The Fall of Neverdark

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “What is this?” Gideon demanded, half turning back to the empty library.

  The man in the mirror smiled arrogantly, twisting his ancient features, and creasing the web of lines and scars on his bald face. Draped in black robes and crows feathers, the stranger stood very still with his hands by his side.

  “This…” the stranger said, gesturing outwards with his arms, “is a form of magic that predates even your ancient order, Master Dragorn. Elegant, isn’t it? Far superior to diviners—”

  “Who are you?” Gideon interrupted, sure that he wasn’t speaking to an ally.

  “A common question. One that often bears little consequence. There is only one name that should matter to any of us. Kaliban…” The man pronounced the name as if it was the only word that existed. “Still, you are, after all, the Gideon Thorn, master of the Dragorn. You are strong among men and elves and the great Kaliban respects strength above all else. My order calls me The Crow.”

  Gideon closed his fists and the fire in his palms died away. “I take it your order is that of The Black Hand?” The Crow bowed his head. “I heard your god’s name thirty years ago. He didn’t impress upon me then and he doesn’t now.”

  “Ah, but a part of you does believe. It has to after all that you’ve seen, and that part has given him life inside of you. It’s burrowed deep and it feeds your fears.”

  Gideon could feel Ilargo’s passion rising in him. “I have seen the things your order has done in the name of Kaliban. If your wicked god supports those crimes, I promise you the Dragorn will oppose him, regardless of the dimension he resides in. He wouldn’t be the first god I’ve killed…”

  The Crow clasped his hands in front of him. “You killed old men, pretenders, not gods. This is the real thing, Master Dragorn. You must have felt it… the turning of the tide, the change in the wind, the shudder under your feet. A new Age is coming, but not the fourth! The First Age of Peace… Something that will remain forever unattainable under the protection of the Dragorn.”

  Gideon kept his composure and clamped down on his snarl. “The Black Hand doesn’t even number a thousand. I fail to see how you will usher in a new Age for Verda.”

  The Crow smiled. “Exactly. You fail to see…”

  Gideon was growing tired of this little exchange. “Why are you talking to me?”

  “History has repeated itself for ten thousand years. A threat rises and the Dragorn rises to meet it. Round and round the wheel turns. I wish to break this cycle. That begins tonight, Master Dragorn. Scholars will look back on this day and declare it to be the beginning of a new Age.” The Crow took three steps closer in the mirror. “I’m afraid blood will be spilled this night and one of your pets will fall, never to fly again.”

  Gideon clenched his fist and his teeth. He wanted to lash out but there was nothing to attack but a mirror.

  “More will die before you and I see each other again,” he continued. “I have not seen your death, not yet anyway. I am sure it will be a good one…”

  Gideon stepped closer to the mirror and met The Crow’s eyes over his shoulder. “When I am standing over your dying body, Crow, you can tell me if yours is a good one.”

  The leader of The Black Hand flashed his arrogant smile again and faded from the mirror.

  Ilargo…

  I am coming!

  Contact the council and put everyone on high alert.

  What are we going to do? the dragon asked.

  Gideon could think of only one place they needed to be.

  17

  Evil Never Sleeps

  Alijah had never been one to use magic, but his elven heritage would forever tie him to that plane. It was that same connection that translated to the odd sensation he felt running over his skin and through his bones.

  Looking to Galanör, he could see that the full-blooded elf was feeling the same powerful magic.

  “What’s wrong with you two?” Vighon whispered.

  “Something is happening.” Alijah’s reply was cryptic, but it was also the only answer he had for his friend.

  The three companions continued their climb up the ridge, careful not to misstep and give away their position. Peering over the lip, Alijah looked upon the majesty of Paldora’s Fall, a crater to rival most cities and surrounded by floating boulders and broken rock.

  “Now there’s something you don’t see every day,” Vighon said with wide eyes.

  Galanör’s arm cut across them both and pointed to the valley floor. “The Black Hand…”

  The two rogues edged even closer to the lip and looked down on the cloaked mages, barring the head of Syla’s Pass. Casting his eyes around the perimeter, more of the dark mages made themselves known, patrolling the outer edge of the crater.

  With bright lights illuminating from the ends of their wands and staffs, the hooded men and women of The Black Hand stood out in the dark. Alijah counted more than a dozen before he stopped, coming to the conclusion that they were simply outnumbered.

  “I suppose this answers our questions,” the half-elf said. “They must be finished excavating in Vengora.”

  Vighon stretched his neck trying to see the centre of the crater between the floating boulders. “They must be digging for the crystal in there. Maybe that’s what they were looking for in Vengora.”

  “No,” Galanör replied softly. “I see no evidence of an excavation here; no tools, no manpower. The only reason necromancers would excavate anything is in search of bones.”

  Alijah pulled himself up into a crouch, careful not to disturb any loose rock. “Well, we aren’t going to learn anything lying here. We need to get closer.”

  The three companions used the light of the moon to navigate the cliffs and climb down to the valley floor in the west. It appeared to be the area with the weakest patrol numbers as well as shadowed areas where the moon couldn’t find them. Alijah and Galanör pushed on ahead, taking the awkward trek in their stride, agile as they were.

  Vighon was less agile, but just as stealthy. His time in Namdhor had taught the young man a great many skills most would consider dishonest or downright dishonourable, but Alijah had always appreciated his ability to sneak up on others.

  Galanör was less forgiving of Vighon’s speed. The elf gave him many a look on their way around the crater, reminding them both that the ranger was used to working alone.

  Together, they crowded behind a wide, but flat, boulder and watched the patrol of dark mages. There was a gap in which one, maybe two, could slip through undetected if they were quick enough. Coming to this conclusion together, Alijah and Galanör turned to look at Vighon.

  “Oh, aye, you two might be a fast pair of shits,” Vighon argued quietly, “but if just one of them idiots turns around and sees you, it’ll only take a single spell to give us all away.”

  “We can make it,” Galanör countered.

  “No, he’s right,” Alijah agreed. “We need to see what’s going on in the heart of this crater.”

  Galanör sighed and glanced over the boulder to assess the enemies in their way. “We could position ourselves to the north and south, wait for them to get closer or maybe lure them in. Take them both out at the same time.”

  Alijah nodded. “And hide the bodies,” he added.

  “Though…” Galanör mused. “Perhaps magic would be better to use.”

  “It’d be loud,” Alijah warned.

  Vighon sighed and shook his head. Seeing him do that, Alijah should have known that his friend was about to do something rash, but the elf was between them and it would cause a commotion to stop him now.

  Proving his fears to be true, Vighon suddenly shot up and let free a small knife. The dark mage to the right took the blade in the side of his head and dropped like a stone. Before his body hit the floor, Vighon had retrieved and thrown another, larger knife from his other hand. This blade sank into the spine of the dark wizard on the left and robbed him of life before he could yell out.

  Vighon straightened his dark cloak
and tapped Galanör on the shoulder. “You get the body on the right, and you get the body on the left.” Without waiting for a reply, he strode towards the edge of the crater. “And don’t forget my knives…”

  Alijah could only shrug at Galanör’s questioning look of concern - after all, he couldn’t deny that Vighon’s unorthodox approach to life bore results. They hid the bodies in the shadows, removed the bloody daggers, and entered the crater together.

  The initial declivity was steep and would force the threesome to climb down, but the floating boulders made it impossible to find a safe route. Every time Galanör attempted to make his way down, a giant boulder would silently glide past and scrape again the rock, threatening to grind him into the crater.

  Observing the vast collection of rocks colliding with each other, Alijah saw another way to reach the middle of the crater. He tapped the elf on the arm and pointed up before a hop, skip, and a jump placed him neatly on the side of a boulder flying past.

  He had to move quickly once he found purchase. Another jump prevented the adjacent slab of rock from flattening him as they came together. A glance below saw Galanör and Vighon copy his movements and find a boulder of their own. Using a strength that neither of them possessed, Galanör soon left them behind as he progressed farther into the crater.

  Alijah dashed and jumped from one to the next, stealing a glance at Vighon whenever he could. The man wasn’t as fast, but he cleared every jump as cleanly as the others. It wasn’t long, however, before Alijah noticed his friend climbing too high.

  “Vighon!” he hissed, hoping that the colliding boulders would muffle his voice from any mages. “You’re going too high,” he warned after gaining his attention. “Stay low—” Alijah clamped his mouth shut as a man in black robes walked directly under his boulder.

  The Black Hand were traversing the crater via a network of veins that had been dug into the ground, saving them from any rogue boulders. He decided there must have been an entrance somewhere along the edge of the crater - somewhere heavily guarded he imagined.

  The dark mage walked by, giving Alijah just enough time to leap from one slab to another without being seen or crushed. He took a breath, waited for Vighon, and continued through the maze.

  The closer they got to the centre of the crater, the stronger the effects of magic were on his skin. It was somewhere between intoxicating and nauseating, but most certainly powerful.

  Galanör caught his eye, resting on a high rock to his left. The rock in question was trapped in a web of vines that tethered it to the ground. It gave the elf the perfect vantage to observe the activities of the crater without having to stay on the move.

  Together, Alijah and Vighon made their way over and joined Galanör on the rock. They had made it to the centre. The ground rose up here into a central dais, where, to Alijah’s eye, the rock had been carved into a flat table. The burrowed veins, like the streets in a city, converged on the middle, allowing the mages to easily ascend and descend.

  Looking up, the faint outline of a magical shield could be seen. It flared here and there when one of the larger boulders scraped along its surface.

  On the other side of the dais, an enormous tunnel had been dug out of the crater. With only a handful of torches surrounding the carved table, it was impossible to pierce the shadows of that tunnel.

  “Is there something moving in there?” Vighon asked.

  Unable to answer, Alijah turned to Galanör. “What are they doing here?”

  The elf ducked his head down instead of replying and the other two instinctively mirrored his movement. The sound of several feet ascending to the dais, out of the narrow tunnels, reached all their ears. Alijah dared to look over the ridge and see what was happening.

  The Black Hand were filling the area around the hewn table, their dark robes hanging to the floor in the still air. Then the drumming began.

  “What in all the hells is happening out there?” Vighon pulled himself up and joined him.

  The drumming came from the mages stamping their staffs into the ground, perfectly in time. Through it all, Alijah was sure he could hear chains rattling in the distance. The mages to the right of the dais parted and a man, the only man without a hood, walked through the aisle.

  “Who is that?” Vighon asked.

  “I know as much as you do,” Alijah said, close to his friend’s ear.

  Galanör was fixed on the bald man making his way to the flat table. “That’s The Crow…”

  Alijah tracked the man with great interest. The Crow was accompanied by a floating chest, tethered to the wizard’s wand by the faintest of golden lines. As the chest came to rest on the hewn table, the stamping staffs came to an end and silence fell over the crater, filling the air with expectation.

  Taking no notice of his followers, The Crow lifted the lid of the chest and carefully removed its contents… one bone at a time.

  Alijah’s eyes went wide as the bones slowly but surely gave shape to a person. It took The Crow some time to place every bone where it was supposed to go within the skeleton, but not a single mage protested about waiting.

  Alijah could see that Vighon was about to ask another question when Galanör’s hand wrapped around his mouth, silencing him. The three companions lay there and watched the skeleton of Valanis come together from skull to toe. When the bald man was finished assembling the skeleton, another mage stepped forward and removed the chest, while another handed The Crow a bowl of dark liquid. Then the drumming staffs began anew.

  “Tonight,” The Crow shouted, “The Black Hand do not forge a weapon, but an instrument of God!”

  Alijah whipped his head around to Galanör. “We need to do something,” he hissed.

  “Only Kaliban has power over life and death!” The Crow continued. “We mere mortals can but breathe his life into the world! Through this resurrection, a force of nature will be unleashed upon the world once more. These are the first steps that history will note. Tonight, brothers and sisters, we secure the future our lord has imparted to us!”

  The dark mages cheered and continued to stamp their staffs and feet in time. Alijah could feel the well of magic around them drawing in, as if The Crow was already focusing it.

  “Galanör!” he whispered urgently.

  The elf finally responded, “Not yet. A spell of this magnitude will drain The Crow. With this many of their order present, we need their most powerful to be at his weakest. We strike before he finishes.”

  Alijah disagreed. “If we misstep he will complete the spell and bring back the most tyrannical elf who ever lived. We must act now!”

  Galanör’s expression was as solid as the steel of his scimitars. “Not yet.”

  It dawned on Alijah at that moment that Galanör wasn’t in command of him. With the exception of the brief times when Hadavad was present, Alijah answered to no-one and took no counsel but his own. He would listen to Vighon, of course, but only when it suited him.

  With one hand ready to unhook his folded bow, Alijah positioned himself to leap into action. He froze, however, when the shadows beyond The Crow took shape. The half-elf felt his lips part and his expression fall flat as two purple eyes and a black head of horns rose into the light of the torches.

  It had been some time since he had laid eyes on a dragon, but there was never any doubting one. Its black scales glistened like starlight. Its beauty, so exquisite, was barely marred by the scars and gashes that lined its face and neck.

  Alijah was pulled into those purple eyes and the rest of the world was pushed away, leaving only the dragon and himself behind. The sound of the drumming staffs faded away and the rhythmic chanting, spewing from The Crow’s wrinkled mouth, disappeared completely.

  Something between a whisper and a gasp broke free from Alijah’s dry lips. In a disorientating, yet hypnotic, haze, Alijah was suddenly looking back at himself through the dragon’s eyes.

  It was a feeling unlike any other and the half-elf had nothing to compare it to. As the out-of-b
ody experience died down, Alijah was left feeling dizzy and disorientated to time and place. The drumming staffs beat in his ears again and Vighon was shaking his arm with concern.

  “That’s a…” His friend swallowed hard. “That’s a bloody dragon.”

  The chains, wrapped around its mouth and neck, were suddenly pulled tight and the dragon was tugged back into the shadows of the tunnel. What possessed the strength to physically move a dragon was beyond Alijah’s comprehension.

  “That was Malliath the voiceless…” Galanör said in a tone of disbelief.

  Alijah heard the words of both of his companions, but it still took him another minute to figure out how to use his voice again. “We should free him,” he declared.

  Both Vighon and Galanör met his words with confusion, but it was his friend who asked, “Are you mad? Did you see that thing? Besides being massive, it looked pissed!”

  Galanör shook his head. “Malliath is not like the dragons of The Lifeless Isles,” he warned. “He is wild, driven mad by captivity at Korkanath.”

  Vighon appeared more confused than ever. “The school for magic?”

  “The same,” Galanör explained. “The mages bound him by magic and had him serve as the island’s protector for a thousand years. I last saw him thirty years ago…”

  Alijah had heard this very story as a child, from Gideon Thorn. “You were the one who set him free.”

  Galanör nodded. “And after that, he tried to kill me on at least three occasions, so I wouldn’t consider our history to work in our favour this day. I advise staying away from him.”

  Alijah knew, though he couldn’t say why, that staying away was never going to happen. He had to free that dragon. He had to free Malliath.

  “Look!” Vighon was looking down on The Crow.

  Malliath’s presence had distracted them from half of the resurrection ritual, which now saw the entire skeleton coated in a thick red liquid, poured from the bowl now discarded by The Crow. The bones themselves were visibly shaking on the hewn table, slowly coming together and sticking.