The Fall of Neverdark

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”

  Hadavad sighed. “As patient as your father, I see. Well, what you don’t know is enough about The First Kingdom, ruled by King Atilan ten thousand years ago. That’s what I’ve been doing, girl.”

  If he calls me girl one more time…

  “I’ve been scouring the world for years trying to uncover everything there is to know about this First Kingdom of man. They were much like any other, from what I can tell.” The mage held up a single finger. “With one distinct difference,” he continued. “The people of The First Kingdom only worshipped the one god, Kaliban. This god was the head of a religion called The Echoes. To us, they would be considered dark wizards too stupid to understand the dangers of their work.”

  Inara couldn’t believe she was hearing another side of the secret history that hadn’t been covered on The Lifeless Isles. Not only that, but she was hearing it from a mage who was himself a part of the history books.

  If he can be trusted… Athis chipped into her thoughts.

  “Now,” Hadavad continued, “King Atilan went to war with the dragons and reaped the rewards for taking on a superior adversary. Of course, he killed the dragon riders of the time and created elves in his mad search for immortality, but ultimately, he was defeated.”

  “I know,” Inara added. “What was left of his kingdom was forced to flee the dragons and they took shelter in The Wild Moores.”

  “Yes, where over the next ten thousand years, they forgot almost everything about their history and became the savage Outlanders and Darkakin. But…” Hadavad looked hard into the flames. “There were those who did not forget the old ways, those who did not forsake their god.”

  Inara tilted her head to try and capture the mage’s attention from the flames. “The Echoes?”

  “Yes, only these days they go by a different name. After man emerged from The Wild Moores, towards the end of the Second Age, they began to call themselves The Black Hand. They delve into dark magic and necromancy all in the name of Kaliban.”

  “I’ve never heard of them,” Inara said without meaning to.

  “They operate in the shadows,” Hadavad explained. “They’ve never been connected to any evil that beset the world, not openly at least. But, I believe they have been amassing their wealth and power for the last thousand years, waiting for the right time to…” The mage trailed off, chewing over his words.

  “Time to what?” Inara pressed.

  “I know not,” Hadavad admitted. “I have been challenging them all my long life and never uncovered the true extent of their schemes, besides raising the dead and creating monsters.”

  Inara ignored that last part, chalking it up to embellishment. “Yet you go to war with them?”

  “They are evil. They come from evil and if it proves true that their god is real, then he too is evil.”

  Inara asked in a lighter tone, “Will you go to war with a god then?”

  Hadavad met her eyes and replied with bold words, “If I must.”

  Inara sat back, unsure what to make of the mage and his claims. On the one hand, it sounded entirely plausible while, on the other hand, it sounded as ludicrous as a weeping basilisk.

  “Is that why you’re in The Undying Mountains?”

  Hadavad wagged his finger. “I answered your question. Now you answer mine.”

  Inara didn’t like it, especially since this Black Hand intrigued her.

  “What are the Dragorn doing in The Undying Mountains?” he asked. “You’re peacekeepers and there isn’t any peace to be kept south of Syla’s Gate. Civilisation is that way.” The mage thumbed over his shoulder, to the north.

  That was a hard one and Inara instantly regretted drawing the mage into this game. “Sometimes to keep the peace we have to travel to quieter parts of the world and make sure it’s quiet for a reason.”

  “That’s not an answer,” Hadavad replied, leaving no sound but the crackle of the fire.

  Inara looked to Athis, weighing up the pros and cons of telling the mage why they were here.

  He wouldn’t know what an orc is anyway…

  That doesn’t matter, Athis said. Only the council at Dragons’ Reach know of the situation and this mage is not a member.

  It would be dishonourable to lie or refuse to answer now.

  Then you must weigh your honour against your duty…

  Seeing no way out of it, Inara straightened her back and announced, “We are searching for any sign of orcs.”

  Hadavad’s face screwed up. “What in all the hells is an orc?”

  Now it was Inara’s turn to wag her finger. “I answered your question. Now you answer mine,” she echoed. “You say you’ve been fighting The Black Hand all your life, that you’ve lost bodies to them.”

  “Sadly, yes,” Hadavad agreed.

  “What happened to your original body?”

  “That was a long time ago,” the mage replied absently. “In my first life, I was lucky enough to reach a ripe old age. After I transferred my essence into my first apprentice, I sought out an old friend in Longdale. I had him take my body and bury it somewhere dark and deep, where no one would find it, including myself. He took its location to the grave.”

  Inara couldn’t imagine living from one body to the next, man or woman, and never making any lasting connections in the world.

  “What’s an orc?” he asked immediately.

  Inara could think of quite a few choice words that would describe the beasts, but none would accurately define them. “I’m surprised you don’t know, given your knowledge about history.”

  Hadavad shrugged. “I do not claim to know everything. Nobody can; it’s what makes life so exciting!”

  Inara bit her lip. Telling Hadavad of their search for orcs was different to telling him things not known to mankind. Then again, the mage was accustomed to be being burdened with secrets…

  “They’re an intelligent race of beasts who emerged at the end of the First Age, after mankind had retreated into The Wild Moores. That’s why humans have never heard of them before, but if you were to ask an elf or a dwarf, they would tell you of The Great War. It was their defeat over the orcs that ushered in the beginning of the Second Age.”

  Hadavad ran his hand through the scraggy strands of his beard. “The Second Age began five thousand years ago…” The mage looked at her across the fire. “Why would you be looking for orcs now?”

  “That’s two questions,” Inara pointed out.

  Ask him why he is here, Athis said.

  “So you’re at war with this Black Hand,” Inara continued. “Why are you in The Undying Mountains?”

  “Believe me, Inara Galfrey, I wish I wasn’t. I would much rather be under the stars in The Moonlit Plains or enjoying an ale at The Pick-Axe in Lirian.” The mage grew serious then, and his tone dropped to match his expression. “I was left for dead by my enemy, though, in truth, I think he meant for me to live. Why, I could not say. This new master they serve is different from the others I’ve fought in the past.”

  “So, you survived then,” Inara observed.

  Hadavad locked eyes with her across the flames, but he might as well have been looking through her. “I believe death would have found me had…”

  “Had what?” Inara’s question seemed to bring the mage out of his trance.

  “I saw something, on the edge of death. You and I both know there are no gods.” Hadavad’s eyes lit up. “But I saw something up there… a beautiful woman.”

  Typical man, Inara thought. Of course, he would see a beautiful woman at the edge of death and find just enough life to keep going. “Up there?” she asked instead, hoping the mage wouldn’t take it as a second question.

  “I challenged them on the highest slopes of Vengora,” Hadavad explained. “I should have sought out my friends afterwards, but I followed the wretches here. Whatever they have been planning is going to bear fruit soon, I’m sure of it, and I mean to get in the way of t
hat.”

  “You have travelled far.” Inara had spent her youth journeying up and down Illian with her parents and brother and knew well that even the lowest range of Vengora was hundreds of miles from here.

  “I would follow them to the ends of Verda if it meant bringing an end to their evil.”

  Inara nodded along, unsure how to reply to such a bold statement.

  He can stay, the dragon said in her mind, finally satisfied with the mage.

  The Dragorn reached into her narrow pack and gave the mage what little she had left in the way of food. “You are welcome to share the safety of this cliff and the warmth of my fire for the night.”

  “Is that to be the end of our game, then?” Hadavad asked. “These orcs intrigue me. I could ask questions of a Dragorn until the sun rose, it seems.”

  “When the sun rises, Athis and I will resume our errand, good mage.”

  “I’m sure searching for long-dead creatures is of the utmost importance,” Hadavad said, “but, you should come with me. With a Dragorn and a dragon by my side, we could rid the world of The Black Hand in a single night.”

  For all his centuries of life, Athis said, he could never understand the threat posed by the return of the orcs.

  Inara agreed with her companion. “I’m sorry, Hadavad. We must continue with our errand, alone. I wish you luck if there is such a thing.”

  The mage bowed his head. “Then I thank you for your hospitality. It is the greatest honour to share such company…”

  Inara took herself away from the fire after a while and sat with her back to Athis. His scales were warm and she preferred to listen to the dragon’s heartbeat as she found rest. She couldn’t say she trusted the mage entirely, but Athis would keep watch until she woke again.

  12

  Unwelcome Guests

  Vighon nuzzled his face into Nelly’s head and gave her a big kiss between the eyes. She licked his face in return, wetting the bristles of what was quickly becoming a beard. He begrudgingly had her return to the warmth of The Pick-Axe. He didn’t know how long it would be until he saw her again, but she couldn’t follow where they were going.

  Alijah exited the inn, avoiding Nelly on his way out, and pulled the new hood over his head to keep the light fall of snow at bay.

  “Is that what I think it is,” Vighon asked, taking note of the dark green cloak draped over his roguish friend’s shoulders.

  “Galanör said we would need something to keep the sun off our faces.” Alijah tightened the straps of his quiver, which was thrown over the back of the cloak with his short-sword.

  “That’s not just something to keep the sun off your face,” Vighon argued. “That’s from the locker, isn’t it? That’s Asher’s cloak.”

  Alijah waved his observation away. “There was a whole row of them. He would never have actually worn this one. Besides, it’s perfect for my needs and it’s free.”

  Vighon wasn’t convinced but he also wasn’t in the mood to debate. They had been instructed to meet Galanör at such an hour that the sun had barely greeted the world. They retrieved their horses from the stables, having thankfully paid for their upkeep before leaving for The Wild Moores just over two weeks ago.

  “Well met, old friend,” Vighon said upon greeting his horse. “Have you been good while I’ve been away?”

  “Do you have to talk to every animal?” Alijah asked, mounting his black horse.

  Vighon slung his shield over his black fur cloak and climbed onto the white horse. “I’ve known Ned longer than… well, not longer than I’ve known you, but longer than we’ve been working for Hadavad. Or should I say, saving the world?”

  Alijah shook his head. “Nothing’s changed, Vighon. You’ve just started paying attention for the first time, that’s all.”

  Vighon took the reins and guided Ned out of the stables and into the snow, where, side by side, the two riders made their way through the streets of Lirian. The sleeping city was coming alive now, with smoke rising from every chimney and small businesses opening, ready for the day.

  On the eastern edge of the city, the interior border of The Evermoore provided a wall of towering pines that cared little for summer or winter. They chose a path between the trees and Vighon did his best to appear casual as two of the city watch observed their unusual departure from the city.

  It was ill-advised to leave the city via the forest and forego the Selk Road that connected every kingdom in the realm. It seemed to Vighon that there wasn’t much they did these days that couldn’t be considered ill-advised…

  The horses trotted through The Evermoore for several minutes before they came across a small clearing with a single pointed rock in the middle. Off to one side, stood Galanör and his grey horse, which was saddled with full bags.

  The elf truly looked the part of a ranger when removed from civilisation. With his duel scimitars resting neatly on his hips and the armoured leathers that enveloped his body, Galanör appeared more than capable of taking anything on. His blue cloak was now overlaid with white fur that covered his shoulders and the top half of his back.

  Alijah steered his horse towards the ranger. “This is a strange way to go south,” he said. “The Selk Road is that way.”

  Galanör ignored Alijah’s gesture. “We’re not taking the Selk Road. The Black Hand have been up to something in The Undying Mountains for too long, and I intend to find out what. With that and Hadavad’s disappearance, I fear we may already be too late.”

  Vighon hopped off Ned and joined Alijah. He was still coming around to the idea that the work they had been doing together for the last three years was of any importance. To his dismay, he realised that hearing the ranger talk in such grave tones was going to become a regular occurrence.

  “Well, we’re going to be really late if we keep heading east,” Alijah replied.

  Galanör walked over and ushered both of them back from the middle of the clearing. “Stand back,” he said.

  Vighon looked to Alijah for some kind of explanation, unsure as to why they were standing in the freezing cold in the middle of the forest. The half-elf could only shrug in response, suggesting that they just go along with it for now.

  “What are we waiting for?” Vighon finally asked. “Some of us aren’t immortal.”

  Galanör gave him a side-long glance and remained very still in front of the pointed rock. Vighon was about to press the elf when the space in front of them exploded with the black abyss of a portal.

  Except for Galanör’s horse, the other two whinnied and attempted to flee before they were calmed by their masters. With his free hand, Vighon instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword, but the elf’s hand on his arm prevented him from drawing the steel.

  Galanör walked up to the portal, which was surrounded by short bursts of lightning, and waited patiently. The elf was unfazed by the sudden appearance of the portal, a feat of magic that not everyone could pull off.

  Without warning, a small leather sack came through the portal and landed in the snow at Galanör’s feet. Alijah and Vighon watched it for a moment, unsure what was happening and full of questions.

  Then, with just as much warning as its appearance, the portal collapsed on itself.

  “What’s going on?” Alijah asked. “Who opened that portal?”

  “What’s inside the sack?” Vighon added, though he was too slow to reach for it before Galanör scooped it up.

  “I told you,” the elf replied, “we’re not the only ones looking into The Black Hand.”

  “But who tossed that pouch through the portal?” Alijah continued, never happy until he found all the answers.

  “An ally,” Galanör said plainly. “There aren’t many we can trust; The Black Hand have infiltrated every kingdom in some regard. Not every ally can make themselves known. Now, ready yourselves.”

  Vighon pulled his fur cloak around his shoulders. “What should we be readying ourselves for exactly?”

  Galanör untied the pouch and emptied a s
ingle crystal into the palm of his gloved hand. Both Alijah and Vighon took a step closer to better see the glowing crystal, filled with stored magic.

  “It takes a great amount of meditation and focus to put magic inside a crystal,” Alijah commented, his eyes on the elf. “Outside of Ayda, and your kin, there aren’t many in Illian who can master such a feat.”

  “You are correct,” Galanör answered without giving anything away. “If I had a crystal I could do this myself, but they are hard to come by. Now, ready yourselves,” he instructed again.

  “Are you going to open a portal?” Alijah asked incredulously.

  “Yes, but it will take a lot out of me, especially with the distance I have in mind. I don’t know exactly what will be on the other side, so be ready to repel anything. I probably won’t be able to assist you…”

  Vighon gripped Ned by the reins and bowed the horse’s head down, hoping that the new portal wouldn’t frighten him so much. He also hoped that tending to Ned would distract him from the fact that he was expected to walk through a portal himself.

  Galanör flung out his arm and threw the crystal into the other side of the clearing, where it shattered into dust mid-flight and gave birth to a new portal of pure black. The effect on the elf was almost immediate. He had just enough energy to pull himself up onto his horse and have it take him through.

  “Come on, girl,” Alijah said soothingly to his horse. “It’s alright, come on.”

  Vighon watched Galanör and his friend trot beyond the wall of black and disappear across the world in a single step. Keeping his feet on the ground, for Ned would need pulling through the portal, he tugged on the reins and did his best to place one foot in front of the other until they were both through.

  There was no expected sensation or pain. One moment he was in the freezing cold snows of The Evermoore and, the next, he was standing on hard, dry ground where snow had never fallen. Vighon lost control of his jaw, unable to do anything but stare up at the enormous mountain walls of the south, broken only by the valley that cut through the heart of it.