Both men shared a laugh and continued to stare at the foreboding city under the dome of stars above. In the quiet that followed, Nathaniel found some of his curiosities rising to the surface.
“You having real friends in the world aside, and we will circle back to that, what’s the truth behind Hadavad? I can’t believe he’s as old as his tales would claim?”
Asher was massaging his index finger, where Paldora’s gem had once sat. “Why not? I’m over a thousand years old.”
“And I wouldn’t have believed that had there not been an explanation,” Nathaniel countered. “He certainly looks old, just not five hundred years old.”
“I’ve learned not to ask. Hadavad is very guarded.”
Nathaniel inspected Asher’s features and was sure he could see a crack in the ranger’s usually impenetrable expressions. “What are you not saying?”
“You have nothing to worry about, Nathaniel. Hadavad’s motivations have always been virtuous, more so than any other I’ve met.”
“I understand them all in some way, but there’s too much mystery surrounding him. Almost as much as there was around you. Have you seen the gem around his neck? The ruby one? It’s like no crystal I’ve ever come across.”
“I’ve seen the gem,” was Asher’s only reply.
Nathaniel sighed, resigned to the fact that the ranger would give nothing more away.
After another moment of silence, Asher spoke without ever taking his eyes off Karath. “When I first met Hadavad, I was still an Arakesh. I was young then, hunting one of my earliest targets in Kelp Town.”
“Did he appear as old as he does now?” Nathaniel asked.
“It wasn’t his age that I found so striking, though he was certainly younger.” Asher turned to the knight. “It was the colour of his skin.”
It took Nathaniel another moment to truly understand what Asher was trying to say. “He was… somebody else?”
“He looked like somebody else.” The ranger waved his hand. “Like I said; I’ve learned not to ask.”
The sound of Doran’s armour preceded his stout appearance. “Are ye two requirin’ a moment, or are ye joinin’ us for an ale and a tale?” The dwarf laughed deep in his belly, as he always did, and trotted off back to the group.
Asher placed a heavy hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder. “I can provide the ale if you can provide a tale.”
Nathaniel smiled, happy to see a lighter side to Asher, a side the other rangers appeared to force out of him. “Life as a Graycoat never leaves one without a tale or two.” The two began to walk back to the group. “I’m still not satisfied with your answers.”
“Neither am I…” the ranger casually replied, leaving the knight to ponder on the mystery that was Hadavad.
Nathaniel found camping with the rangers to be far more enjoyable than when it had simply been the four of them. The fire was bigger, the laughs came from the belly and the food was better. Doran was very particular about his meat and the way it had to be cooked, while Hadavad and Atharia ensured the fire never died.
They were awash in the glow of the moon and enjoying each other’s company for most of the night. Faylen was wrapped in blankets and sat close to the fire, under the watchful eye of Asher. Nathaniel smiled, with a full stomach, and watched Reyna beside him as she examined her bow. The knight had noticed the princess inspecting Adellum’s magical bow several times since she had taken ownership. He knew the elf was loathe to wield a weapon that had been used to kill so many. It was just another reason he was so drawn to her.
“Asher…” Salim announced in the firelight. “It has been too long since I tested my skills against a worthy opponent. It would be an honour.”
Doran’s head swivelled round in offence. “He sparred with me not five days ago…” he spat.
Asher stifled his laugh and looked over Faylen with a critical eye, but the elf nodded him on and even offered a brief smile.
“The honour would be mine, Salim,” Asher replied curtly.
Glaide shuffled over and sat next to Nathaniel and Reyna by the tree. His dark, bald head reflecting the firelight.
“You’re in for a treat,” Glaide said in hushed tones.
“I saw Asher in the battle of West Fellion,” Nathaniel explained. “He held back hundreds of Arakesh…”
“That was battle, war, survival even,” Glaide continued. “This will be closer to a dance. Art in its own way, really. The honour guards of Karath might be the only warriors in Illian that can match an Arakesh.”
Nathaniel took offence and gave the ranger a hard stare.
“No offence intended,” Glaide smiled warmly. “The Graycoats are a force to be reckoned with, but they are peacekeepers. Your training is too broad and diplomatic. Honour guards are trained to attack and kill with swift efficiency, like that of an assassin; only they use those skills to protect their emperor.”
The ranger’s explanation didn’t completely redeem him, but Nathaniel’s interest was certainly piqued. He turned his attention to Salim as he removed his sword from its scabbard and tossed the sheath aside. The blade was thin and of moderate length, but the guard was black and sloped down toward his hand, providing cover from stray blows that might relieve him of any fingers. The southerner stood very still and waited for Asher.
The old ranger removed his cloak and left the short silvyr and magical blades with Faylen. His new double-handed sword made a satisfying sound when it came free of its scabbard. Asher stood as still as Salim with his sword-tip resting on the ground.
Nathaniel looked around the camp and noted everyone’s attention was on the two fighters. He was sure that Doran and Bale were placing bets between themselves. Even Reyna put down her bow and watched closely.
The two warriors lunged at each other at exactly the same moment. Their clash of swords was momentary and brief, as both danced around the other with feigning attacks and stances designed to put the other off. Salim’s sword worked more like that of a spear, jabbing and thrusting, forcing Asher to evade or push the weapon away. In the blink of an eye, Salim was inside Asher’s arm and bring his elbow to bear. The ranger was knocked backwards with enough force to take him off his feet, but at the last second Asher turned it into a roll and came back up with his sword ready.
“Not used to the weight…” Asher grunted, hefting his new sword.
“I believe it is identical to your old one,” Salim countered with a sly smile.
After a couple of twirls to get a feel for the blade, Asher lunged forward and executed a series of moves that Nathaniel found hard to follow. Luckily for Asher, so did Salim. The old honour guard dashed about with incredible reflexes, but it wasn’t enough to hold off the ex-assassin. Asher performed an intricate spin of his sword, while locked against Salim’s, and sent the smaller blade flying into the air. The ranger held his sword at Salim’s throat for just a moment before stepping away, allowing the southerner to catch his sword before it hit the ground.
Glaide chuckled to himself. “I never get tired of watching these two fight. I once had the pleasure of rooting out a nest of Hydras with them both, many years ago now. They fight each other with incredible skill, but together they are a force to be reckoned with.”
Nathaniel felt jealous in that moment and he didn’t know exactly why. He had fought alongside Asher many times now and considered them to be quite the pair. It was a silly and petty thing to qualm over. Nathaniel hadn’t known Asher nearly as long as any of the rangers, especially Glaide, yet he felt the bond between them was stronger.
The knight turned to Glaide. “How is it you and Asher came to know one another?”
Glaide looked down at his chest with a furrowed brow. “He stopped me from doing something foolish…” The ranger looked into the roaring fire and stroked his white mustache. “In your days as a Graycoat, did you ever come across a Vorska?”
Nathaniel had indeed come across the wretches, but only during his training and with a more experienced Graycoat by his side. Unlik
e most of the monsters that lurked in the shadows, Vorska had the ability to appear human at night. Their true, hideous, form was only revealed in the light of day, forcing them to live in caves on the outskirts of towns or cities. After the sun had set they would hunt their prey openly, in the very streets in which they lived. The worst aspect of the Vorska was their wicked tongue; designed to suck out their victims blood and leave behind a toxin that transformed the victim into a new Vorska, adding to their clan.
“As a student, I helped to track one down in Dunwich,” Nathaniel explained. “Very elusive and extremely hard to catch at night.”
“The real trick is finding one and tracking it back to the nest.” Glaide rested his head against the tree. “Before I turned to this life I was a tailor; I know it’s hard to believe. I had my own shop in Bleak.”
Nathaniel was already feeling sorry for him. Nobody wanted to live in Bleak. The town fell within the reach of the cursed land of The Ice Vales, just north of Elethiah and not too far from The Wild Moores. The people who lived there were constantly under threat of being attacked by Outlanders from the moores.
“I had a beautiful wife and two gorgeous girls…” Glaide took a moment to chew over his next words. “Two Vorska followed them back from the market and… left them in an alley. By the time I found them my wife was already succumbing to their venom. I killed her myself.”
Nathaniel felt Reyna’s hand squeeze his knee and he looked at her to find fresh tears in her eyes. It was because of stories like this that he became a Graycoat.
“My rage drove me to madness. It was the kind of rage that can only end in self-destruction.” Glaide looked over to Asher, who was still fighting Salim. “That’s when he found me. Asher had been tracking them as well, and he found the cave before I did thankfully. I was about to enter their lair and die taking as many as I could. Could you imagine how well that would have gone? I’d be dead in seconds.”
“How did he stop you?” Reyna asked.
“The same way he stops everything; he hit me really hard!” Glaide laughed to himself. “When I woke up he convinced me that there was a better way to kill monsters like that. He took the time to teach me and show me a few of his tricks.”
“What happened to the Vorska?” Nathaniel asked.
“We killed them all, together. It took some time and some planning but when we returned to that cave…” Glaide had a faraway look on his face. “I put my rage away and embraced a new life.” There was a pause before the ranger spoke again. “You should ask Doran how he came to be in Asher’s debt. Now there’s a story!”
The fighters came to an abrupt stop with Salim down on one knee and Asher standing over him with his broadsword pointing down at the southerner’s head.
“Ha!” Doran yelled into the night. “I told ye he’d get tha’ better o’ him! Pay up laddy.” The dwarf held his hand out to Bale, who begrudgingly dropped four coins into it.
Glaide cleared his throat and pointed at the fighters, drawing the group’s attention to Salim’s sword, which was currently angled up towards Asher’s chest. The barbarian snatched the coins back from the dwarf with a smug grin.
“Bah! Always ruinin’ me fun!” Doran shot at Glaide.
Glaide laughed, along with the mages and even Asher. Nathaniel didn’t quite believe that Asher had drawn with Salim, especially after seeing him fight at West Fellion. The knight kept the thought to himself, not wanting to insult Salim, however.
The two fighters embraced forearms and complimented the other’s talents. Asher was quick to return to the fire and check on Faylen, who had watched silently from within her blanket. Nathaniel looked from the pair to Reyna with a questioning look, but the princess could only offer a shrug in response. The knight was about to comment how odd they were together, before a moment of introspection warned him of being a hypocrite.
“We should rest now.” Hadavad was standing at the edge of the light, resting against his staff. “Evil stirs in the south.” His vision was fixed on the darkness, towards Syla’s Gate. “Our journey to Nightfall will not be easy.”
Nathaniel looked at Reyna and hated the fact that they were knowingly walking into danger. They would all have to fight for their lives before any of this was over.
21
An Approaching Storm
Under an ocean of stars, the king of elves walked up and down the beach of the Opal Coast. Between the moonlight and the torches planted in the sand, Elym was able to survey his fleet of ships, currently under construction. Therö of House Velanii had been overseeing the work taking place day and night to ensure the ships were ready for the invasion. The larger pieces of wood, which made up the framework, were lifted from the ground with magic and put into place, to be secured with manual labour afterwards.
Up and down the shore, Elym’s keen ears heard the sound of orders being given and received in perfect harmony. With their strength and magical talents, the elves could have themselves an entire fleet in weeks. Normally, that thought would have been cause for celebration, but Elym couldn’t even bring himself to smile. His days had been filled with dark thoughts and crippling doubt since Faylen had revealed the truth about Valanis.
The original plan had been simple, in his mind. Reyna was to act as an ambassador and retrieve valuable information about the kingdoms of men, while Galanör and his companions broke Malliath free from Korkanath. Allied with the dragon, Elym could finally unlock the secrets of Mount Garganafan and breed an army of dragons to invade Illian. This would have greatly reduced any fatalities in the elven army. They were to start by taking Velia, on Illian’s eastern coast, and attack outwards from there.
Valanis was supposed to be trapped in the Amber Spell in Elethiah. From there, he could be easily destroyed for good, ridding all of Verda of his threat. The timing of everything was still suspicious to the king. It fuelled his doubt day and night, haunting his dreams and robbing him of sleep. For forty years Valanis had been free and no doubt scheming to spread his twisted evil across the entire realm.
It couldn’t be a coincidence that the elves had been planning to invade Illian for that exact amount of time. Members of his own council had put those thoughts of invasion in his mind and convinced him it was the right thing to do. A council that had been loyal for a thousand years!
If the worst was true, then Elym, and the entire elven nation, was playing into Valanis’ machinations. But what could Valanis gain from having the elves take back Illian? Did he want the destruction of mankind? To what end? Humanity would be far easier for the dark elf to conquer than the elves. Perhaps he merely wished for chaos to rule over the land, as it had during the Dark War.
Trying to understand Valanis was a fruitless exercise. The dark elf was notoriously mad, having always claimed that he could hear the gods.
He didn’t even want to think about Reyna. Even though she had only been in his life for a fraction of his time on Verda’s earth, his daughter had made quite the impression. Creating any offspring had been his way of showing that he too was making efforts to rebuild their society, as Adilandra and he had taken much criticism over the centuries for not practicing what they preach. In truth, Elym had cared little whether it was a boy or girl, prince or princess – for that was all they could ever be. As an immortal he could rule forever, and he intended to.
It was only in their absence, both Reyna and Adilandra, that the king had felt the sting. He missed them and he hated it. There wasn’t time for these feelings. An entire country had to be invaded, a race of people defeated and a mad elf to be dealt with. That thought only served to make him think of where Reyna was right now.
Elym focused solely on an elf in the distance, hammering on a metal bar, by the orange glow of a forge. After a moment, it sharpened his mind and brought him back to the present. High Guardian Varö was by his side, dressed in full armour and cloak. The warrior gave his king a concerned look, no doubt having noticed his attention wander during Therö’s tour of the beach.
T
he patriarch of the Velanii House stepped into view. “My Lord…”
Elym realised he had been asked a question but he knew not a word of it.
To save his king embarrassment, Varö gripped the hilt of his sword and stepped forward. “How many can they hold?” the elf asked.
Elym’s attention was split as he heard the sound of boots breaking through the treeline, beyond the beach. A warrior, whose name escaped him, sprinted across the soft sand in full armour without a hint of exertion. She stopped in front of the group and bowed before whispering into Varö’s ear. There was always a hierarchy to observe.
The High Guardian ignored Therö’s inquisitive expression and crossed the sand to his king’s side. “Tai’garn has made contact,” he whispered.
Elym nodded and swiftly turned to Therö. “Continue the hard work Therö and bring honour to the House of Velanii.”
Therö bowed deeply, but the king was already in the process of throwing a crystal into the air. The magic-imbued stone exploded in a brilliant flash, before leaving behind a black vortex lined with miniature bolts of lightning. Elym strode through the portal and into his palace, closely followed by Varö.
“The fleet will be ready soon,” Varö commented.
Elym wanted to reply with a suggestion that it wasn’t fast enough, until that sparked a thought he couldn’t ignore. “Could that be his intentions?” the king asked out loud.
“My Lord?”
“Valanis…” Elym couldn’t quite put the pieces together. “If you wanted chaos, if you wanted two sides to go to war…” The king thought of his daughter. “You’re my greatest tactician, Varö. Think as if you were Valanis.”
“That would be a dangerous thing, My Lord,” Varö quipped.
“He has my daughter attacked with the intention of killing her. But why? He risks revealing himself and the Hand. But what if he hoped that such an attack would enrage the elves of Ayda and press us into invasion before we are ready? We forego the dragons and years of further planning and just attack Illian in retribution.”
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