Empire of Dirt

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “Because we’re not waiting around here for three days to then embark on a journey that will take the better part of a week, probably even more if we travel with a caravan.” The elf adorned her cloak and scimitar.

  “How will the tower of Gadavance help matters?” Asher could see he wasn’t going to have a choice, and so strapped his quiver and folded bow to his back, as well as his rune short-sword. He held Alidyr’s blade for just a moment before strapping it to his back as well.

  Faylen smiled knowingly. “It is a school for magic, yes? Then it stands to reason that they will be in possession of crystals.” Asher could see where she was going now. “I can use the magic stored within them to open a portal and transport us most of the distance. We just need to… how do you humans say it, burgle them.”

  Asher couldn’t help his mirthless laugh. “I’m a ranger, not a burglar.”

  “You were an assassin and an Outlander before that, were you not? I’m sure you will adapt.” Faylen stepped over the, previously concealed, sleeping form of Doran son of Dorain, and made for the door to the tavern above.

  The tower of Gadavance was easy to find amid the hybrid elven architecture. Lirian’s sleek and curving buildings were interrupted here and there with man-made structures and refurbishments, but the tower had been built around five hundred years ago, if Asher’s memory served. The crooked tower was three times the height of those around it and constructed entirely of grey, stone slabs. A ten-foot wall surrounded it with a simple wooden gate that opened onto a busy street, which curved around the wall. Its pointed top was decorated with a broken weather vane; all in all, it wasn’t much to look at.

  “They teach magic in there?” Faylen asked skeptically.

  “It’s no Korkanath, but it tends to take in those who they reject,” Asher offered.

  A familiar voice spoke to them from behind. “Gadavance was himself a reject of Korkanath.” The old mage, Hadavad and his apprentice, Atharia, were standing on the corner of the street, observing the pair.

  Asher looked around to check that no one was paying them extra attention. It wouldn’t be long before King Rengar sent someone to find them after word got back that he had accessed his account at Stowhold.

  “He appealed to Lirian’s king at the time and convinced him that the school would bring good fortune to Felgarn. Some believe he used a spell to sway the king…”

  “Hadavad.” Asher bowed his head. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here?” The mage countered with a tilted head. His sparkling blue eyes bored into the ranger’s.

  “Just out for a stroll,” Asher replied with a coy smile.

  The mage leaned on his wooden staff, carved into two entwining snakes whose heads met at the top. Between the two heads was a medium sized crystal, perfectly wedged in the mouths of the snakes. He looked to Faylen, who remained mostly hidden within her hood, and looked past her to the tower.

  Hadavad was not one to easily fool. “Had I any crystals to give I certainly would.”

  Asher wasn’t surprised that the mage had seen straight into the heart of their ‘stroll’.

  “Your errand is grave one,” Hadavad sighed and glanced at his apprentice, “and so we shall help you in this most perilous of tasks.”

  “You will help us acquire the crystals?” Faylen asked, surprised. There weren’t many she held in high esteem among their race.

  “Of course,” Hadavad replied. “And then we will help you defeat Valanis.”

  The statement took Asher back. Hadavad and Atharia were willingly going to put themselves in the middle of a war. He thought of Reyna and her tenacity, her resolve to vanquish the dark elf and bring peace to Verda. It was hard to meet the princess and not get swept up in her self-appointed mission.

  “You know where we’re going…” Asher said.

  “Indeed. You mean to go into the harshest desert in Illian, cross paths with the slavers of The Arid Lands and sneak into a place that has never been seen before, except by you of course.” Hadavad looked to his apprentice.

  “Sounds like fun!” Atharia’s reply was exaggerated by her eager grin.

  “You and I have a different idea about fun,” Asher quipped.

  Hadavad laughed to himself. “Atharia has gotten into some trouble seeking fun!” The mage beckoned for them to follow him as he made for the tower. “Now, walking through the gates is not a wise choice for entry. Much like Korkanath, only those who have been invited can pass through them, though instead of a dragon there are two stone gargoyles that will flatten you on the other side. Scaling the walls is also out of the question. The stone will ooze a viscous oil, making it too slippery to climb.”

  Asher gave the mage a sideways look. “You know an awful lot about Gadavance’s protective spells.”

  “I should think so,” Hadavad harrumphed, “I helped him to design them.”

  Asher laughed quietly to himself and took the extraordinary information in his stride, unlike Faylen who stopped walking and looked upon Hadavad with new eyes.

  “I thought this tower was constructed five hundred years ago?” The elf hurried to catch up again.

  “Indeed it was my elven friend!” The mage continued to circumnavigate the wall.

  “Keep your voice down,” Faylen hissed, looking around for any keen-eared humans.

  “Fear not, Lady Faylen,” Hadavad tapped the side of his staff, “no one can hear us.”

  Asher examined his staff and looked around them, expecting to see some evidence of the spell Hadavad spoke of. If there was one, the ranger could not detect it, leaving him to feel vulnerable for the first time without his ring. Paldora’s gem had always connected him to the magical world and granted him a sixth sense into that strange realm. Now it was gone.

  “I thought my skin was tingling.” Faylen inspected the back of her hand, apparently impressed with the human mage. “That doesn’t explain your earlier statement.”

  “I suppose it doesn’t…” Hadavad continued to walk through the streets, avoiding the many horses and carts, as well as the playing children.

  Asher could only smile at Faylen’s frustrated expression.

  “Now, even if you had a crystal, you would be unable to open a portal inside the grounds. Though humans have never possessed such magic, we have always known of its existence and taken precautions to counter it. Once inside however, it should be relatively easy to move about undetected. The school has only ever catered for around twenty pupils.”

  “It doesn’t look like we’ll be getting inside to find out,” Asher said, moving his cloak aside to allow a small boy to run past him.

  “I’m getting to that.” Hadavad finally stopped on the far side of the tower. “If you wish to enter the grounds without setting off any spells or traps, you’ll have to jump off that rooftop and land directly inside the wall. Don’t touch the wall!”

  Asher looked up at the slated rooftop and did a quick calculation. “That’s an impossible jump. Even if I made the distance the fall would break both of my legs.”

  “Life’s hard when you can’t heal broken bones with a simple thought, eh?” Hadavad nudged the ranger’s arm, as if aware of the thoughts passing through his mind.

  “An elf could make that jump,” Faylen announced.

  Hadavad smiled, as if his words had been spoken for him. “Atharia will accompany you.”

  “That won’t be necessary –”

  “Hold on,” Asher interrupted. “We should put some more planning into this.” He didn’t doubt Faylen’s capabilities, or even that of Atharia’s; he just didn’t want them in harm’s way, not when he had been trained for so long to accomplish such a mission.

  “I’m afraid there isn’t much more you can plan beyond the wall,” Hadavad explained. “However I must insist that Atharia accompanies you Lady Faylen, her training demands it.”

  Faylen ran a critical eye over the young woman. “If she must.”

  “Excellent. Then I suggest you fin
ish acquiring the supplies you require and get some rest. Tonight should provide plenty of fun!” Hadavad appeared almost giddy.

  13

  Stowhold

  Valanis stood in the opulent foyer of the central vaults, situated in the heart of Dragorn. The dark elf was surrounded by dead bodies, strewn and contorted into horrific and unnatural shapes. Blood decorated the marble columns and white floor, snaking between the tiles. The tall double doors in front of him continued to shake under the rhythmic banging of the battering ram. Valanis had already plundered the vaults, easily disabling their magical wards and primitive traps. They held nothing but trinkets. The relic he so desperately sought would be easily detectable amid even the most valuable of treasures.

  The noises of those he had ‘questioned’ were hard to miss however, and their distress had been reported to the city watch. It mattered not. Valanis had sealed the doors with magic. It would be hours before their pitiful ram knocked the doors through.

  WHERE IS IT?

  The gods hissed in his ear as if standing beside him. The pressure almost made him recoil, but Valanis had come to embrace their presence, even if they were displeased.

  FIND IT!

  Their rage spilled over into his mind and Valanis hurled a ball of burning, pure energy into the furthest pillar. The marble exploded and eviscerated the surrounding pattern. The column buckled, but remained in place.

  If the ruling families of Dragorn had come into possession of the relic, there was only one other place they could be hiding it. Like many of the royals in the human kingdoms, the Trigorns would have more vaults inside Stowhold. The central bank was located in the north-east of Illian, off the shores of the Shining Coast. The island was said to be impregnable.

  He would put that to the test.

  Valanis soaked up more of the magical aura that permeated Dragorn. After a deep breath from within his mask, the dark elf opened another portal and stepped into Stowhold.

  Tai’garn, the eldest of elders, breathed in the sea air and smiled as the sun blanketed him with its rays. He used his elven sense of balance to remain upright while sailing over the larger waves. The Adean was a far wilder ocean than the Crystal Sea, north of Ayda. The elf looked to the north, off the starboard bow, and recognised the island from the many maps he had studied over the years; in fact, he had help to draw many of them. The island was dark and appeared treacherous by its very nature. Even from this distance his elven eyes could make out the faintest of structures in the haze.

  “They call it Stowhold,” Ezeric offered. The tall elf had the lean, but toned build of a warrior. His blond hair whipped about behind him as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, oblivious to the rocking of the ship.

  “I know. When we lived in Illian it was known as Suraura.” In truth, Tai’garn had precious few fond memories of Illian. He had been in his seventies when they abandoned the land, and most of those decades had been marred with bloodshed and war.

  Ezeric scrutinised the sails and looked west, to Illian. “We should reach the Shining Coast by nightfall. The town of Darkwell isn’t much further from there.”

  Tai’garn looked to the upper deck, behind them. He could see Alwyn magically controlling the sails and guiding the ship; they had made excellent time under his sailing skills. Indeed all of Tai’garn’s companions served some advantage to their mission; Ezeric was one of the greatest trackers, Alwyn an outstanding sailor and unparalleled in the art of stealth, Nalmar, who was below deck, was said to have such sensitivity to magical auras, that he could find anyone or thing that used magic for miles.

  Tai’garn looked to the port side of the ship, where Hela hung poised over the railing, her hand tight around one of the sheets. She was an elf whose spirit was as fiery as her hair. Hela’s skills could be found at the end of a sword, or a bow for that matter. They were all capable warriors and killers, but Varö had assured Tai’garn that Hela was something else. She had studied the art of fighting with two swords, alongside Galanör Reveeri, the only other elf that could better her.

  “We know that they landed in the mouth of the Unmar,” Ezeric continued. “We can resupply in Darkwell and travel south to find their tracks from there.”

  “There’s no need,” Tai’garn replied. “Their last conversation with the king puts them in Vangarth, in the south of The Evermoore.” Tai’garn pondered for a moment how it would feel to once again walk in those woods. “We will journey west, into The White Vale and from there south, into The Evermoore.”

  “As you say, councillor.” Ezeric bowed in respect.

  Despite all of their combined skills, Tai’garn was the oldest and often considered the wisest of all elves, though his most youthful of looks could often be deceiving. Of course, his magical talents could not be compared to those aboard the ship, either.

  Tai’garn was left by Ezeric to muse on the meaning of wise. Was he wise as they all said? The elf simply believed that he looked upon the world and those around him with more detailed and experienced eyes, as his king did.

  A flash of light to the north pulled Tai’garn from his reverie. The elf narrowed his sharp eyes and focused on the sporadic flashes of multi-coloured light beyond, the walls of Stowhold. It was certainly magic and powerful at that, since it was enough to bring Nalmar to his side from below decks.

  “You can feel it?” Tai’garn asked.

  “Yes…” Nalmar couldn’t take his eyes off the island. His dark hair was tied into a tight knot at the back of his head, while his emerald eyes gazed upon Stowhold.

  “The humans have made great advances in the magical arts since our departure,” Tai’garn observed.

  Nalmar continued to stare at the island in silence, leading Tai’garn to ponder the meaning behind the magical display. Their reports suggested the island was some kind of reservoir for the treasures of the six kingdoms. There were no doubt a lot of magical barriers and protective spells around Stowhold, but that didn’t explain what they were seeing, or what Nalmar was feeling.

  Tai’garn knew there would be fighting to come. It was simply unavoidable with the humans, whether it came to war or not. The elder looked to the west and sighed heavily at the coming conflict. The elf took no pleasure in the planned genocide, holding fast to his belief that magic was meant for more than simple destruction. His king would have him burn the world of man to the ground with magic, but the elder’s loyalty had always swayed to his queen rather than his king. Lady Adilandra was ever the voice of reason in Tai’garn’s mind. Of course, King Elym could never know of their secret meetings in the dead of night. If Elym ever discovered that it was in fact Tai’garn who had assisted in the queen’s departure from Elandril, he would call for his head.

  The Echoes of Fate continued to play over and over in his mind. The elder believed, as Adilandra had, that the queen was the one who perceived the time they would fall. The prophesy was certainly clear on the alliance required of both shores, but Tai’garn found it hard to believe that any trust could be fostered between man and elf.

  Time, something Tai’garn had an abundance of, would tell of any alliance.

  Valanis had been unable to teleport inside the smooth, black walls of the central bank. He silently cursed only having a shard of Paldora’s gem. If he had possessed the gem in its entirety there would be no stopping him, but he could feel the edges of a seizure threatening to overcome him if he pushed too hard.

  That particular protective spell had only prevented him from entering Stowhold for a moment, however. The main path that led from the shore into the compound was interrupted by a ravine that ran deep into the rocky island. Visitors would typically have to wait until the drawbridge was lowered and the gate lifted. Valanis didn’t wait.

  A warning was bellowed from atop the walls, but the dark elf balled his hands and broke the drawbridge’s chains from thirty-feet away. The bridge fell into place before him as the guards atop the black walls opened fire. The arrows were easily pushed aside by the field erected aro
und his body. The projectiles were flung in every direction in sparks of blue and red, unable to prevent his advance across the drawbridge. A wave of his gloved hand super-heated the metal gate until the orange, molten bars rained across the ground and sizzled.

  Inside, he came under attack once again as multiple hex-traps exploded to life around him. Monsters of every variety, large and small, poured out of the portals, etched into the ground. Valanis raised his open palm before the rushing horde and used a form of ancient magic known only to the gods. The insidious waves of unseen energy washed over the beasts and overcame their senses, repurposing their instincts. The monsters came to a halt inches from his dark robes and took in his scent, examining Valanis from head-to-toe.

  “Eat…” Valanis’ order was met with eager obedience, and the creatures immediately dispersed.

  The sounds of men screaming and monsters feasting could be heard in every direction. Basilisks and Gorgons slithered across every surface at incredible speed, while Sandstalkers speared the guards to walls with their sharpened legs. The dark elf strode through most of the grounds before he was stopped again, this time by a group of mages. Bolts of lightning and balls of fire were hurtled towards him with abandon. Valanis stopped most of them with the wave of a hand and a shift in his shoulders every now and then to evade a spear-shaped icicle.

  The dark elf considered what spell to kill them with, until he sensed an overbearing presence from atop the wall, to their right. A seven-headed Hydra half slithered, half crawled, down the black wall and thundered into the mages. Each of its maws ensnared one of the wizards and shook them about, until their bodies were in ragged pieces. Valanis waited patiently until the Hydra dashed off to kill more of Stowhold’s guards.

  The picturesque gardens, which led to the main keep, were shredded by the arrows and spells that had been aimed at the elf. Valanis used his enhanced speed to move between the trees and hedges as if he were nothing more than a dark blur. At the edge of the garden he hurtled into a guard with enough speed to drive the man into the black stone, shattering his spine with a satisfying crunch. The wild swing of a sword almost caught his head, but Valanis tilted at the last second and back-handed the man, breaking his neck with a single blow.