Kingdom of Bones

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Looking around, Alijah knew exactly whose chamber this was. Opposite The Crow’s desk, above the massive hearth, was a line of glyphs from the time of The First Kingdom. Before The Black Hand had moved in, this very room had belonged to King Atilan.

  Drawing his attention back to the desk top, Alijah pored over the parchments and maps. If he was going to escape, it would help the war effort if he retrieved any plans from the enemy. Many of them were scribed in the ancient script, something that would require time to translate. He quickly moved the scrolls aside, looking for anything immediately recognisable as valuable.

  The map beneath it all was the most familiar thing. Or at least two thirds of it was. The map had Ayda to the east, the smallest continent and home to the elves, and Illian in the centre of the map, home to mankind and the dwarves in the north. To the west, however, beyond the wild ocean of The Hox, lay new land, a realm Alijah had never seen before.

  Pushing aside the other scrolls, the rogue ran his hands over the map, taking an extra moment to read the names.

  “Erador…” he uttered into the cold room.

  The land was connected to Illian in the north by several hundred miles of mountainous terrain. There were other names on the map, inside the borders of Erador. Sunhold… Drayshon… The Silver Trees of Akmar… Mount Kaliban. Alijah wanted to visit them all and uncover the secrets lost from those forgotten kingdoms.

  New land wasn’t the only thing this map revealed. For all the names and locations identified on the parchment, there was one ancient glyph scribed in red ink, that stood out. The glyph was copied in different parts of the map, covering all three continents. There was one in Illian and one over the island of Dragorn.

  What did it mean?

  Alijah’s head was swimming with his lessons as well as his memories regarding ancient translations. He thought he had seen that symbol somewhere before but it wouldn’t come to him. Perhaps they were Black Hand locations, safe houses they could use. But the glyph covering the island of Dragorn was the only one over a city.

  Alijah couldn’t think straight. It almost hurt to focus on anything other than his lessons. He snatched the map and stuffed it into his ragged clothes. Making sense of it would have to wait until he was somewhere safe.

  Leaving the desk behind, the rogue made for the door when another relic stopped him in his tracks. Lodged on a pair of hooks, adorning the far wall, was a bone, a fossil to be exact. Alijah didn’t even mean to, but his legs placed him squarely in front of it. There was no mistaking what he was looking at, it was just simply too big to be true.

  “It’s a tooth,” came the startling voice from behind.

  Alijah nearly jumped into the wall as he recoiled from the sound. Standing in the middle of the room, The Crow appeared totally at ease. Alijah was frozen to the spot, an animal cornered by a predator it couldn’t hope to escape.

  “You should have kept running,” The Crow continued. “It’s distracting though, isn’t it? All of this. It has certainly distracted me for more than a lifetime.”

  Alijah tried to edge along the wall and get closer to the door. What he was going to do after that, however, he had no idea.

  “It’s quite something, isn’t it?” The Crow gestured to the enormous tooth above Alijah. “It was already here when The Black Hand assumed ownership. It belonged to King Atilan; the only one he had. Like me, he was curious as to the creature that could possess such a tooth. It’s three times as big as any dragon’s…”

  The half-elf was happy to let the wizard go on if it meant he could creep ever closer to the door. A part of him knew, unfortunately, that he would never make it. Pain was all that awaited him.

  “Unlike me, Atilan was obsessed with immortality, an obsession that divided his interests. My own passions have been somewhat more focused. That tooth belonged to a Leviathan, a Cerbadon to be exact; I’ve categorised them myself.”

  Alijah had no idea what he was talking about. Some of the words he had heard before, but it was like recalling a dream.

  “Come now, there must be something of that inquisitive nature still alive in there. I just told you about a piece of history that predates The First Kingdom, a species that has remained buried for millennia, and you can only stare at me with the face of a terrified little lamb.” The Crow’s demeanour turned wicked. “Maybe it’s time for your next lesson…”

  Alijah bolted for the door, his fear driving one foot after the other and giving him strength he didn’t know he had.

  Before he knew it, he was half hobbling, half running down the hall, his escape unchallenged by The Crow. Once again, he had no idea where he was going inside the labyrinth, but now he had a reason to move with all haste.

  There was no sign of the other mages now, the corridors empty. The rogue stumbled around every corner and knocked into walls as he felt his energy seeping away. Even if he made it out of The Bastion, how was he going to survive in the northern snows? It was a dark thought, but for a moment, Alijah hoped he would die in the wilds and his body would be covered by the snow, never to be found by the necromancers.

  “Where are you going, Alijah?” The Crow’s voice bounced off every wall, its origin unknown. “You aren’t ready for the world yet. Only in The Bastion can you unlock your true potential.”

  Alijah searched every shadow and dark corner for the wizard, often missing the obstacle in front of him. There was no sign of him, yet the half-elf knew he was being followed. Charging around the next corner, Alijah slipped on the wet stone and fell face first onto the floor. His jaw was shocked with pain and he tasted blood in his mouth.

  “Find that strength, Alijah,” The Crow called from the ether. “What defines us is how well we rise after falling.”

  Alijah scrambled on his hands and knees before finding the strength to pick himself up. He desperately needed to find the way out, before it was too late.

  “Fear… that is the lesson. Fear is not real; it is simply a product of your thoughts. Danger, however, is very real.”

  Alijah skidded to a stop, confronted by The Crow at the head of the corridor. Without thinking, the rogue dashed to the left and darted down the next hallway, regardless of where it led.

  “Fear is a choice, Alijah.” The Crow’s voice followed him without difficulty, as if the wizard was inside his mind. “Fear is a tactic that can be used against your enemies, but it can also be used against you, if you let it.”

  Alijah stopped in the middle of the corridor with the choice of two directions. Feeling a colder breeze from his right, the half-elf hoped it was a sign of a nearby door to the outside world.

  “When your bond with Malliath is fully matured, you will be what’s known as an apex predator. But, you will not prey on the weak and the helpless like the greedy kings that came before you. No, you will prey on the cruel and the ignorant. For everyone else, fear is a way of life, dictating their every decision. Being above such things, you will wield fear as a weapon against those who would harm your people.”

  Alijah found the source of the icy breeze and felt the last of his hope drop away with the jagged cliff before him. The end of the hall was a gaping hole with broken stonework on all four sides. There was no way down, not without climbing the sharp rock through the mist. To jump would be death. The rogue glanced over his shoulder, aware that the one who pursued him had unlocked the power of resurrection.

  Deciding to turn back and search for another way out, Alijah began to retrace his steps. A sound echoed from around the corner, the hisses and growls so unnatural it set off his primordial instincts to run and hide. The horrifying noise was accompanied by the sound of bare hands and feet slapping against the wet stone. Alijah backed away, towards the jagged hole, with his eyes fixed on the corner in front of him.

  The torchlight gave birth to multiple shadows that soon morphed into a horde of Darklings. The dead things crawled like animals rather than humans, their past lives forgotten. Their flesh was putrid and marred having moved beyond the trappings
of pain and the need to breathe.

  Alijah had met their kind before, often used to guard The Black Hand’s dwellings. He had interrupted their grave robbing on several occasions to save the dead from being brought back. The only way to kill them was by decapitation or fire, neither of which he was currently capable of.

  The Crow emerged from the middle of the horde. The undead stopped with him, barring the way with their master. Only when compared to the long dead did The Black Hand’s leader look close to alive.

  “Fear has two meanings,” The Crow said, ever the teacher. “You can either forget everything and run, or face everything and rise.” The wizard threw a simple steel sword onto the floor in front of Alijah. “What’s it going to be?”

  Alijah looked from the sword to the Darklings. Could he kill them all? Did he have the strength? What would it matter if he did? The Crow would still be left standing there and he wouldn’t be brought down by a sword.

  The half-elf lifted his hand, feigning his reach for the sword, before spinning on the spot and running for the hole. An awkward leap was just enough to grip the side of the broken wall, where his years of climbing paid off.

  The Crow’s ancient voice called after him. “Embracing your lessons will make everything easier, Alijah!”

  The rogue knew he couldn’t go down, but he could go up. Maybe, he thought, he could scale The Bastion and get a better view of its layout. From there, he could find the best way of climbing down without having to go inside.

  Alijah worked his way around the broken wall and began his climb, being as careful as he could to keep a sure footing. The Bastion’s dark stone was slippery, covered in ice and worn down after thousands of years standing tall over The Vrost Mountains.

  It hurt like hell…

  The cold became almost unbearable straight away, his stolen robe proving lethal in the strong winds. Turning his head to see where he should go, Alijah quickly discovered that his eyes couldn’t be relied upon. Between the mist, ash, and freezing winds in his face, he could only see what was right in front of him.

  In his fatigue, the half-elf misjudged the ledge above his hand. It was a deadly mistake. Alijah’s weight brought him down and no amount of strength, be he an elf or a giant, would have allowed the rogue to regain his grip.

  He slipped and bumped against the stone, jarring his bones with every hit. His fall soon turned into a tumble as his hands lashed out for any kind of hold. When his momentum met an outcropping, Alijah’s body was thrown forward, away from The Bastion’s walls.

  The world greeted him with its vastly open arms.

  The mist made it impossible to see where the next impact would be, though it would certainly be his last. There was an urge to cry out, to yell at the top of his lungs in the face of death. No such noise left the rogue’s lips as he embraced the end of his life for a second time in as many days.

  Alijah heard the wings before he saw their powerful effect on the mist. Malliath’s black form appeared beneath him, the dragon descending just fast enough to stay under him. The gap between them began to close until the half-elf could reach out and grab Malliath’s horns. He pulled himself in and their bodies connected for the first time.

  The power and strength that ran through Malliath’s body was unmistakeable. A subtle pressure built beneath Alijah’s body and he felt the dragon rise. He wanted to crawl up the length of Malliath’s body and sit behind his head, but holding on required every last shred of his strength.

  The mist dropped below them and Alijah managed his first look at The Bastion from afar. It was just as ugly on the outside as it was on the inside, the perfect representation of its evil.

  His relief at being rescued and hope of being taken away was short lived when Malliath banked towards the ancient stone.

  “No…” he uttered, his chin shivering. “No. No, no, no! Fly away! Malliath…”

  The dragon paid his pleas no attention and continued his flight. The Bastion was under them in seconds and Malliath was angling to drop back into Alijah’s cell, the pit of his doom.

  “Please…” he begged.

  Before Malliath had landed in the massive chamber, Alijah felt the grip of magic around his body and he was yanked away. He landed hard on the freezing stone beside the young couple that had been left to rot in his cell. Reavers stood firm in front of the old door, not a muscle twitching between them. Asher was almost as lifeless, resting in the shadows where Malliath had come to land.

  Alijah tried to turn his whimper into a groan and crawl away from the Reavers. The Crow was waiting for him, one hand examining the manacles fastened to the wall.

  “I’m not asking you to live without fear,” the wizard said. “No man can live without fear. I’m asking you to resist it, to master it, even run towards it! Do you know what that is called? Courage.”

  The half-elf couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He had been robbed of his hope of escape and his body felt more broken than ever. Reavers, as always, were only moments away from inflicting more pain.

  Alijah looked up from the floor and met Malliath’s purple eyes. He had to remind himself that the dragon was enthralled, his will controlled by The Crow. To believe that he had delivered the rogue back to this hell of his own accord would be enough, right now, to crush what little remained of his spirit.

  A wave of brief nausea and dizziness came over the half-elf, yet he maintained his eye contact with the dragon. There was so much behind Malliath’s gaze - an intelligence, a personality… a soul. Alijah wanted nothing more than to reach out with his mind and fall into Malliath’s.

  Hold fast…

  The two words caught Alijah off guard for he knew they had resounded inside his head and nowhere else. It was a deep voice, rich, and thick with emotion urging the rogue to hold fast and keep his courage. Alijah knew the voice could only have come from Malliath, but he also couldn’t believe it.

  Then, he wanted more.

  He had never felt so privileged in all his life and, for a brief moment, he forgot where he was. Alijah glimpsed a life of freedom and companionship with Malliath, where they would make each other happy. He wanted, more than anything, to make the dragon happy, something Malliath hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

  The Crow stepped in front of him, shattering his dreams. “There will be time for courage,” he promised. “There are still many lessons to learn.”

  The Reavers picked Alijah up and stripped him of the mage’s robe and boots. The Crow removed the map from the rogue’s waist line and pocketed it inside his own robes. The rogue was so tired he could do nothing but let the Reavers manhandle him and chain him back to the wall.

  “Fear will show you the way,” The Crow proclaimed. “You must walk steadily towards it, for otherwise, you will always be running. It’s only when faced with darkness that you will find your true self. Your courage will surprise you, embolden you. That’s a king the people can get behind.”

  The Crow walked away, replaced by the Reavers and their sharp implements. Alijah squirmed in his chains, his natural response to hug the wall and move as far away as possible.

  “The pain will leave once it has finished teaching you…” The ancient wizard’s parting words were soon drowned out by Alijah’s screams.

  21

  Family Matters

  In a void between reality, Gideon’s projected mind anxiously awaited Queen Adilandra of the elves. The surrounding abyss was empty, its boundaries unknowable, yet the Master Dragorn felt as if he was residing inside a small room.

  He wondered whether or not that feeling was the result of the intimate connection between the diviner he possessed and the diviner Queen Adilandra possessed.

  Such musings did little to distract him from thoughts of the conversation he was about to have. Adilandra had devoted her reign to undoing her husband’s work; a thousand years of fuelling hate and inciting war against Illian.

  Now, he was going to ask the queen of elves to rally her kin and sail them across
The Adean for naught but war. It was a lot to ask, Gideon knew, but Illian needed allies more than ever, especially ones who had fought and won against the orcs before.

  Something stirred in the ether, a coalescence of light and smoke. Gideon straightened his back, adjusting his image of sitting cross-legged on the floor of his private chamber. The form that took shape before him was not that of Queen Adilandra.

  “Faylen?”

  “Greetings, Master Thorn,” the elf replied.

  “You can call me Gideon, you know.”

  “You are the master of the Dragorn order,” Faylen reminded him needlessly. “It would be inappropriate of me to call you by anything but your title.”

  It wasn’t the first time he had faced this discussion with the High Guardian of Elandril and he didn’t have time to get into it again. “Faylen, where is Queen Adilandra?” he asked with a hint of urgency in his tone.

  “Peace is a hard notion to embrace for some among us,” the elf explained. “There are those who still hunger for war, sadly. The queen takes them into the great forests personally to oversee their rehabilitation.”

  “You mean she isn’t in Elandril right now?” Gideon confirmed.

  Faylen gave a sharp nod. “Correct, Master Thorn. Is there an issue I can help you with?” The High Guardian tilted her ethereal head at Gideon, detecting his unease.

  “It is of the utmost importance that I speak with her. Can the queen be reached in The Amara Forest?”

  “They take nothing with them,” Faylen said, shaking her head. “The point of the retreats is to embrace nature again, as those in Ilythyra do. What is going on, Master Thorn? I fear what drives you so.”

  Gideon could feel what little hope he had for this conversation slipping away. “Time is a considerable factor, so I will be blunt. The orcs have returned to Illian.”