“You have counselled the queen?” Nathaniel echoed with concern.
“The Evermoore has always felt like home to me, and so for five hundred years I have counselled all the kings and queens who have ruled over the region of Felgarn. But fear not Mr Galfrey, I made no mention of you or your companions.”
Asher had told Nathaniel of the mage’s mysterious age, though neither knew the truth of the matter, the knight was just relieved to hear that their presence remained a secret, for now.
“Reyna and Faylen have been storing magic in the crystals all day,” Nathaniel explained. “They should be ready soon.
“We are ready to travel.” Hadavad glanced at Atharia, who nodded her agreement.
“We’re grateful for your company. I think a great deal of magic will be required if we’re to survive The Arid Lands, never mind getting in and out of Nightfall.” Nathaniel didn’t want to think about that last part.
“The honour will be ours to assist in such a quest.” Hadavad called over one of the waitresses to order food.
“I will leave you to eat in peace.”
“Please, stay,” Hadavad pleaded. “It would be nice to hear a tale or two of the Graycoats. Kaleb Jordain has a way of forgetting the details…”
Nathaniel just hoped the old Graycoat could stay sober long enough to reach Darkwell.
Then the sky was filled with stars, Reyna and Faylen emerged from their room, exhausted. They told of their need to rest and the companions prepared to leave at dawn. In truth, Nathaniel was glad of the extra night of comfort, surrounded by new friends. For just a moment he glimpsed a life where he didn’t patrol the land for months on end, searching for monsters and bandits. Instead he imagined a life with a house he could call his own, and a wife and children to dote on… a life where he didn’t have to think about where the next fight was coming from.
Then the dawn greeted the land, Nathaniel awoke in the rangers’ tavern beneath the Axe. His cloak had been removed and placed over the top of him as he slept in the worn armchair. The knight looked around to see Asher, Glaide and Doran in similar positions, all sat around the fire with empty tankards at their feet. Bale lay sprawled across the table with his large legs and heavy head hanging over the edges.
Nathaniel sat up and rubbed his eyes, regretting the amount of ale the dwarf had convinced him to drink. They had drunk long into the night with little thought of the journey ahead of them. At least the rangers could sleep it off, the knight thought, Asher and he would have The Arid Lands to contend with if the portal worked.
“Perhaps we should have stopped a little earlier…” Nathaniel commented.
“Wait for it.” Salim wore an amused smile.
Before Nathaniel could ask what he was talking about, the door burst open with a crack that threatened to open his skull. Asher and Glaide jumped in their chairs, while Bale fell off the table with an almighty thump. Doran continued to snore.
“Wakey, wakey!” Russell Maybury strode into the room with a tray of shot glasses filled with yellow liquid.
Glaide shoved a heavy elbow into the dwarf’s shoulder. “Doran!”
The dwarf awoke with a start, yelling curses. “What are ye about?”
“Wake up Heavybelly!” Russell placed the tray down on a small table between them all. “Take your medicine.”
Nathaniel picked up the shot glass and inspected the luminous liquid, “What is it?” he asked with a groggy voice.
“Better not to ask.” Asher downed his shot and winced as he swallowed.
The others all followed suit and made the same face, even the mighty Bale looked pained by the taste.
“Bah!” Doran spat. “Always tastes like hogs’ piss!”
“Unless you want that headache to last all day…” Asher bade Nathaniel to drink the shot.
Nathaniel downed the shot in one, and for just a moment the taste almost sent his nausea over the edge, until it suddenly subsided, taking his headache with it.
“That was disgusting.” Nathaniel wiped his mouth and returned the shot glass.
“Humans…” Faylen was standing behind Russell with a judging look.
Reyna met Nathaniel’s eyes and smiled, amused with his previous disposition. Both elves appeared to have recovered from a whole day of collecting and storing magical energy, however.
“We should be leaving,” Faylen observed, tactful as ever.
Russell held out his hand. “I couldn’t have you leave in such a way, and especially with a task such as yours. You have coin for supplies, but I offer you supplies you won’t readily find in a market.”
The group followed Russell down the underground corridors until they found the armoury Nathaniel had visited the previous day. Bale had to duck to enter the chamber, but the room’s contents held no surprises for the rangers.
“I regret that I cannot accompany you. You may take anything you wish, I hope that it serves you well and brings you back to the Axe.”
Asher raised an eyebrow. “Anything I like? This is my locker…”
Glaide patted the old assassin on the back. “Well after you stocked it so well all these years, I, we felt it could be something more.”
“I bet that hip of yours is feeling mighty light!” Russell eyed the gap on Asher’s left hip and guided him to the alcove lined with identical blades.
Reyna inspected the row of green cloaks and broadswords. “This is very you…”
“I know what I like and I like what I know.” Asher proceeded to replace his cloak and choose a new sword.
“And for you, Lady Faylen?” Russell gestured across the room.
“I have everything I require, but thank you.” Faylen touched the light sack on her back.
Quite impossibly, that sack housed a large chest with various supplies, though having seen Faylen in a fight, Nathaniel knew well that the only thing the elf needed was the scimitar on her hip.
Nathaniel went straight into the alcove, eager to be rid of his flowing cloak. The knight went for the tough, brown leather jacket with gaps around the shoulders and the elbows; perfect for an archer. The edges of the leather were engraved with a swirling pattern that looked better suited to an elf than a human.
“Good choice,” Glaide observed. “That jacket will stop a blade.”
“But not an arrow,” Asher added, sliding his new broadsword into the scabbard on his hip.
Nathaniel put the jacket on and fitted a pair of hardened bracers over the sleeves, offering extra protection for up-close fighting.
Glaide continued, “You’re going to find life a little harder without that famous coat of yours.” The bald ranger handed over two straps lined with short daggers. “Strap these to your legs. They’ll get you out of a pinch…”
With some finger-less gloves and a new quiver for his back, Nathaniel felt right at home among the rangers.
Reyna, like Faylen, remained by the door, more than happy with her elven attire and weapons. Nathaniel had marvelled at the craftsmanship a few times during their time together and could see how resilient their intricate leather was.
“That’s quite the bow on your back…” Glaide observed over Reyna’s shoulder.
“It has power.” Hadavad tilted his head with his eyes fixed on the black bow.
“I claimed it after I used it to kill Adellum Bövö.” Reyna twisted her head to see the top of the weapon on her back. “And it is definitely powerful.”
Asher joined them with his hand resting under the spiked pommel of his sword and a fresh, green cloak over his shoulders. Along with the two short-swords on his back, the ranger cut quite the fierce figure, and that was without knowing that the blades on his back were among the most unique in all of Illian.
“Are we ready?” Faylen was growing inpatient. “We will need the horses for our journey, so a secluded place in The Evermoore would be ideal for opening the portal.” The elf looked to Asher for any ideas, but it was Glaide who replied.
“We can show you a good place,” the
old ranger stated with a smiled. “We know all the good places.”
To Nathaniel’s surprise, the entire group of rangers accompanied them beyond the tree-line, even Bale son of Hyil. The companions received many looks on their way out of Lirian, though Nathaniel noticed that most were staring at Doran, riding atop his wart-hog.
The knight was more comfortable with the city behind them and the thick wood of trees quickly surrounding them. He wondered how far Kaleb had travelled by now. Was he close to Darkwell? Was he lying in a ditch somewhere, drunk into a stupor? Nathaniel put the thought aside and focused on the journey ahead of them. He had done all he could to look out for the surviving Graycoats; he had his own journey to worry about.
“This will do,” Faylen announced after half an hour of trotting into the forest.
They had come across a small clearing, littered with man-sized boulders and covered in green moss. The leaves were already raining down around them as winter loomed ever closer. Winter would be a distant memory after a few days in The Arid Lands, however. Their winter was still hotter than any summer in the north of Illian.
“You best be makin’ that portal big enough for me hog, elf!” Doran said with a big grin.
“Excuse me?” Faylen looked to Asher again.
Glaide cleared his throat. “What Doran is trying to say is; we have decided to accompany you. All of us…”
Asher looked to Salim with a hint of surprise in his expression.
“I would not have you tell my son of my story, and yet remain absent from what is perhaps the most important quest in history.” Salim looked to Reyna with a warm smile.
“And I would not have name left out of story.” Bale’s thick accent wasn’t easy to understand, but his intentions were clear enough.
“And I’m comin’ because my blade’s been clean for too long!” Doran laughed to himself, his whole body shaking inside his black and golden armour.
Nathaniel noted that Glaide offered no explanation, just a simple nod to Asher. Out of them all, it appeared the pair had more history.
Before Faylen could protest, Reyna stepped forward. “You do not have the gratitude of your people yet, but when our actions bring peace to all of Verda, your names and courage will be sung throughout history.” The elven princess beamed. “For who could stand against us?”
Indeed, Nathaniel thought. Despite Russell staying behind, those standing in the clearing were among the most skilled and deadliest in the land. Perhaps they could survive The Arid Lands and the Arakesh; the knight still didn’t want to think about the nightmarish creatures that Asher told of inside the pit.
Faylen protested, “I cannot transport us all through the same portal to Karath. It will cause too much stress on the portal and I don’t have the strength to open more than one this day.”
“We will do it together,” Reyna replied with confidence.
“You have never succeeded in opening a portal… in the right place.”
“Then at least use my strength.” Reyna wasn’t taking no for an answer.
“Very well. Is everyone ready?” the elf asked.
Hadavad moved forward atop his horse of pure black with a giddy expression.
Russell Maybury stepped away from the horses. “I’ll have a tankard of ale waiting for all of you. Make sure you return to drink it, eh?”
Asher looked to the owner of the Pick-Axe with what passed for a thank you from the ranger.
“We must be quick.” Faylen removed a crystal from the pouch on her belt. The light broke through the gaps in her fingers as if the elf held a star in her hand.
Faylen flicked her wrist and launched the crystal out in front of the group. With a deafening crack and a brilliant flash of every colour, the crystal exploded and expanded into a black abyss, lined with silent bolts of lightning. Hadavad was the first to gallop ahead, eager to experience this new form of magic. The remaining nine spurred their horses, and hog, through the portal with all haste. Nathaniel had travelled through one before, but it didn’t stop the dizzying wave wash over him when reality reformed around his galloping horse.
The brief moment of shadow was obliterated by the startling blue sky and brilliant sunshine. Nathaniel blinked hard to adjust his eyes and brought his horse to stop alongside the others. When his eyes found the faces of the rangers, Nathaniel felt his stomach drop at their expressions, like wild cats with their hackles up. The knight turned in his saddle and followed their gaze across the endless green fields of The Moonlit Plains.
The portal was already gone, allowing for a clear vision of the Centaurs a hundred yards away.
“We’re not in The Arid Lands,” Glaide observed, never taking his eyes off the Centaurs, who were all equally staring at the companions.
“We’re in The Moonlit Plains…” Nathaniel replied, unable to count the number of Centaurs amassing in front of them.
“I couldn’t…” Faylen slid from her horse, only to be caught by Asher mid-fall. The elf appeared exhausted and paler than usual.
That was all the Centaurs needed apparently, as the mob burst into a gallop with their bows raised and stolen swords at the ready. Their howls and cheers were beyond what any man could achieve, and only served to put a chill down Nathaniel’s spine.
“Ride south!” Glaide shouted.
Asher heaved Faylen’s limp form over his saddle and threw her horse’s reins to Atharia, who ushered it to run alongside her own. With the added weight, Hector galloped at the back of the group, with Asher’s determined look showing no signs of fear. It was only a few seconds later when the first arrows began to whistle past their heads. Nathaniel looked ahead, surprised with the speed of Doran’s hog, which sprinted and weaved between the horses’ powerful legs. Reyna led from the front with her blonde hair flying out behind her and Adellum’s bow glistening under the sun. Nathaniel wanted to ride beside her so that he could ensure her safety, a responsibility he felt tenfold since Faylen’s collapse.
The ground thundered under the stampede of hooves. Every time Nathaniel looked back it appeared as if the Centaurs had swelled in size. The plains were predominantly flat, dotted with small forests and ancient rocks, but the Centaurs dashed out from behind every cover until they were charging at the companions from all sides. One arrow flew between Asher and Nathaniel and skimmed the edge of the knight’s new jacket.
“Stay low!” Asher commanded. “They won’t risk hitting the horses!”
“How da’ they feel abou’ hogs?” Doran shouted back as his warthog dashed between falling arrows.
The small woods ahead of them exploded with life when dozens of Centaurs leapt onto the plains. The companions’ collective speed instantly slowed as they were quickly surrounded. Nathaniel kept looking to Hadavad and Atharia, who out of the group were the most qualified to get them out of the trap, but the mages slowed with the others and came to a complete stop.
The companions were herded into a tight circle, until the green of the plains were hidden behind a wall of Centaurs. Nathaniel couldn’t help staring at them all, having never seen one this close before. Everything below the navel was that of a horse, but their torsos were quite distinctive. Every one of them was well muscled and covered in thick tribal tattoos of varying colours. Their heads were human in appearance, with hard lines and scraggy beards, but their ears were pointed like that of an elf. Instead of a mane, the Centaurs had long braids that ran down their human backs.
The Centaur with the broadest chest and longest braid stepped forward with a bow in hand. His mouth opened as if to speak, when his dark eyes flicked to Reyna and fixed his gaze. For a moment Nathaniel didn’t know what to do. The princess was on the other side of the circle and if the giant Centaur attacked her he wouldn’t be able to help.
“El’shenae…” the Centaur whispered, before bending one of his powerful legs and stretching out the other to bow. All the other Centaurs whispered the same word and bowed as one.
“What’s this abou’?” Doran said out of the co
rner of his mouth.
The head Centaur looked up at Reyna. “You are El’shenae... an elf.”
Doran son of Dorain looked around quizzically. “Does this mean we’re not goin’ ta’ die?”
The void collapsed behind him and Valanis dropped into the shadows of Kaliban’s caves. The herald of the gods had once loved these caves, when they were full of wonder and power. Then they became his prison for forty years, the only place he could exist without being consumed. The pools were always warm and welcoming, made entirely of crystals that weren’t quite solid yet. Now Valanis looked upon them with a growing hatred. After decades he had finally roamed the world again, free and superior… but he wasn’t strong enough.
Valanis fell to his knees at the foot of the nearest pool, its light reflecting off his iron mask. He had spent days underground, scouring Stowhold’s secret vaults, countering hexes and spellbound doors. The herald of the gods had searched through chamber after chamber of trinkets, ancient coins and treasures that only a human could ever value. The occasional guard would venture down when they had plucked up the courage to pursue him, but all had found their resting place in those cold tombs.
Day and night the gods had ceaselessly bombarded him with their demands to find the only treasure that really mattered. The weight of the pantheon was taking its toll without the entirety of Paldora’s gem to keep his mind and body intact. He looked up to the glittering stalactites and cursed Alidyr, the head of his trusted Hand.
“Alidyr!” he screamed into the caves. “Where is it? I need the gem…” Valanis scraped the mask from his glowing face and looked up, as if the gods were standing before him. “Without the gem, I cannot retrieve The Veil. I am failing you…”
Find the ranger…
Find the gem…
FIND THE VEIL…
Atilan’s voice dominated that of Paldora and Naius. The king of the gods demanded the Veil to be found and so it must be. But without the gem, Valanis knew the magic would consume him.
Find the ranger…
Paldora’s sweet voice whispered in his ear. The herald cursed the Outlander, wondering how a savage from The Wild Moores could be so entwined with his own fate.
Empire of Dirt Page 20