The Fall of Neverdark

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  The sound of magic being discharged was made all the more satisfying by the yelping orcs and the bodies flying through the air. Inara leaped out of the smoke like a banshee, one hand extended to expel magic and the other lashing out with her Vi’tari blade. Her scimitar flashed in every direction, cutting the orcs down in droves.

  By comparison, Vighon felt he was moving through mud with all the grace of a hammer on an anvil. Where Inara glided over the snow, whipping her scimitar around in intricate patterns, he was hacking and chopping as he ran into every charging orc that got in his way.

  Blood pounded in his ears and his heart threatened to beat its way out of his chest. With ragged breaths, Vighon matched the roar of the orcs and ran for those that had set upon the refugees.

  The orcs were like animals as they attacked the back of the crowds. They had no problem slaughtering unarmed people as they stained the snow with blood. The assault created more chaos and the refugees began to flee in every direction, scattering across the face of the cliff. The soldiers tried to push through but the orcs killed someone with every strike of their weapons.

  Then Vighon arrived.

  The northerner had been known for giving into his anger in the past, during his time in The Ironsworn, and this usually led to a display of violence and no small amount of blood. Tonight, he decided, was going to be one of those moments.

  Vighon ran blade first and thrust the tip through the back of an orc, shoving him so hard that he fell forwards and the blade ran through another orc. He yanked his sword free and turned on the next beast, slashing at its throat with enough force that its head almost rolled off its neck. The shield came up next, but not to defend. He repeatedly punched the next orc with the rim of the shield until it dropped and didn’t get back up.

  A few more savage displays and Grey Stone’s entrance was littered with dead orcs. The soldiers picked up the people that had fallen and ushered them into the city as quickly as possible.

  Vighon turned on the charging orcs again, ready to tackle any who tried to get into the city. Only a handful of the beasts were running for him, an unusually small number considering three holes had been blown out of the ground. Then he caught sight of Inara and realised why there were so few. The Dragorn was cutting down the orcs with such swiftness and efficiency that only a few escaped her scimitar. Her deadly display seemed to be attracting the beasts, distracting them as they emerged from their dark realm.

  Vighon turned his head to the soldiers. “Hold this line!” he barked.

  The northman braced himself for the handful of orcs that were about to descend on him. A dash to the left, then right, then left again; each dash a swing of the sword followed by a backhand. When he finally stopped moving, the first three orcs lay on the ground with mortal wounds spilling out large volumes of blood. The remaining three tried to surround Vighon, slowing their charge.

  The sound of a sharp object whistling through the air rushed past Vighon’s ear. A flash of steel later and Stormweaver was sticking out of an orc’s chest. Galanör held onto Guardian and sprinted across the snow to join Vighon, but his long-range attack spurred the remaining two orcs to attack the northman. His shield blocked an axe while his sword reached high to parry a sword. The elven ranger skidded on his knees through the middle of them and swiped his scimitar across the belly of one before thrusting his blade up into the head of the other.

  “I could have handled it…” Vighon panted.

  Galanör retrieved Stormweaver. “You’re welcome.”

  “Get back!” Inara shouted over the feral orcs. The Dragorn was running towards the main entrance, away from the emerging beasts. “Get back!” she shouted again.

  Vighon feared whatever Inara had seen to make her flee the battle in which she had clearly been dominating. Both he and the ranger stepped back, keeping their eyes on the orcs as they charged out of their holes.

  The night came alive and the icy cold was banished in a brilliant jet of orange fire. Athis swooped low over the makeshift camp, setting it alight from east to west. There was no escape for the orcs. Dragon’s fire had a way of sticking to everything it touched and didn’t stop burning until everything was melted away.

  The beasts’ roars and growls turned into nightmarish screams and howls, yet the pale creatures continued to crawl out of their holes, searching for a path around the line of fire. Athis came down again and the red dragon unleashed his horrifying breath. The jagged holes were filled with flames and the burning bodies of dead orcs. Those few who survived the initial attack dived into the snow, desperate to be free of the flames.

  One last flyby scorched the earth and halted any further attack. More smoke and a foul stench covered the white plains. Athis remained in the air, awaiting any reprisals.

  “Is it over?” one of the soldiers asked.

  Murmurs broke out among the soldiers and the refugees, speculating about these new monsters from the deep. With the exception of the survivors from Ameeraska and Tregaran, this was the first time anyone else had laid eyes on the orcs.

  Inara took charge. “Get everyone inside the city,” she ordered. “I don’t care about how cramped it is; find the space. Fill the halls of the upper city if you must, but everyone will be inside Grey Stone before they come again.”

  “Come again?” a soldier echoed with trepidation.

  “They mean to take the city,” Inara replied. “They won’t stop until it’s theirs.” The Dragorn squared herself in front of the captain and spoke slowly. “Get everyone inside the city, now. If King Jormund or any of the lords has a problem with using the upper city, send them to me.” She punctuated her last word by forcefully sliding her blade back into its sheath.

  The soldiers wasted no more time and set about finding the refugees who had fled along the mountain wall. They ushered those at the main entrance back and the captain barked orders to fortify the ravine.

  Still panting, Vighon examined the rocky walls. “They don’t have any gates,” he said incredulously.

  “Why would they?” Galanör asked. “You would have to be mad to invade a city with such narrow streets. Numbers count for nothing in there.”

  Inara added, “And getting an army up those steps would be near impossible even if they were only defended by a handful of men.”

  Vighon looked out at the burning bodies. “Well, you might want to tell them that. I don’t think numbers is something they’re worried about.”

  The giant holes might be on fire, but they all knew that more orcs were waiting in the dark. They had the numbers to attack and conquer all three cities in The Arid Lands in a single night…

  They would return.

  43

  Gods Do Not Bleed

  Cutting across the land, Hadavad led his horse by the reins, giving the animal a rest. They had journeyed with barely a stop since setting off from Ilythyra. The old mage fell upon his steely resolve to uncover the mysteries that plagued his mind.

  Find The Bastion, Hadavad…

  Those words haunted him. Where had they come from? Who was the woman made of light?

  The mage had more questions than answers, a pattern that had followed him through his long life. He was more than hesitant to believe in gods or any such divine entities; he had seen too much to have that kind of faith. But he couldn’t deny what he had seen and heard. Her voice had been soothing, her light comforting.

  Whoever she was, The Bastion had been revealed to him. He could see it clearly in his mind, nestled in The Vrost Mountains, north-east of The Evermoore. The keep itself was a mystery right now, but Hadavad knew there were answers inside. It had all the architectural designs of The First Kingdom, though it appeared more intact than anything they had come across before.

  By moonlight alone, Hadavad navigated the rough ground until he found The Selk Road. Thinking of his horse, the mage decided that he would stop in Velia and resupply before continuing his journey north.

  Only when the howling winds died down and the snow finally st
opped pelting his face did the mage actually see Velia. Fires roared inside the curving walls, illuminating the dragons flying above. Columns of black smoke rose high into the air, just as they had in Tregaran.

  Without delay, Hadavad leaped onto his horse and spurred it into a gallop.

  Alijah Galfrey could probably count on one hand the number of times in his life he had done as commanded. Tonight would not be adding to that list. After watching Gideon perform a daring leap and descend upon the orcs with unmatchable fury, the rogue had made for the stone steps.

  With an arrow nocked in his bow, Alijah followed a group of red-cloaked soldiers down into the city. He made it to the last five steps before excruciating pain raked at his back. The rogue yelled and fell into the main wall before sliding down and rolling off the side. The short drop went unnoticed due to the pain that lashed at his body.

  Never once was a drop of blood drawn, but he was certain his insides were being shredded by dragon claws. Through the strain, his face turned red as he looked up into the night’s sky. A maelstrom of dragons surrounded Malliath, raining hot blood down on Velia.

  Only when the black dragon escaped their ambush did the pain subside. It was instant relief to his body, but he wouldn’t likely forget the pain any time soon.

  Looking up again, Alijah saw Malliath and felt his storm of emotions settle as he finally understood what bond really connected them. It was surreal to see the black dragon flying above and know that they were to be something so much more.

  The scope of that revelation was almost too much to think about. The thought that he was indeed a Dragorn, bonded to the oldest dragon alive, and on the verge of immortality… It was more than he could comprehend in the middle of an invasion.

  Springing to his feet, Alijah decided to add his bow to the Velians’. Pain or no pain, he wasn’t going to let the city fight without him.

  The Velian soldiers he had followed down the wall had already put themselves between a group of families and the oncoming orcs. Their swords clashed and both sides suffered immediate fatalities. The families were pressed against the buildings, the fathers creating a line to shield their wives and children.

  “This way!” Alijah called, drawing them towards him.

  They scrambled, staying close to the buildings. The Velian soldiers were outnumbered, however, and the last of them soon fell to the might of the orcs. Alijah pulled back the string of his bow and fired an arrow between the cluster of families, narrowly missing four of them by an inch. It didn’t miss the pursuing orc. Catching the missile in the face, the beast was flung backwards and dropped to the ground.

  “That way!” Alijah gestured to the next street where there was no sign of any orcs yet.

  Stepping aside to better see his foes, Alijah aimed down the next arrow and dropped another orc. Then another, and another. His aim was true every time, always finding the gaps in their obsidian armour. Seeing their pale flesh stain red with blood was almost as satisfying as the enchanted quiver on his back. It felt freeing to know that he would never run out.

  That wasn’t how the orcs felt.

  The last of the charging beasts made it as close as ten feet before an arrow ran through its eye. A little farther north, Alijah saw bodies flying into the air so high they could be seen over the row of buildings. It was the main gate. Woe betide any orc foolish enough to rush Gideon Thorn.

  More screams pulled at Alijah’s attention, drawing him deeper into the city. The ground shook under his feet and two streets over the buildings were rocked by another explosion. Tregaran was happening all over again…

  The streets became harder to navigate as Velians ran from every corner seeking shelter when their homes were overrun. Windows smashed, shattering glass across the streets, and doors were kicked in by orcs hunting for prey.

  Alijah could feel Malliath’s rage boiling his blood. It was an anger, a fury that surfaced from somewhere primordial inside his mind. Firing arrows wouldn’t be enough to satiate his bloodlust.

  The rogue flicked the locking switch on the bow and snapped it in the air to close the limbs. He needed the feel of silvyr in his hand. The short-sword was drawn from over his shoulder, its hourglass shape glittering under the light of the moon. The silvyr sparkled in its diamond-like way, a beautiful weapon of death.

  Alijah rammed it into the nearest orc, preventing the beast from kicking in someone’s door. He thrust again and again and again. The orc’s cry became a gargle then it became nothing at all. The half-elf stood over the body with blood dripping off the blade. The silvyr had pierced the obsidian armour with such ease that Alijah hadn’t even felt the resistance.

  More orcs were coming for him now, angered by the death of their comrade. Alijah sneered and stepped over the dead body to face them. Using his greatest advantage, he weaved between their attacks and dodged every swing of their jagged blades, turning the orcs in circles. It wasn’t long before one of the orcs drove his blade into the neck of another, missing Alijah entirely. The half-elf rolled across the ground and came up behind that orc with his silvyr blade angled to run through his ribs.

  That only left one. The beast growled but it didn’t rush him as expected. The two combatants circled each other amid the chaos that surrounded them. Alijah could only hold back so long before his rage urged him to attack. It was all-consuming, demanding that he slay orc after orc.

  An enormous shadow was silhouetted against a distant fire, the only warning they received before one of the dragons plunged into the ground, dead. Its massive bulk slammed into the street and continued to skid between the houses and shops. Somewhere else in the city, a Dragorn had just fallen dead.

  Alijah darted up the wall beside him, using the stone blocks to grab a firm hold. The orc made the mistake of running down the street, where the dragon’s corpse soon barrelled over it. When its momentum at last ran out, the blue dragon had left a trail of devastation and bodies behind it.

  The half-elf dropped back to the street, his rage quashed by the sight of a dead dragon. He had never seen one die before. It was a sobering image…

  Malliath soared overhead with such speed that Alijah’s green cloak was blown out behind him. He turned and watched the black dragon fly over the eastern edge of the city, chased closely by Ilargo and three other dragons. Malliath dipped low here and there and used his claws to rip roofs off houses and swing his tail through towers.

  The dragon was a force of destruction. Alijah struggled to imagine a world in which they could ever be bonded.

  A man running for his life knocked against his shoulder, dragging him from his reverie and reminding him that he was in the middle of a battle. Alijah sheathed his silvyr blade and nocked an arrow, letting it fly with barely an aim; the orcs were so clustered that he couldn’t help but hit one of them.

  “Run!” he shouted at the Velians, directing them away from the horde charging down the street.

  The orcs bared their fangs and ran at Alijah with abandon, their weapons raised high. He slew four of the beasts with arrows before the Red Cloaks intercepted them as they passed a corner in the street. Velian spears pierced the side of the charging orc horde, creating bloody chaos in front of Alijah.

  Only a few continued their charge, determined to kill the rogue, and only one of the five remained on its feet before it was too close for Alijah to launch an arrow. The half-elf drew the arrow from his quiver and ducked under the obvious swing that looked to cleave off his head. He came back up on the other side of the swing, shoulder to shoulder with the orc, and thrust the arrow into its neck. It was a redundant habit thanks to his enchanted quiver, but Alijah still withdrew the arrow from the corpse and nocked it before firing again into the melee.

  The Red Cloaks spread out across the street and formed a line to prevent the orcs from gaining any more ground. Swords clashed and warriors fell on both sides, adding to the mounting bodies.

  Alijah decided he would hold back and pick them off with his bow, but the sound of galloping horses
stopped him from pulling the bow string. On the other side of the street, where the orcs had come from, a team of horses galloped with Velian riders astride. They were led by the king.

  The Red Cloaks retreated immediately, withdrawing from battle before they complicated things for the riders. King Rayden bellowed as he swung his sword, opening up the first orc too stupid to get out of his way. The horses charged through the horde with ease, trampling any who didn’t fall to a flash of steel.

  King Rayden pointed his sword. “Drive them back!” They turned the corner and rode up another street, leaving a pile of dead orcs behind.

  The Velians had been faster at responding to the invasion than the Tregarans, but over the din of battle, the dominant sound was that of the orcs. There were just too many of them…

  Alijah followed in the wake of the horses, assuming he would make it farther into the city without being challenged. The rogue wasn’t sure where he was going yet, but he knew who he was searching for. If the orc that killed Tauren was in Velia, he would find it and kill it.

  King Karakulak looked upon the densely populated tunnel that stood as Velia’s main gate. The humans had fortified this particular entrance with an abundance of soldiers. It was a good opportunity for the king of orcs to show his mettle, but there would be time for that later.

  Now was the time to demonstrate intelligence and tactics…

  Standing outside the main gate, Karakulak turned to the hole they had blasted out of the ground. “Big Bastards!” he roared.

  The ground thundered as six of the overly-large orcs emerged from The Under Realm in full armour and spiked knuckle-dusters. They were a sight to behold, even from Karakulak’s perspective. He imagined the humans would relieve themselves under the shadow of such monsters.

  The king pointed at the main gates with his rectangular blade. “Don’t stop until you reach the other side of the city!” he commanded.