The Fall of Neverdark

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Vighon scratched Nelly’s ears and waited for her to roll over so he could rub her belly. After three years of frequenting The Pick-Axe, he liked to think of Nelly as his own and ignore the fact that she belonged to Russell.

  “Go grab some shut-eye, boys,” Russell suggested, flicking his head in the direction of the door marked private. “The Axe’ll still be here tonight.”

  Alijah glanced at Rose. “And… will the lovely Rose still be here?”

  Russell dropped his tankard on the bar like a hammer, emphasising his response. “Yes. And she’ll still be working then, so no funny business, Mr. Galfrey.”

  Alijah held up his hands, pleading his innocence. “No funny business,” he agreed. “Which room is Hadavad in?”

  Russell’s face screwed up. “Hadavad? I haven’t seen the old mage in over a month.”

  Vighon looked up from stroking Nelly to see Alijah’s concern. They were the ones who were late arriving at The Pick-Axe; Hadavad should have been waiting for them for at least four days.

  “Well, if he should arrive while we’re sleeping send him our way,” Alijah directed.

  “As you wish,” Russell said. “You can take Nelly with you too, if you like.”

  Vighon smiled at that. “Come little one, you can keep me company.”

  The two made for the private door in the corner of the tavern, happy to drop into a couple of fluffy beds and forget about the last two weeks in The Wild Moores. Of all their expeditions, camping in those woods was not Vighon’s idea of a good time.

  Nelly, her whole body wagging, led the way across the tavern. That was when Vighon saw him. Seated in a shadowy alcove, alone, was a hooded man cloaked in blue with his feet up and a pipe in his mouth. Bar his eyes, which were fixed on Vighon, his features were entirely hidden, but there was something about the man that stood out, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  “Are you coming?” Alijah asked from the private door.

  The question brought Vighon back to the present and his fatigue continued its barrage on his senses, beckoning him to sleep. He glanced over his shoulder before walking down the steps, beyond the private door, only to find the alcove was now empty. He blinked hard, unbelieving that any man could move that quickly and remain hidden, even in a crowd such as this.

  Nelly barked from the bottom of the stairs and Vighon shook his head, sure that he needed rest. After passing through the private bar beneath the tavern, both men chose their separate rooms and bade each other good sleep.

  Vighon woke up to the sensation of a wet tongue licking his fingers. Seeing Nelly’s happy face was a far better sight than waking up to Alijah’s.

  Judging by the increase in noise and feet on the boards above, he guessed night to have arrived and with it the larger crowds.

  “Come on,” he called to the dog. “Let’s go find some food.”

  The private bar beneath the tavern had a couple of quiet occupants sitting together by the fire. Like all those who were granted access to the basement, they were rangers of the wilds, folk who found work hunting creatures with an abundance of fangs.

  Eyeing Vighon, they stopped their conversation and watched him as he passed through. There was no uniform to a ranger, but they could always tell their own, and Vighon was not their own. He had only been granted access due to his friendship with Alijah, who was only granted access because of Hadavad, though Vighon suspected his friend’s parentage had something to do with it as well.

  The crackling of the fire was rudely interrupted by loud snoring that emanated from the small bar area. Sprawled out across the square table lay a dwarf - at least he assumed it was a dwarf, hidden as he was within layers of black and gold armour. The little boy in Vighon became very excited, aware that the dwarf, a rare sight in Illian, could only be Doran Heavybelly!

  Another hero named in The War for the Realm, the dwarf had fought alongside the Galfreys and even Asher. Renowned for charging into battle astride his Warhog, Doran Heavybelly had been said to have actually saved Asher’s life during the final battle at Velia.

  He took a step in the sleeping dwarf’s direction when one of the seated rangers warned him, “I wouldn’t do that, lad. Waking up Heavybelly doesn’t end well…”

  Vighon took the warning and backed away, thanking the man for his caution.

  One floor up, The Pick-Axe had come to life in a way it never did during the day. The band was twice as large and the patrons had packed out every available space to avoid the icy air outside.

  Vighon navigated the dancing duo in the middle of the foyer and made his way to the bar, where Russell Maybury was already placing a pail of cold Lirian ale down in front of him.

  “Appreciated,” he replied, though he would much rather have smoked his weedwood and enjoyed a piping cup of tea. “Where’s Alijah?”

  Russell raised an eyebrow and slid his eyes to the left, where Alijah was sat around a table with six other men, deep into some card game.

  Vighon groaned and dropped his head. “What’re they playing?” he asked reluctantly.

  Russell handed out another tankard of ale before replying, “Last I saw, it was Galant…”

  Vighon groaned again. “I hate it when he plays Galant.”

  “Why?” Russell asked, somewhat bemused. “I’ve only ever seen him win.”

  “It’s how he wins that bothers me.” Vighon collected his ale and found his way to Alijah’s chair.

  “Morning sunshine!” Alijah said with a quick glance.

  “It’s night time,” Vighon replied dryly.

  Alijah looked up from his cards and inspected the windows. “Ah, so it is. Any sign of Hadavad yet?”

  Vighon didn’t need to examine every patron to know the mage wasn’t in The Axe. “No. Maybe we should go and wait for him?”

  Alijah didn’t hide his confusion. “We are waiting for him,” he said, holding his hands up to the tavern.

  Vighon sighed. “Maybe we should wait someplace else…”

  Alijah twisted his mouth, careful to keep his retort to himself. “One moment, gents.” The half-elf stood up to meet Vighon eye to eye and kept his voice low. “I’m not going to cheat—”

  “And the sun’s not going to rise,” Vighon shot back.

  “Do you like eating?” Alijah asked in hushed tones. “How about drinking? Or sleeping on a bed? These things cost coin, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but these little expeditions of ours don’t exactly make us wealthy men.”

  “Coin?” Vighon quickly responded. “It wouldn’t matter if you were playing for doilies, Alijah, you just enjoy gambling.”

  Alijah rolled his eyes like a child tired of hearing his father’s lectures. “Why don’t you go and smoke your pipe, have some food, and keep an eye out for Hadavad?” With that, the half-elf took his seat back and resumed the game.

  Vighon turned his back on him, sure that when the fighting started, and it would, he wasn’t going to be there to help the idiot. With Nelly padding around his feet, eager for attention, he returned to the bar and ordered a bowl of stew from Rose. It soon became clear, however, that he wouldn’t be able to get his hand from the bowl to his mouth without being jostled.

  “Come on, Nelly, let’s go and find somewhere quiet to eat.” With the dog in tow, Vighon pushed his way through and edged his way into the stone alcove beside the fireplace. “I’ll be surprised,” he said, looking down at Nelly, “if I finish the bowl before the first of them takes a swing at that daft sod.”

  Lifting his spoon, Vighon took a steaming mouthful of chicken and slurped on the hot broth. It would have been enough to bring a smile to his face had he not looked up and discovered a man sitting in the alcove with him. Being in such a familiar place, he managed to contain the surprise that would normally have seen him reach for his sword.

  “How in all the hells did you get there?” he asked. He realised, then, that it was the same hooded man who had been watching him when they arrived at The Axe. “Who are you?”


  “I’m like you, Vighon,” the stranger replied cryptically. “Just another cog…”

  Vighon’s lips parted but the words were stolen by the ruckus that erupted on the other side of the tavern. There were shouts and complaints of cheating before someone broke a chair and a handful of coins hit the floor.

  “Save your friend.” The stranger gestured to Alijah with his chin, briefly exposing a smooth face from within the shadows of his hood. “Meet me down in the locker when you’re done.”

  “Locker?” Vighon had barely said the word before the stranger left the alcove.

  Nelly barked, pulling his attention back to the brawl. His head was suddenly swimming with questions, as well as the urge to leave Alijah to a doom of his own making, but the sound of a good tussle was always impossible to ignore.

  Pushing his way through the onlookers, Vighon came to a scene he had witnessed far too many times. As good as Alijah was at cheating, he always pushed it too far, always wanting more until he slipped up. Luckily for him, Vighon thought, he had the reflexes of an elf to fall back on. A sweaty man with more hair on his face than on his head threw a punch at Alijah, hoping to crack his jaw.

  He missed.

  His next two punches could do nothing but displace the air as Alijah shifted his shoulders, avoiding him by inches. The third punch swung over his head and caught one of the other players across the nose, whose arm flew out and knocked a tankard of ale from a patron’s hand. In short, Alijah was causing his usual amount of chaos.

  Vighon clenched his fist, though he wasn’t sure if he was going to hit Alijah or the sweaty man.

  From nowhere, the meaty hand of Russell Maybury came to rest in the middle of his chest. Vighon could feel the strength in that hand and knew he wouldn’t be taking another step.

  “I can’t afford for you to get involved, kid,” Russell explained. “I’ll have the city watch in here demanding your arrest.”

  Vighon shrugged as if he didn’t understand. “I was just gonna’ throw him about a bit…”

  Russell’s yellow eyes bore into him. “You never just throw them about a bit.”

  The werewolf turned to the scrap, which was quickly turning into a full-on brawl, and gripped the sweaty man by his tunic before he could throw his next punch. Russell lifted him from the ground with one hand and marched out of the front door, where he promptly ejected the man into the snow.

  “Cool off!” he shouted after him. His feat of strength had been enough to calm the others down immediately and they quickly found their drinks to be the most interesting thing. Russell looked to Vighon and pointed at Alijah. “Take him downstairs,” he ordered.

  Vighon had no desire to argue with the man and he ushered Alijah back to the private door. Where most would display some embarrassment, Alijah could only shrug as if he had done nothing wrong.

  “This is why we can’t have nice things,” Vighon commented as they returned to the private bar below.

  “What? I didn’t do anything!” Alijah protested. Vighon shot him a look over his shoulder. “Alright, maybe I cheated a little bit…” The half-elf opened his overcoat to reveal a small bag of coins. “Worth it, though,” he added with a cheeky grin.

  Vighon shook his head in despair. “Do you know anything about a locker?” he asked, eager to avoid the gaze of both the seated rangers.

  “Locker?” Alijah didn’t even look up from inspecting the contents of his bag of coins. “Oh, yeah, the armoury. It’s at the end of the hall, I think.”

  “There’s an armoury down here? We’ve been coming here for years and you never told me there’s an armoury!” Vighon placed a firm hand on Alijah’s back and had them both get out from under the gaze of the two rangers.

  “I haven’t seen it since I was a child,” Alijah replied in defence. “Was that Doran Heavybelly?” he added as an afterthought.

  Vighon walked past the bedchambers until he came across a blank door around the corner. He had always assumed there were just more rooms, always hesitant to explore after coming across Russell’s chamber a couple of years ago. The owner of The Axe was also the owner of a reinforced cage big enough to accommodate a couple of horses. Thankfully, he had never been visiting the tavern during a full moon…

  “What are we doing here, Vighon?”

  “I have no idea…” he replied under his breath.

  Pushing through, the chamber beyond was a feast for the eyes. All four walls of the rectangular room were lined with swords of all sizes, axes, both single and double bladed, clubs, spears, daggers, staffs and shields. Some looked to be antiques, while others looked newly forged and polished. Padded mats filled the majority of the floor, with thick wooden mannequins situated in the corners, all lined with old scars.

  Vighon could have spent hours inspecting every wall, handling the weapons and hefting the shields. He was immediately drawn to the single-handed sword on the far wall, displayed horizontally beside a tattered long coat. With all thoughts of the hooded stranger forgotten, Vighon rushed over and read the plaque under the sword.

  “Jonus Glaide…” The name rang a bell but he couldn’t place it.

  “He was a ranger,” Alijah explained. “My father knew him. He fought in The Battle for Syla’s Gate and on the King’s Walls at Velia.”

  “I think I remember his funeral,” Vighon said.

  “Yes, he died when we were children. We all went…”

  Vighon could hear his friend’s thoughts wandering down a path he would rather not have him take. He quickly moved on to examine a collection of shields, rapping his knuckles against the wood to get a feel for them. None were as good as his, however, gifted to him from Hadavad three years previously.

  Behind him, a small alcove caught his eye, its contents mostly hidden behind a dusty curtain. Through the crack, he could make out a rack of dark green cloaks and a row of identical swords, all crowned with a spiked pommel.

  “That’s why they call it the locker,” the stranger’s voice broke his intrigue and startled the pair.

  Standing by the far wall, though how he got there without either of them noticing was baffling, the hooded stranger shifted his blue cloak, revealing a pair of scimitars, one on each hip. Only now did Vighon realise that there was a chance he had been duped into being cornered in a room with only one door.

  Vighon fell on old habits and assessed what could potentially turn into a formidable foe. His muddied boots told of a life off the beaten track, while his brown leather jerkin, layered with hardened pauldrons on his shoulders, told of a life of violence. Matching his shoulder guards, the stranger wore a pair of rerebraces around his biceps and leather vambraces around his forearms. It was following this examination that led Vighon to the man’s hands, each smooth and clean; an odd companionship to his attire.

  “It was his locker,” the stranger continued. “Asher’s…”

  Hearing that, it took everything Vighon had to keep his eyes on the man and not return to the alcove. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “Look at his blades,” Alijah said in the same tired tone often reserved for matters concerning his family. “He’s Galanör Reveeri.”

  Now there was name Vighon had heard growing up in and out of the Galfrey household. During the time of The War for the Realm, Galanör’s name often came up alongside Gideon Thorn’s, as the pair had been together when they discovered the dragons in the south of Ayda. He had been present for The Battle for Velia and even in the halls of Kaliban, atop Vengora, when the evil Valanis had been slain. If memory served, and it didn’t always in Vighon’s case, the elf was also betrothed to Alijah’s mother before the war broke out.

  He was also said to be the greatest swordsman in all of Verda. And a ranger to boot…

  Galanör lifted his hood to reveal a typical elven face of classically handsome features, marred only by a single scar that cut through his left eyebrow.

  Vighon was more than used to pointed ears, having lived with Alijah and his mother, Reyna, in his ear
lier years, but to his understanding, elves typically styled long hair. Galanör, on the other hand, sported short spiky hair of hazelnut brown.

  “Good to see you again, Alijah,” Galanör said.

  The half-elf nodded along. “What’s it been, ten years?”

  “Thirteen,” Galanör corrected.

  Vighon couldn’t recall such a time, but he hadn’t always been permitted to join the family on their trips around the kingdoms. As Ambassador Reyna’s handmaiden, Vighon’s mother had accompanied them everywhere but, occasionally, he had been commanded to stay behind and help out with the Galfreys’ farm.

  “You were just a child then,” Galanör continued. “You seem to have grown up… a little,” he added with a glance at the ceiling, referring to the recent game of Galant.

  “Hang on,” Vighon interrupted, looking to Alijah. “He’s been… upstairs… he was the…”

  “Use your words, Vighon,” Alijah prompted with an amused smile.

  Vighon took a breath. “He’s been talking to me upstairs. He’s the one who told me to meet him here.”

  Alijah’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What’s going on Galanör? From what I’ve heard you rarely frequent The Axe.”

  Galanör gripped one of his scimitars and paced the length of the wall. “It’s true. I prefer my time in the wilds of the world. Still, when Hadavad calls I do not delay.”

  “Hadavad?” Alijah quickly repeated. “You know Hadavad?”

  “Better than you, I think.” Punctuating his statement, Galanör leant against the stone wall and pressed his heel into one of the slabs, activating what sounded like a series of unseen cogs.

  “What the bloody hell is…” Vighon held his tongue when a section of the wall beside the elf rotated, presenting them with an entirely new wall.

  “What is all this?” Alijah stepped forward, his attention captured by the wall of parchments.

  Vighon paced behind his friend, keeping one eye on the elf and the other on the wall. From top to bottom, the stone was overlaid with a wooden board and a hundred sheets of parchment. A map of Verda provided the centrepiece with strings and pins connecting various points in both Illian and Ayda to the parchments. Some had drawings on, surrounded by scribbled notes, while others offered reams of information about some of the sites they had unearthed.