Empire of Dirt

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  At least not without him.

  Faylen practically floated up to the rooftop, beside Gadavance’s Tower, and gracefully scaled the building. Much to her surprise, Atharia Danell was only a second behind her, with her elegant staff strapped to her back and brown hair braided down her spine. Indeed it seemed the mage’s apprentice was as mysterious as the master.

  Looking over the lip of the tiled roof, Faylen could see Asher, Reyna and Nathaniel in the darkened alleyway across the street. The princess had wanted to accompany her, but Faylen tried wherever possible to keep her out of harm’s way. She had failed at that continuously since they arrived in Illian. Hopefully, by retrieving some crystals from the tower, the companions could bypass the Moonlit Plains and avoid the threat of Centaurs and bandits. Of course, the threat of a few Centaurs and slavers in The Arid Lands was nothing compared to their final destination.

  The elf blinked slowly and pushed the distractions from her mind. Right now she had to concentrate on making the jump and surviving the fall. Faylen had boasted that an elf could make such a feat, but in truth it was a long way down. She looked at Atharia and wondered how the fragile human would ever survive the next few minutes.

  “Are you ready?” Atharia asked, limbering up.

  Faylen raised her eyebrow. “Are you?”

  Atharia contorted her body into all kinds of shapes while stretching her muscles. “There’s a chance that the tower’s wards have been upgraded since my master installed them.”

  Faylen still found the whole thing unbelievable. “And just how is it that your master was around five centuries ago?”

  “I thought elves knew everything.” Atharia stood straight and met Faylen’s questioning gaze.

  “So did I…” Faylen had indeed been humbled since their arrival in Illian. Valanis’ entire plan had blindsided her, as it had the rest of her kin in Ayda.

  Before any further exchange, Atharia whipped her staff about and began to chant in the ancient language under her breath. Faylen felt the hum of magic against her skin, before the wind picked up with supernatural force. Fallen leaves were spun into miniature tornados about them, until Atharia was lifted from the tiles and carried through the air atop the currents. Faylen watched, impressed, as the young human landed softly onto a patch of grass on the other side of Gadavance’s wall.

  The elf thought about using similar magic to transport herself, but the superior grin on Atharia’s face needed wiping away. Elven magic would always impress the humans, but their natural strength and speed would better shock them. Faylen exhaled a sharp breath and ran for the edge of the roof. Her jump was true and she easily cleared the wall, but the drop was considerable. Faylen braced her legs, ready to drop into the landing and absorb the blow. By the time she stood up, Atharia’s smug expression had disappeared, replaced with respect.

  Faylen ignored the pain in her knees and adjusted her clothes, having left her hooded robe behind and strapped her scimitar to her back, instead of her hip. The grounds within the wall were simple aesthetically, with a couple of sheds and what looked to be an archery range, though the elf suspected the students weren’t learning to fire arrows at the straw dummies. As Hadavad had warned, there were two stone gargoyles, wielding a mace each, either side of the main gate. Neither statue moved in their presence, proving Hadavad right in his suggestion to jump the wall.

  As they approached the doors, at the base of the crooked tower, Atharia yelped in pain behind Faylen. The elf turned about to the see slender roots wrapping around the apprentice’s legs and arms. Before she could act, another root snaked through the grass and claimed Atharia’s staff. The root retreated back into the large oak tree in the corner of the grounds and the staff disappeared within the branches.

  Faylen reached for the scimitar on her back when a thick root coiled around her ankle and dragged her to the ground too. The elf could only watch as more roots ensnared Atharia and drew her slowly towards the oak tree. Before she could loose a destructive spell, the thick root was sucked back into the tree and Faylen with it.

  Gideon dropped to his knees, exhausted, by the edge of the clearing. He unbuttoned his leather jacket, which appeared brown instead of its usual dark red under the moonless night. After catching his breath, the mage surveyed the line of trees to his right and left, searching for Galanör. When there appeared to be no sign of the elf, Gideon focused his eyes on the clearing of tree stumps and fallen logs, spread out before him.

  The patrolling dragons had been replaced with new, larger wyrms however, Malliath’s sleeping, black silhouette was still easy to spot in the centre of the clearing. After several minutes of scanning the ground for Galanör, Gideon pulled Abigail’s wand from its holster on his thigh and touched his temple with the tip. The spell changed the structure of his eyes, causing a moment of irritation, and allowed the mage to see vibrant colours in the dark.

  “Oh no…” Gideon spotted Galanör lying flat on his stomach behind a fallen log. The elf was creeping towards Malliath’s sleeping bulk, but he was only a few feet away from an enormous gold dragon.

  There was no way Gideon could reach Galanör before the elf found his way to Malliath. The mage was more than aware that as a human he didn’t possess the natural skills to be as covert as Galanör; the dragons would hear him blundering through the clearing within moments. A spell of invisibility wouldn’t hide his noise, and if he coupled it with another spell to conceal the sound, Gideon would be drained by the magic in minutes and left a spluttering mess at the mercy of Malliath.

  Every second he delayed, Galanör got ever closer to the black dragon. The mage crouched next to a tree and rifled through his enchanted satchel. His entire arm sank into the bag until his shoulder disappeared within its bottomless depths.

  “Where are you?” Gideon knew there was only one way he could reach Galanör.

  In his early years at Korkanath, the young mage had mastered the art of getting into trouble. Eventually, Gideon came up with the idea of having an escape plan to ensure he was never caught where he shouldn’t be. His hands finally wrapped around the small sphere and he silently thanked the gods for his fortune.

  Gideon dashed off into the forest and planted the small sphere between two large roots. Using Abigail’s wand again, the mage ignited the sphere, allowing the flames to burn through the wrapping that encased the flammable ingredients within. He didn’t have long. Gideon sprinted back through the woods until he was by the edge of the clearing again. Galanör hadn’t moved from behind the fallen log yet, though Gideon could see why; the golden dragon rested one of its mighty legs atop the log as it surveyed the land.

  The silence was instantly cut when the small explosion erupted in the forest behind Gideon. The sparks could be seen through the branches and the sound of wood snapping seemed echo for miles. As planned, the golden dragon and two of the others took flight and headed straight for the source of the explosion. Gideon remained hidden until they flew past him. There was still another dragon on the other side of the clearing, remaining behind to watch Malliath, whose purple eyes were now open. The black dragon stirred, but made no attempt to fly away or start a fight.

  Gideon remained low and scrambled over the fallen logs and scattered stumps. It was fortunate that he tripped and fell behind a log, just as Malliath turned his horned head to investigate the ruckus. The mage remained flat and did his best to imitate a dead person. Galanör was only a few feet away, behind another log, closer to Malliath. A sharp snort told Gideon that the dragon had turned away, and he dared to steal a glance over the fallen tree. He was now hidden from the other dragon by Malliath’s bulk, but that offered little comfort to Gideon.

  Slipping over the broken log, Gideon clambered across the dead tree to see Galanör rising into a crouch, ready to walk up to Malliath.

  “What are you doing here?” Galanör mouthed silently, alarm spreading across his face.

  “Stopping you from getting yourself killed,” Gideon mouthed back, but he wasn’t sure how
much the elf could read.

  “Go back to the –” Galanör’s mouth fell open and he slowly looked up, over Gideon’s head.

  The mage could feel a dragon’s breath on the back of his neck.

  Faylen twisted her body, as she was dragged across the tower’s grounds, and pulled free her scimitar. The blade cut through the monstrous root in a single, clean swipe. The elf turned her momentum into a forward roll and ran for Atharia, who was being yanked up into the tree. The apprentice’s mouth had been covered by a root and her staff was being absorbed into the trunk.

  Of all the spells, fire would deliver the most damage to the tree, but it would also attract the attention of every person in Lirian. Instead, Faylen pushed her hand out and expelled a torrent of ice and bitter frost. The spell froze the staff in place, stopping it from being completely absorbed and becoming a part of the tree. Atharia, on the other hand, was starting to lose the ability to even struggle, as her limbs continued to be strapped to her body. Faylen was reluctant to use the ice spell over Atharia, in case it permanently damaged her skin.

  Using her extraordinary sense of balance, Faylen half skipped and jumped up the tree, until she could cut the branches attached to Atharia. The apprentice fell back to the ground, still tangled in roots and branches, but unharmed. The elf dropped lightly to the ground and continued to slice the attacking roots, while Atharia wriggled and shrugged off the dead branches.

  “Get back!” Faylen pulled the apprentice to a safe distance and the roots slithered back into the tree, defeated. With an extended hand, Faylen commanded the staff to break free of its bonds and fly into her grasp.

  “Thank you...” Atharia took her staff back through laboured breaths.

  “Let us be done with this place.” Faylen replaced her scimitar on her back and made for the tower doors.

  Surprisingly, and to Faylen’s relief, the doors held no wards or protective spells. Those set around the grounds were obviously considered enough to dispel intruders.

  The interior was dim, illuminated by torches on the walls and the occasional candle. Portraits lined the walls between the torches, each with a previous teacher, now long dead.

  Atharia opened the door at the end of the foyer and gasped at the size of the room that greeted them. It was a library of sorts, at least twenty floors in height, but its width was impossible; the crooked tower simply wasn’t as wide as the space before them.

  “A pocket-verse…” Faylen whispered. “I didn’t think humans had mastered this kind of magic.”

  “Only on simple items such as bags or chests. Hadavad has spoken of this before, but I’ve never seen it on such a scale. Do elves use this form of magic?” Atharia looked on, amazed.

  “Yes. It allows for more space without having to take over too much forest.” Faylen found herself instinctively reaching for her scimitar. Something didn’t feel right about the tower. “Dark magic fuels this place…” Judging by Atharia’s expression, Faylen could see that the apprentice wasn’t surprised. “You know of what I speak?”

  Atharia looked the elf in the eyes. “Yes. Well, we suspected.”

  “And you kept this to yourself?” Faylen hissed, retrieving her sword completely.

  “There are still crystals here you can take, but Hadavad wishes to cleanse Lirian, as well as testing me in the process. I have to be ready…” Atharia gripped her staff in both hands.

  “Ready for what? What is he testing you for?” There was too much mystery behind the old mage and it was starting to aggravate the elf.

  Frantic whispers began to fill the spiral-shaped chamber. The voices started at the top of the library and quickly descended until it sounded as if they were surrounded. Atharia dashed around the tables and picked up a discarded empty cup, which she proceeded to fill with water from a small skin on her belt. Faylen walked over to observe the apprentice drop a fine piece of iron filament into the water. It was a crude detection spell, but effective in small spaces. Atharia walked around the tables, following the flickers of the iron filament as it turned in different directions at the bottom of the cup.

  “Through there.” Atharia pointed at the door situated in the far corner. “You’ll find crystals through there.”

  “What are you doing?” Faylen asked, concerned with the ominous whispering.

  “I’m going to fight.”

  The elf looked around. “Fight who exactly? What evil controls this tower?”

  “The Black Hand,” Atharia said with disgust. “They are a group of mages who practice the ancient dark arts and necromancy. They were formed centuries ago, before Hadavad’s time even. Korkanath has tried to root them out, but to no avail. Hadavad made it a personal mission of his a long time ago to destroy their foul order once and for all.”

  Faylen looked at the door leading to the crystals and back to Atharia again. “That doesn’t seem like something an apprentice can handle on her own.”

  “And yet I must,” Atharia replied defiantly.

  Shadowed figures darted around the balconies and walkways above. They were incredibly outnumbered.

  “Foolish girl!” Faylen abandoned the crystals and braced herself for the fight. “This cause is not worthy of your death. One day you will find a battle worth fighting, a cause worth dying for, but this is not it!”

  The shadows gave birth to cloaked men and women wielding staffs and wands, some even held daggers in their free hand. Atharia reacted with speed akin to an elf, once again impressing Faylen, as she flipped onto a table and dropped into a crouch. Her staff shot out and swept across the air horizontally, expelling a stream of fire that engulfed three of the dark mages. One of the hooded figures was able to raise a shield at the last moment, but the other two dropped to the floor, writhing in burning agony. The apprentice flicked the end of her staff out and caught the surviving mage across the jaw.

  Faylen was forced to roll out of the way of two fire spells and an explosion of lightning that instead tore a table and chair apart. Amid the shower of splinters and flames, Faylen jumped up and hurled a ball of fire into the nearest dark mage, before launching an armour-piercing icicle at the other. Both mages were dead before they hit the floor. The elf brought her blade up in a flurry of attacks that removed limbs, while she remained ever on the move, evading incoming spells. A quick glance showed more figures emerging from rooms on the upper levels.

  “There’s too many!” Faylen shouted over the din.

  Atharia broke bones with her staff and fired destructive spells in every direction. Books were blown off shelves in shreds of parchment and others simply caught fire, spreading to other shelves above.

  “Get the crystals!” the apprentice screamed, whipping her staff into the neck of a charging female mage. “Go!”

  Faylen was torn and she hated it. Never would she have considered the life of a human when measured against their mission, or Reyna. Her time with their kind was changing her in ways she wasn’t sure she liked. Still, without those crystals they would be forced to travel a dangerous road and be delayed in reaching Nightfall.

  The elf growled, “Stay alive!” She dashed for the door, cutting down four more mages as she did. The last of the hooded figures was used as a battering ram to open the desired door.

  Following her magical senses, Faylen moved quickly and quietly through the maze of corridors until her skin hummed in the presence of the crystals. Beyond a set of ornate doors, she found her prize, and then some. Dozens of crystals lined the walls of the windowless room, each one shining as if they contained a star. Her gaze was entirely stolen however, by the larger crystal in the centre of the room, fixed atop a small podium. It was just smaller than an average fist, but the power contained within was more telling of its purpose. This was the source of the magic that allowed for the pocket-verse to exist.

  After a few seconds of marvelling at the crystal, Faylen had an idea she thought Asher would be proud of. With Atharia’s life in the balance, Faylen quickly scooped up a handful of crystals and stor
ed them away on her belt, then moved to place one hand over the larger crystal. The elf drew on her power and unleashed a barrage of lightning upon the gem, focusing on one point. The light contained inside began to flicker as the shell cracked. That was all she needed to destabilise it.

  A minute later she was diving back into the library with her scimitar flashing. She loosed a couple of explosive spells to keep the dark mages at bay, before landing at Atharia’s side, who had collected a multitude of cuts, bruises and burns.

  “We need to leave, now!” They fought in tangent, evading each other’s attacks while cutting the horde of mages down. “The tower is going to collapse on itself!”

  Atharia stopped fighting for a fraction and stared at Faylen in disbelief. One look at the elf’s expression told the apprentice how serious she was.

  “Run!” Atharia used a spell to turn over a table and fling at the oncoming mages.

  Both human and elf turned about and sprinted to the door as the tower began to shake. Books from the upper levels fell free of their shelves and rained down with deadly effect. The stone walls cracked and entire slabs came free, shattering at their feet and expelling plumes of dust into the air.

  “Run!” Faylen shouted over the destruction. She wanted to unleash her speed and run as fast as her elven legs would allow, but she wouldn’t leave Atharia behind.

  By the time they ran into the grounds, the tower of Gadavance was falling apart. The weather vane plunged into the soft grass where it remained standing, impaled. A great cloud of dust followed them out of the doors, along with the screams of dying mages. The ground beneath their feet cracked and erupted around them while they made for the gate.

  Atharia pushed her staff out and hit the gate with a concussive blow that forced the doors out wide, bending and snapping their hinges. The two gargoyles came to life and dropped to the floor, but they were too late. Faylen and Atharia dived through the entrance and into the street, just as the tower collapsed on itself, bringing the perimeter wall down with it and destroying the gargoyles.