Sabledrake Magazine
November, 2003
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The Ways of Magic, Pt. IV - VIII
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Dyeryan’s Story
Copyright 2003 © Jason Bolton
Sweat trickled down his face and body as he forced himself to concentrate. He knew that if any mistake was made, he could be wounded or even slain.
Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he tightened his grip on the sword he held that was braced against his opponent's sword. His opponent today was a com-bot that had the reflexes and the strength to soundly defeat almost any elf on Lorien.
Dyeryan Kyergyn, however, wasn't just any elf. He was a gray elfin warrior who surpassed all the tests of combat skill his instructors put him through and even set some records that few doubted would ever be bettered.
Dyeryan had been engaged in the final test, a death dual with a com-bot, for three hours now and had numerous cuts and bruises to show for his life and death struggle. Usually, the com-bots were set to hold back so to give their opponents half a chance, but not today. Today it was out to kill him with everything it had and it took everything he had to prevent it.
His long white hair, unusual for a gray elf, was tightly braided and hanging down his back clinging to the glistening skin. His eyelids were half-closed in exertion over his ice blue eyes as he stared into the cybernetic eyes of the com-bot.
Without flinching at the pain in his muscles, Dyeryan pushed his sword outward. The com-bot, however was programmed with every sword tactic including using its opponent's strength in its favor. It pulled its sword away and began twisting around to attack from the gray elf's defenseless side.
Dyeryan, however, anticipated this and ducked while swinging his own sword at the robot's legs. When the com-bot came around, it found its target had moved. It quickly analyzed the situation and came to the conclusion that the elf's sword would strike first if it continued its attack.
So instead, it stepped forward with blinding speed so Dyeryan's extended arms would strike its legs not his sword. But it did not stop there. It also gave him a swift kick that sent him tumbling back off balance.
Dyeryan silently cursed himself for not anticipating that as he tucked and rolled away. Coming up in a crouch he eyed his opponent warily as he tried to come up with something new to try.
The com-bot had other ideas than letting him sit there. It ran a few steps, and then leapt into the air. Dyeryan rolled out of the way and came to a defensive stance as the com-bot landed and swung its sword. A loud clang echoed as the blow was parried easily and Dyeryan returned a quick swing of his own which was stopped cold by the com-bot's sword.
Before the sound of clashing metal faded, Dyeryan made a short slash, which cut into its left shoulder slicing through myomer bundles and wiring. Dyeryan blocked what seemed to be a panicked thrust and imbedded his sword into the thin steel covering its right hip causing all kinds of shorts in the com-bot's right leg.
As it collapsed onto its right knee it brought its sword around defensively but it was too late. Dyeryan thrust his sword into the com-bot's abdomen tearing through its power inducer crippling its entire body. Dyeryan stepped back as the com-bot shuddered and crumpled lifelessly to the ground.
A loud gong echoed through the indoor arena and Dyeryan turned to his right and faced the masters who had overseen his past eighty seasons of training. Next to them sat his sires that were there to congratulate him if he won or bury him if he lost. He didn't look at them to see the expression on their faces instead he stared proudly up at the masters who had been his sires since he arrived at the academy at forty seasons of age.
"You have completed your training," the Grand Master's voice boomed. "You have excelled far beyond the accomplishments of any warrior who has ever been trained here. You must decide whether to remain on Lorien and serve our baron or find your fortune elsewhere in the Realms. By law, you have seven evening feasts to decide. If you have not, you will be placed in the service of our baron for twenty seasons. If you decide to find your fortune elsewhere in the Realms, you can only return for up to one season every forty seasons to visit your family or your instructors. Whatever your choice may be, go with honor."
Dyeryan bowed and walked over to his parents who were standing now eyeing him with pride. His siress was dressed in a silk, violet gown ornamented with silver and gold befitting her position as the lady of the wealthy merchant his sire was. His sire wore a plain gray cloak that had a platinum clasp that matched the buckle hidden beneath its folds used to hold his britches up. The cloak also hid the small potbelly that he had grown eating the foods of the rich.
"That was splendid Dyeryan!" his siress exclaimed.
"Yes," his sire agreed. "Quite an exhaustive show of endurance and skill, my heir. You must be too tired to speak."
Dyeryan agreed that he should be ready to collapse, but besides being mildly out of breath and covered in sweat, he felt quite restless. He dismissed it as excess adrenaline and embraced his siress. "I could use some of your home cooking." He pulled away from her and took his sire's hand. "And a mug of that ale you used to hide in your desk."
This brought a wry smile from his siress and a blush from his sire that told him he had just unknowingly gotten his sire in a little trouble. He knew his siress well enough to guess on the punishment she would give him, too, a nibble on the tip of his pointed ear until he promised not to drink anymore behind her back. Because Dyeryan had never had much experience with maidens, he didn't know how his siress could make his sire squirm by that seemingly harmless act. Perhaps, someday, he would find out.
At their home on the outskirts of the great city of Moria, Dyeryan sat in a plush leather chair comfortably nursing a mug of ale after eating a hearty meal his siress had prepared just like she'd remembered. Now she was sitting across from him at his sire's side staring at him with obvious fear and shame in her eyes. It made Dyeryan uncomfortable because he had never seen her like this, not even when he had been sent away for training.
"Why do you look at me as if I am to leave at evening break?" he asked curiously.
"Before you make a decision on your life, there is something, there is something I must tell you that will answer many questions about yourself as well as open many new ones," his siress explained, her eyes falling to her hands resting nervously in her lap.
Dyeryan looked to his sire but saw only uncertainty and distress in the usually composed merchant. His own heart began to pound in fright making him unsure he wanted to hear what was about to come.
"Your siress and I thought it would be wise to wait until this moment to explain what we could not before." As his sire spoke, Dyeryan could hear his torment.
It was his siress who spoke next. "When I was a young maiden living with my own sires, a stranger snuck into my bedchamber, which I shared with my brother, late one night. I awoke to the sound of my brother gasping for breath. When I looked, I saw a shadow of a lord crouched over him with my brother's wrist in his mouth. I was about to scream when the lord looked up with the most beautiful azure eyes and using some kind of spell to render me helpless, he took my maidenhood.
"He told me his name was Xsanth, a vampire, and he had given me a child that I must protect from all those who would wish it harm. Then, he was gone like the wind. At evening break, his spell gave way and I screamed until my sires burst into the chamber. My brother was dead and I carried the shame of allowing my maidenhood to be tainted and violated."
"But how could you have stopped such a powerful demon?" Dyeryan interrupted, trying to defend his siress' actions.
"Yes," she agreed. "I know that now, but I was naive then. When my sire questioned me, I cried as I explained what had happened. He immediately sent messages to Gedaliahu to call off our betrothal, which was arranged at my birth, but my beloved refused to be dismissed without an explanation from me. When he arrived, I told him what had happened and he took me in his arms. He said he loved me and no one could do any amount of injustices to me to change that. So we were betrothed despite my sire and shortly after, I bore an heir... you Dyeryan."
The reality of her words struck him hard, more because he knew in his heart she was telling the truth. It explained why he could not bear sunlight for very long and was more dexterous than most elves his age and size. He had recently discovered he could put ideas into another's head as well as pluck thoughts out of them.
He was a vampire.
Well, at least half a vampire. Didn't vampires need blood to survive and have fangs?
Perhaps half vampires didn't. Why wasn't he evil as he was sure all vampires were? Was he immortal then and if not would he still live to around eight thousand seasons like any other gray elf or had it changed?
What would become of him? So much to comprehend!
Wanting to be alone with his thoughts, he bid his sires goodnight and headed out into the streets of Moria.
It was a little after lamplight and the avenues were congested. Dyeryan, who was lost in thought, tuned out the sights and sounds of the city’s nightlife.
He fought to control the rage he felt towards the vampire Xsanth who had violated his siress in an unspeakable way and made him the demon spawn he knew himself to be. His anger was soon over shadowed by the fear he felt in the back of his mind at the questions he could not answer. Would he be able to control himself if he felt the urge to drink the nectar of life or would his vampiric nature surface and compel him to become a beast?
"My pardon, milord," a voice said pulling Dyeryan from his thoughts.
He looked around and found that he had wandered into an alley somewhere on the border of the serf housing district and the merchant’s district where malfeasance was more popular than ale.
Before him stood a towering half-Orc who was almost a full sword length taller than Dyeryan. The pig nosed half-Orc gave him a crook toothed grin while patting the underside of a huge club with his empty gnarled hand.
Reaching to where his sword should have been, Dyeryan cursed himself for leaving it at his sire's home. That left him with his silver dagger that was strapped to his left forearm but it would be of little use to him against a club.
"Would you care to make an offering to our favorite charity?" A pair of snickers erupted from behind Dyeryan at the half-Orc's words.
Dyeryan's senses told him that one was a terran while the other was a halfling.
Three, huh?
But then he caught sight of another figure down the alley hidden in the shadows behind the half-Orc. A terran, so that made four.
Well, he thought, it could be worse.
"Please accept my humblest regrets, milord," Dyeryan replied. "But I have no coins to offer, not even a single copper piece, to your honorable charity."
The half-Orc scowled. "Then we will accept your fine cloak with its platinum clasp."
"I am afraid that too I am unable to donate," he returned with a bow. "For it was a gift from my siress who made it herself." It was a lie but Dyeryan was not about to tell these thieves that it was his graduating cloak that the academy had given him.
"Take it Korg," the terran behind Dyeryan suggested.
As the half-Orc stepped forward, Dyeryan put his hand up bringing Korg up short and said, "I do not want to hurt you, milord, and I must refrain from letting you have my cloak. Now step aside and I will be on my way."
The terran took two steps forward and grabbed Dyeryan by the arms. "Get him Korg!" the terran ordered.
The half-Orc brought his club around to strike Dyeryan in the head but Dyeryan was too quick.
Dropping to his knees and rolling away from his attackers, Dyeryan heard the club slam into the terran's head with a gut-wrenching smack. When he returned to his feet, Dyeryan found himself face to face with a very angry half-Orc. The halfling was now to his left while the second terran came running down the alley towards them.
With his dagger in hand, Dyeryan wondered how much good the small blade would be against the half-Orc’s jumped clear of the swing to his left while throwing the dagger underhanded at the halfling who was now holding a short sword. The halfling, showing great skill, parried the dagger away with his sword effortlessly.
"You just do not know when to give up, elf," the halfling commented wryly. "Now, give me your cloak."
Dyeryan nodded and released the clasp of his cloak letting it fall from his shoulders to gather in his hands. Then with blinding speed he threw the cloak over the halfling, plucked the sword from his hand and slashed the half-Orc’s knee with it.
When the half-Orc fell to the alley floor crying out in pain, it gave Dyeryan a direct line of sight to the terran standing behind him holding a projectile thrower that were illegal in all Realm cities.
There was a bright flash and a resounding bang as it fired followed by an invisible kick to Dyeryan's shoulder. Ignoring the sudden pain, Dyeryan leapt forward with his sword swung over his head and he brought it down with such force that the blade cut through the terran's head, neck, shoulders, and chest and stopped just above his pelvis. The severed body splashed blood in all directions covering Dyeryan head to toe in the crimson liquid.
Panting with his mouth open, Dyeryan unconsciously licked his lips that had been washed with blood.
Dyeryan's head began to swim as the alley slightly brightened and his upper teeth began to ache. With his bloody fingers, he felt along the edges of his upper teeth until he came to his canines, which had become pointier and slightly longer.
A sudden euphoria swept through his body. The alley became as bright as day and the pain in his shoulder that had been struck with the metal ball of the projectile thrower, began to fade. Realizing he was licking the blood off his hand, he jerked it out of his mouth and turned to regard the scene around him.
The halfling, along with his cloak, were nowhere to be seen. The first terran that had been struck with the half-Orc’s club lay still on the floor of the alley, his neck at an unnatural angle and his head partially caved in. The half-Orc was writhing in agony close by, blood seeping through his hands that held his wounded knee, lying in the spreading pool of blood from the second terran.
As Dyeryan regarded the alley around him, he reached up to feel his wounded shoulder but he found only a small lump where his flesh had closed itself over the projectile thrower's metal ball.
With the sounds of the city guards nearing the alley, Dyeryan retrieved his dagger and leapt at the closest wall, which he reflexively clung to. Looking down, he found that he was a sword length above the alley floor effortlessly hanging from the side of a stone wall.
Before he had time to ponder this extraordinary feat, a pair of guards entered the end of the alley and began shining lanterns into it.
Knowing he didn't want to have to explain the strange scene below to the constable, Dyeryan swiftly scaled below to the constable, Dyeryan swiftly scaled the wall and disappeared into the night.
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