The Fall of Neverdark

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  The Vi’tari blade sliced through the air, chopping down the orcs’ swords and then quickly reversing to impale another. The half-elf never stopped, weaving between attack and defence as she switched through the forms of the Mag’dereth.

  With a mighty roar, one of the orcs swung his blade in the hope of cutting her in half, but the magic of the Vi’tari blade had Inara drop down and spin on one knee. The edge of the creature’s sword sliced through a few strands of her dark hair as she slid beneath. There was no time for the orc to follow through with a second attack after Inara jumped back up, twisted her wrist, and brought her scimitar around to cleave the beast’s head from its body.

  This only served to enrage the others, who came at her with spears and swords. For most swordsmen, it would have spelled certain doom, but for a Dragorn, blessed with the magic of their dragon companions, it was nothing beyond Inara’s skill. With her sword hand, she deflected one incoming blade while pushing out her open palm with the other hand. The magic that burst forth from her hand fractured the air as well as multiple ribcages, sending three of the creatures into the broken rubble in the corner of the bathhouse.

  The nearest orc showed no sign of fear or regret in attacking her, despite the fact that many of his comrades had started piling up around them.

  The Dragorn decided to press her own attack. Her scimitar whistled through the air, batting the orc’s sword aside, before crossing the air left then right, each swipe cutting through the orc’s armour and opening up its flesh.

  First it dropped the sword, then it dropped to its knees, absent of any expression, and, finally, it fell face down onto the cold floor, dead. Gideon caught the corner of her eye as he dashed to the left and whipped Mournblade around with him, almost dividing his last orc in half.

  Inara looked at her Vi’tari blade, thankful to have such a weapon at her disposal. Had they been wielding ordinary swords in this gloom, she had no doubt it would have been they who lay slain on the floor.

  Both Dragorn stood panting, their blades dripping with blood. It was hard to say how many they had killed, piled as the bodies were.

  Blood trickled down Inara’s hand, its source a cut on her forearm. It was the first time she had been injured in a battle with her Vi’tari blade in hand. Then again, she had never faced so many in combat before.

  Inara stood up straight with Gideon, their eyes fixed on the jagged hole in the centre of the empty pool. The light from the orb could barely pierce the abyss within, but they could see enough.

  Dozens, maybe a hundred reflecting eyes looked back at them…

  Low growls and feral snarls filled the bathhouse as the first of the orcs stepped out under the white glow. Some cowered, but only for the second it took them to adapt. Then they walked with confidence until their numbers filled the empty pool. Only then did Inara realise that Gideon and herself had been edging backwards. This was not a fight they could win.

  Get out of there! Athis cried in her head.

  The growing mob of orcs were parted by the appearance of another, taller orc with broad shoulders and a pair of thick but elegant horns atop his head, not unlike Athis’s or Ilargo’s. When he opened his mouth, a foul and jarring language echoed inside the chamber. His words might have been lost on the Dragorn, but Inara was sure she understood kill them in any tongue.

  “Run!” Gideon ordered as the first wave of orcs poured over the lip of the pool towards them.

  Both Dragorn turned and sprinted back the way they had come. The sound of thunderous feet behind them was almost as terrifying as the roars and growls that followed them through the darkened halls. It wasn’t long before arrows darted through the air and sank into every surface around them.

  “Up ahead!” Inara warned as she caught sight of two orcs barring their way, both of whom were aiming bows.

  Gideon held up Mournblade and the Vi’tari scimitar reacted to the flying bolts, cutting the arrows from the air before they could cause harm.

  Inara followed her master’s defence with a destructive spell that swept the orcs off their feet and sent them flying down the ruined hall. Before they had even finished skidding across the floor, more orcs were rounding the corner and cutting off their escape.

  With orcs in front and orcs behind, the Dragorn were forced to run deeper into the abandoned palace. Using her elven strength, Inara shoulder-barged her way through a set of closed double doors, knocking them both from their hinges.

  Gideon’s arm flew out and caught her before she could continue running into a hole in the floor. The sudden stop allowed the orcs to catch up and let fly a salvo of arrows, all of which were halted mid-air by the Master Dragorn.

  “Watch out!” Inara dashed over the hole in the floor and put herself between Gideon and the two orcs who emerged from the shadows of another room.

  Her Vi’tari blade held back the first swing and her fist lashed out, catching the orc on the bony ridge above its eyes. The creature stumbled back, but Inara learnt very quickly that punching bone was not appreciated by her knuckles.

  The second orc tried to take advantage of her exposed back, only to find a magically-crafted scimitar deflecting it away. Gideon simply held up his hand to the orc’s face and cast a fire spell. Inara didn’t even hear the creature scream before it was slammed into the wall with most of its face melted off. Not that she had time to take note of Gideon’s kill. The orc she had slugged in the face came at her again with its black blade.

  “We need to go!” Gideon reminded her, making for the next hall as yet more arrows thudded into the walls.

  “I’m coming!” Inara gave into the flow and let her Vi’tari blade do what it did best.

  The half-elf twirled on the spot as the orc thrust forward, bringing herself around its sword and able to swipe across the creature’s neck. It would have been satisfying to see the orc’s head fall to the floor, but over a dozen more rushed into the room, giving flight to Inara’s feet.

  “This way!” Gideon called in the distance.

  Inara ran as fast as she could, wishing more than ever that she had inherited elven speed instead of strength. Athis! Where are you?

  Get to the main doors, he replied. We’re almost there!

  An arrow whistled past her arm, tearing a scrap of the leather away with a piece of her skin. Gideon raised his hand to the ceiling and made a pulling down motion. Inara dropped low and skidded across the floor, narrowly avoiding the planks of wood and debris ripped from the ceiling by her master’s magic. A moment later, the half-elf was on her feet again and looking back at the orcs through a thick shaft of midday sunlight.

  “Keep going!” Gideon ordered. “It won’t delay them for long!”

  Indeed, the orcs were already searching out new passages that would see them reunited as predator and prey. The Dragorn ran through the ruined halls and dilapidated corridors with their blades held out in front of them, making certain their scimitars would catch any foe who jumped out of the shadows.

  “Through there!” Gideon directed.

  Inara took a breath as she slid between the crack in the jagged walls. Once on the other side, she kept watch while Gideon made his way through behind her. She could hear them coming, howling and hooting in anticipation of capturing their prey. The outside world, however, was in sight now. They were both running through the central spilt in the palace and making for the main entrance.

  “Don’t stop!” Gideon warned.

  Orcs started appearing on the levels above them, firing arrows into the strip of light. A bulbous roof that topped one of the outer towers cast the end of the strip in shadow, but they were already running through it and into the glorious sunshine as the orcs spilled out of the darkness, filling that single line of shadow.

  The Dragorn were almost doubled over in their attempt to regain their breath. Stood in the middle of the street, and entirely under the cover of the sun, they were safe from any advance. Inara kept her scimitar ready to deflect any stray arrows, but it seemed the orcs were
content to simply stand in the shadows and stare at them.

  The tall orc from the bathhouse strode through their ranks and made his stand on the very edge of the shadowed line. The orc tilted his head, taking in the Dragorn from head to toe. It glanced at the blue sky and squinted at the bold colour.

  “What’s it doing?” Inara asked.

  The orc held out his hand, palm up, and let his pale flesh soak up the sun. Inara half expected to see the limb burn but it didn’t; he instead closed his fist and pulled it back into the shadows.

  A new shadow overcame them all and Ilargo dropped out of the sky with an ear-splitting roar that had all of the orcs retreating into the palace.

  The green dragon slammed into the ground and marched on the entrance. The jet of fire that erupted from his mouth found every crack and crevice, melting anything and everything in seconds. Athis landed farther down the street and shoved his horned head through a hole in the palace wall. More fire and smoke filled the air before the interior walls could be heard collapsing.

  When the dragons had finished their assault, the Dragorn approached the shaded area, waving away the intense heat emanating from within the palace walls. Charred bodies littered the ground but not nearly as many orcs as there had been.

  Inara searched the remains for any sign of the taller orc. “That was not a handful of orcs who were just lucky enough to have found a way up to the surface.”

  “I agree,” Gideon replied gravely. “That hole inside the bathhouse was blown outwards. They forced their way through.”

  To Inara’s eyes, their pale features were very similar, along with their chiselled bodies that resembled stone more than flesh. The most notable difference she could easily spot was on their heads, where they all possessed a variety of horns. Some had a cluster of small horns, while others had only a couple of larger horns, all curved and shaped in their own unique way.

  Inara crouched beside one of the dead orcs. “Have you ever seen armour such as this before?” The half-elf ran her fingers across the black metal, noting its many ridges, most of which appeared natural rather than forged. “It’s like volcanic glass…”

  Gideon joined her and gripped the chest piece between his fingers. “Obsidian armour. There must be a volcano in The Undying Mountains, underground too, I’d imagine. This is not easy to craft. I can’t see a small band of orcs forging this. The arrows too,” he said, gesturing to the bolts strewn across the sand. “Obsidian arrows is closer to dwarven skill than any other.”

  Inara glanced at her master and the dragons. “What’s happening here? Are we seriously looking at the return of the orcs?”

  Ilargo dipped his head and filled Inara’s mind with his majestic voice. Orcs do not simply return. They invade.

  “Ilargo’s right,” Gideon said. “Everything ever written about them suggests they enjoy conflict. There was also something about bones…” The Master Dragorn cupped his beard in contemplation. “I should have paid better attention when I read the books. I just never thought they could have survived The Great War, let alone swell to such numbers and find a way back to Illian.”

  Athis glanced back at the charred bodies. We must learn more before meeting them in combat again.

  Gideon nodded his head and made towards Ilargo. “We should return to The Lifeless Isles and consult the library.”

  Inara stepped forwards. “We should finish investigating The Undying Mountains.” Seeing her master’s frown, the Dragorn pressed on. “Athis and I can go.”

  “Inara…”

  “I’m not a student anymore. Athis and I can handle it. We won’t even land in the valley, we’ll stay high. If there are more of them out there, then there has to be some sign of activity in the mountains. We might even get an idea of how many we face.”

  Gideon looked from Athis to Ilargo, though she knew he wasn’t communing with the red dragon as she would be able to hear him. Inara could also tell that Athis wasn’t too happy about her suggestion, but he was reserving his comments while Gideon came to a decision.

  “Very well. You stay high,” he ordered firmly. “Should you find anything you are not to engage. Observe and report back. Find somewhere high to rest at night.”

  “We will,” Inara replied with an exaggerated nod.

  “I will send Edrik to assist you,” Gideon added.

  “You don’t need to send Edrik, Master.”

  Gideon held up his hand. “The rising winds might not have found The Arid Lands, but the days are still growing shorter. With Edrik, you can cover more ground in less time.”

  Inara sighed. “As you command.”

  “Stay high,” he reiterated. “I mean it, Inara. These aren’t bandits or mindless monsters. We were lured into that palace by creatures who excel at hunting. Just don’t… Just promise me you won’t do anything a Galfrey would do.”

  Inara knew her parents had performed enough reckless, but heroic, acts to make that a compliment. “We’ll observe and report back, Master.”

  That didn’t seem to satisfy Gideon, but he still climbed onto Ilargo’s back. “Be safe. Meet me at the library.”

  In a bid to avoid meeting Athis’s eyes, Inara simply watched Ilargo take off into the sky.

  Don’t think your wordplay escaped me, wingless one. Master Thorn asked you to promise him one thing and you offered another, minus the promise.

  It’s a good thing half of my decisions are made by you, then.

  Inara scrambled onto Athis’s back and took one last look at the ruin of Karath. The shadows of that palace were not a place she would soon return to, nor did she ever wish to fall under the scrutinising gaze of that orc again…

  8

  Rogues and Rangers

  After more days and nights of walking than Vighon Draqaro would have liked, he finally looked upon Lirian, the heart of Illian. Leaving the Selk Road behind, he entered the city beside Alijah, more than happy to return to civilisation.

  Located in the bosom of The Evermoore, Lirian was a city of woodland folk, accustomed to a life of logging and hunting. It was a pleasant existence that Vighon had fallen asleep dreaming about during his early twenties, during his years in Namdhor. He had dreamt of many different lives while living in Namdhor…

  Thankfully, a passer-by, a young man with a sack of goods slung over his shoulder, bumped into him, pulling him from the clutches of his violent memories. Vighon apologised for the collision and quick-stepped to catch up with Alijah, who was making his way down the main street.

  Gleaming at the head of the city was Lirian’s royal palace of pointed roofs and rounded towers, set amidst the mountain that overlooked the people. The thick clouds amassing overhead looked to dump more snow, however, threatening to blanket the city and hide the palace from view.

  Vighon gripped the strap of his shield and followed his friend through the streets, their destination always the same.

  A smile broke out across his face when The Pick-Axe came into view, its lanterns illuminating the wooden porch and thick smoke rising from its chimney.

  Vighon patted Alijah’s back. “Is there a better place in all of Illian for a man to find rest?”

  Half a smile lifted Alijah’s beard. “You’re just thinking of Nelly…”

  Vighon laughed. “How could I not? She’s beautiful, loyal, and loves me more than any other man!”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Alijah replied as he started up the short steps into the tavern.

  Vighon walked in behind him, embracing the warmth and general hubbub of the rowdy tavern. That familiar scent of timber and ale filled his nose, giving him the feeling of being at home.

  Alijah cleared them a way through the drinkers, many of whom were crowding around an old knight of the Graycoats, telling the last tales of his retired order before they died out.

  “Well, there be a couple of rogues if ever I saw ‘em!” came the call from behind the bar, where Russell Maybury, the owner of The Pick-Axe, stood washing tankards. “And in need of a drink too
, I’ll guess!”

  Resting horizontally above the big man’s head was his weapon of choice; a hefty-looking pick-axe. Vighon had tried many times to count the notches scored into the haft, a line for every beastie and monster Russell had put in the ground during his ranger days.

  Being a ranger wasn’t the only interesting part to Russell’s past, though it had taken Vighon a little longer than Alijah to come around to the idea that a werewolf could not only run a tavern, but also refrain from killing them all.

  Russell’s exact age was uncertain but, from the tales he had heard, he guessed the man to be in his late eighties, at least. Of course, to look at him, it was easy to believe he was in his late forties.

  Alijah slumped against the bar. “I’d rather take a bed, Rus.”

  Vighon didn’t miss the cheeky look his friend gave to Rose, the barmaid, or the look she gave him back. Indeed, it seemed impossible for women to resist Alijah’s roguish charm, though Vighon suspected his unusual looks had something to do with it.

  Being half-elf, his facial features were what most would consider pretty, with strong cheekbones and a jaw to match. Vighon couldn’t count on one hand how many times he had seen Alijah use his pointed ears to draw a woman in. Countering his elfish looks, and making him all the more unusual, was his beard, thick but trimmed and never seen on a full-blooded elf. And finally, ensuring that Vighon was always second in any woman’s considerations, were his crystal blue eyes.

  “There’s always a bed at The Axe for a Galfrey!” Russell shot them a wink with one of his yellow eyes, and Alijah looked about, clearly uncomfortable with his famous surname being announced. “And a Draqaro at that!” Russell added.

  Vighon nodded his appreciation when two sharp barks pierced the din of the tavern. “Nelly!” The shaggy dog bounded between the customers and into his open arms.

  “She’s missed you,” Russell commented.