaned as he tried to lift his head. It exploded into shooting pain, like white-hot needles coursing through his veins. His head dropped forward against his chest, each minute movement sending a fresh wave of nausea over him.

Devlin attempted to put his hands in his head, only to find them bound in front of him by a strand of course rope that dug at his wrists. He took in a deep breathe, focusing on the voices rather than his pain, although it fought to reach the forefront of his brain.

“They’re all dead!” the voice was frantic, breaking in pitch. “It came out of nowhere. We never stood a chance!” There was anguish in the voice, and perhaps a slight sob at the end?

A low voice replied in a smooth, firm tone. “Slow down Jacoby. The townspeople? What of them?”

“We lost them in the tunnels. They could be anywhere. But no man will go back in there. We’ve lost too many today.”

There was the hiss of steel, the sound of a blade leaving its scabbard. The low voice spoke again, this time with a hint of excitement. “And if I lead? Will you follow me then?”

There was no response for a moment. Then a stutter. “You know we will follow you to victory, but-” the voice trailed off.

“But what? Do you not trust the power we’ve been granted by Vera and the prophet.” There was fervor to his voice that oozed of confidence. “We have the very power of the Bull. It is within our grasp to do the unthinkable!” his voice swelled now.

It’s a young voice. My age.

Devlin felt the crick in his neck creeping up from his shoulder, and he rolled his head to the other side. Pain trailed about his head like sparks in the wind. he grunted, louder than intended. There was a pause in the conversation, and the slight crunch of gravel as someone turned.

“What of him?” That must be Jacoby. “Should we kill him? Eridan, you know we will follow you, but this is not our mission. Those people will die in that cave. No one could escape that beast. We should press on.”

“And what if just one were to escape? We cannot afford a breach, not this close to fulfilling our destiny.”

Destiny? Who is this man?

The young, low voice continued, and Devlin did his best to focus on catching every word.

“What if we were to lure them out?”

“Lure them?”

“With him.”

Devlin froze, his heart missing a beat.

He kept going. “Offer them his life in exchange for safety.”

“And do what? Slavery is a small incentive to live.”

“But it is an incentive. And we must make sure that they are all accounted for, one way or another.”

“He’s a stranger. Do you think they will care about his life so much as to give up their own?”

“There’s one way to find out.”

Devlin felt a trickle of panic in his chest.

The two voices lowered to a pitch inaudible to Devlin. He flashed his eyes open. That hurt. After taking a few seconds to let his eyes adjust he could make out two pairs of boots in front of him. He brought his head back in one swift motion. If it was going to cause pain it might as well be all at once. The drumming in his skull shot from front to back then took a lap, and he nearly passed out, his vision going white for several seconds. He took a sharp breath between gritted teeth, holding back the grunt that lodged itself in his throat.

He could see them now. Both were Sadorians, but whereas one was much older, bearded and covered in animal skins with a long, bloodied, sword across his back, the other was the black knight. His visor was pushed up to reveal a face that could not be more than twenty-five years old. It was pale, with a sharp chin and hawk-like nose, as if it had been broken at some point. A scar ran down from the middle of the right cheek to the bottom of the chin, a thin white line. Eridan is what Jacoby had called him.

Devlin stretched his jaw for a moment, his face chilled to the point where he felt as if a hammer against it might shatter it into tiny pieces. He loosened his tongue which was caught against the roof of his mouth. He realized now just how dry his mouth and throat here.

“You!” he shouted to the huddled duo.

They spun as one, and it was Eridan who responded first. 

“Yes?” It was a calm reply, almost as if they were having a friendly conversation despite the circumstance. Devlin hesitated for a moment. In truth, he wasn’t sure why he had spoken. He was in no position to bargain. He set his jaw squarely.

“You’ll never find them in there,” Devlin said it with as much confidence as he could muster. Talking made his head hurt more, as did the echoes in the cave. “They know these mountains like you wouldn’t believe. They’ll get out and warn king Ormen. Your plan, whatever it is, will fail.”

Eridan cocked his head to one side. “Just how do you know any of that? You’re a private in the Sadorian army. Look at your hands. Those aren’t the hands of a mountain man. You grew up in the plains no doubt.”

Devlin blinked twice. “I-I- you know nothing about me.”

Eridan laughed. It was a light-hearted laugh, one not befitting a cave with bodies strewn about. “I know much more than you think. But that doesn’t matter.” His voice turned cold, grating. “These people have deserved the wrath of Sadoria for nearly a decade, and now they will receive it. There will be no mercy. There will be no contest. Astoria will fall and Sadoria will build on its filthy ashes until no one even remembers the name Astoria.”

Devlin felt the anger well up in his chest now. “Astoria will never fall to maniacs and mountainmen!”

Eridan took a step forward, hand jabbing out. “But I am no maniac or mountain man.” He held up his blade, running his hand up the blade.

It was a beautiful piece of work, darkened metal with a black leather hilt, a white stone as the pommel, with white stones encrusting the hilt, and white specks on the blade as if someone had sprinkled them on.

“I have the power of a god on my side, and not even Astoria can withstand that!”

Devlin began to reply, but Eridan cut him off with the wave of his hand. “Enough talk!” he bellowed. “Into the cave. Jacoby, keep him company while I round up our men.”

Jacoby hauled Devlin on his feet and shoved him forward. Devlin nearly sank as the throbbing pulsed through his head, but Jacoby didn’t seem to care. He dragged him along. As they neared the hole in the back of the cave where the townspeople had escaped Jacoby drew a dagger from his belt and sliced the bonds from Devlin’s hands. He clutched his wrist, rubbing them in an attempt to get the blood flowing again.

Jacoby stopped by the two dead townspeople and nodded towards the sword still protruding from the old man’s back. “Pick it up.”

Devlin looked back at him, unsure that he had heard him correctly.

Jacoby huffed. “You deaf? Pick it up.”

Devlin clutched the handle slowly. Was it a trick? An excuse to kill him? He pulled the sword from the body with a sickening crunch that twisted something in his stomach. He put a hand to his mouth, holding back the vomit that threatened his throat. 

Jacoby put the blade to his neck. “One false move and you die.”

Jacoby grabbed the torch that had been secured between two rocks on the ground and nudged Devlin in the back, the point of the blade breaking the skin. Devlin barely noticed. He felt the cold handle in his hands. Could he spin before the dagger dug into his back?

It’s worth a shot, he thought, completely unsure as to what the Sadorians were planning to do with him. He closed his eyes for a moment as they entered the new passageway. One deep breath and then he prepared to spin.

A clank of armor behind both of them caused him to hesitate. Eridan stumbled in behind them, cursing about the fact that it was the second time his armor had struck a cave wall that night.

“It hurts more than you think,” he said with a wry smile to Jacoby. 

Devlin turned to face them.

Eridan glared at him. “You’re going to die tonight,” he said matter-of-factly as a dozen Sadorians entered the passageway behind him, two of them with torches in arms to light up the dingy brown walls. It felt like quite the tomb.

Eridan pointed past Devlin. “There’s a dragon in there. It killed four of my men. You’re going to fight it.”

Devlin looked at Jacoby. He grinned.

Eridan smiled a tight smile. He was happy, but there was a worry line across his forehead.

“You fight that dragon or you die.”

Devlin nodded and instantly regretted it. He put his weaponless hand to his temple, rubbing it in an attempt to relieve the pain. “I get it. I’m bait. I fight, you run past me and slaughter those innocent civilians.”

Eridan tapped his nose. “Smart one, you are.” He shrugged. “Who knows, maybe you’ll survive? It will be too late at that point. You barely caught up to us the first time. You won’t do it a second time.”

“And if I refuse?” Devlin wracked his brain. Was there a way he could turn this debate?

Eridan shrugged. “You die here and now, and leave those townspeople at our mercy. It’s possible that we don’t get past the dragon, but are you willing to sacrifice your life for the possibility that we may die?”

Devlin felt the lump in his throat rise.

Eridan grinned, this time without the worry line. “I didn’t think so. After all, you have bigger plans, don’t you?”

And Devlin had no response.