Empire of Dirt

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “You think we aren’t ready,” Varö stated.

  “I’m trying to think a step ahead of an enemy who has been plotting against us for forty years,” Elym replied. “Perhaps Valanis thinks that mankind can defeat us if we attack prematurely.”

  “That would be another reason to have Princess Reyna assassinated,” Varö theorised. “Without her information we do not know mankind’s true power.”

  “But what could he possibly gain from any outcome?” Elym was struggling to keep his regal composure. “Valanis may have control of the Arakesh, but their force isn’t nearly large enough to take on mankind or ourselves…”

  They were missing something vital and it was driving Elym mad. Valanis had yet to reveal his real play in all of this and the king knew it would prove costly.

  “Perhaps Tai’garn’s presence in Illian will prove valuable.” Varö gestured to the double doors.

  Elym bowed his head, acknowledging the High Guardian’s subtle suggestion. The king entered the room that couldn’t be penetrated by any other’s magic, ensuring its privacy. With both hands, Elym gripped the diviner in the centre of the room and allowed his consciousness to be pulled into the ether. Sitting in front of the king was the ghost-like image of his oldest advisor and most powerful elder.

  “My Lord…” Tai’garn bowed his head.

  “You have reached Illian’s shores?” Elym was in no mood for pleasantries.

  “We are on the edge of a town called Darkwell,” Tai’garn explained. “We will gather any supplies here and make for The Evermoore, until we reach Vangarth.”

  “Make all haste, Tai’garn. I do not think they will stay in the town for much longer.” Elym wanted to order Tai’garn to discover as much information as he could while in their ancient land, but he needed Reyna to be safe. “Contact me again when you have news.”

  “Of course.”

  “Tai’garn, should you hear anything else during your time amongst the humans, inform me immediately. There is more going on than we are aware, of that I am sure.”

  Tai’garn bowed. “My Lord…” His ethereal image faded from the black like smoke in the wind, leaving King Elym to his doubts.

  Tai’garn replaced the diviner in his satchel and picked up his staff. He returned to the group, who, in his absence, had been keeping an eye on Darkwell in the distance. Without a word, the elves adorned their dark cloaks and hoods and made for the town under the cover of night.

  In Tai’garn’s eyes, Darkwell wasn’t too dissimilar to the earlier towns built by the humans, before the elves left for Ayda. They were certainly bigger and used a great deal more stone than wood, as they had a thousand years ago. There were no structures big enough to rival anything in Elandril however, but Tai’garn silently applauded the humans for their towers and roads.

  The five elves crossed the stone bridge and into the streets of Darkwell under much scrutiny. The town appeared to be guarded by an unusual amount of soldiers. Their shields and cloaks bared the lion Sigil of Namdhor, showing their allegiance to King Merkaris of Orith. The guards watched their every step and slowly walked along the bank to follow the elves into the town. Once they reached the streets, all five elves split up, taking the alleys and different streets to confuse the guards.

  In seconds, Tai’garn was on the roof of a nearby house and watching, as the soldiers conversed in furious dialogue before splitting up. They would never find the elves.

  “They seem awfully suspicious of visitors…” Ezeric commented.

  The lean elf was crouched behind Tai’garn on the sloped roof, his approach as silent as the dead. Using his fingers to speak the silent language, known to all elven warriors, Ezeric signalled for Alwyn and Nalmar, on the other side of the road, to meet them further down the street.

  “Where is Hela?” Tai’garn thought about the elf’s predilection for violence and began to worry.

  Ezeric joined him in his search of the torch-lit streets below. There was a chance Hela had foregone hiding and decided to just kill the soldiers. It wasn’t the entrance Tai’garn had in mind.

  Thankfully, the red-headed elf stepped out of the shadows and met the group outside a closed butcher’s shop. Tai’garn gave her an expressionless look that reminded Hela who was in charge and that violence was not permitted… yet.

  Tai’garn wasn’t sure yet how he felt about the idea of killing humans. So far he had followed his king’s orders and gone along with the invasion plan, but there was still a part of him that remembered how elves used to be. In Tai’garn’s mind, he could still see his people a thousand years ago as clearly as he saw them now. They could birth entire forests with their songs and enjoy the delights of nature day and night. Now they were just efficient killers. In truth, Tai’garn had hoped that, after this new war, the elven nation might return to how they had been.

  But at what price..? he thought.

  “Why are we sneaking around?” Nalmar asked. “I thought we had the king’s authority to announce ourselves as ambassadors.”

  “It would make things quicker,” Alwyn commented.

  Tai’garn replied, “We will play that card when it best suits us. For now we will blend in and learn what we can.” The elder checked the streets for any more guards. “We should find shelter for now and gather supplies in the morning.”

  The elves stuck together and moved through the streets of Darkwell in search of an inn. At this time of night the town was quiet and dimly-lit, making it easier to find the taverns. Tai’garn followed Ezeric’s lead until they came across a selection of taverns that inhabited the centre of the town, surrounding a large oval-shaped building. These streets were alive with laughter and merriment, as men and women fell out of doorways and staggered into the streets with drinks in hand.

  The elves took a moment to observe the patrons through the windows of the various taverns.

  “Soldiers?” Hela asked.

  Tai’garn used his sharp elven eyes to go over every detail of the men and women dressed in the same long coat. They had identical weapons and they certainly moved like soldiers – at least the ones who weren’t intoxicated did. Without any warning, the door swung open and the group sunk into the shadows as a two men wearing normal attire exited the tavern.

  “Damn Graycoats!” the larger of the men exclaimed. “I can’t believe King Merkaris has given them refuge here.”

  “There won’t be any ale left in the whole damn town at this rate!” the slighter man replied.

  “Well they’ve already taken over the theatre.” The larger man gestured to the oval building in the middle of town.

  The two grumpy men walked off into the night and the elves returned to the window. Tai’garn had heard of these Graycoats from the reports over the last forty years. Their purpose was noble, but their namesake was nothing but a murderer in Tai’garn’s eyes.

  “These are the greatest warriors in Illian?” Hela asked, critically.

  “Among the best,” Tai’garn replied. “But do not underestimate the humans, in battle or otherwise.”

  More of the Graycoats stumbled out of the door, taking no notice of the elves.

  “How they defeated the dragons I’ll never know,” Alwyn commented.

  Tai’garn pulled his hood a little closer, feeling the lightest of rain drops. “When given a common cause, humans are capable of a great many things.”

  Tai’garn had watched their kind emerge from The Wild Moores and build kingdoms. They had mastered speech and even made their own. These mud dwellers and Outlanders had conquered architecture, poetry, art and even magic. Sadly, they had perfected warfare. This particular trait had been used against the noble dragons with terrifying results. Tai’garn had left Illian just after their war began, but the stories of war machines and other such evil contraptions had found Ayda.

  “Are we to stay here?” Ezeric asked, incredulously.

  “Indeed we are.” Tai’garn turned to Alwyn. “I would take advantage of your light feet. Find a way inside that
theatre and learn all that you can. Join us later.”

  Alwyn nodded once and disappeared into the shadows of the alleyway without protest. As an elder on the council, it had been a long time since Tai’garn had heard any protest his word.

  Organising rooms to stay in had been relatively easy. A lie here and an extra coin there kept the questions at bay, but the stench of the place could not be bribed away. Humans had a distinctive smell at the best of times, but squashed together, drunk, in a tavern, added new aromas the elves found hard to stand. When they reached their sparse rooms on the top floor, Tai’garn found the other three elves whispering among themselves.

  “Something perplexes you all?” the elder asked.

  The elves hesitated, but Ezeric answered on their behalf. “We’ve just never seen…” The elf made a gesture with an open hand over his strong jaw.

  Tai’garn chuckled. “You’ve never seen a beard!”

  “A what?” Nalmar scrunched his face at the word.

  “Human males can grow hair on their face,” he explained with an amused smile.

  “I thought that was just in stories.” Ezeric appeared disgusted at the thought.

  “I liked it…” Hela added, coyly.

  The night went on for a couple of hours before Alwyn returned from his private errand. The elf removed his sodden cloak and balanced himself on the window sill. Tai’garn had noted, on their journey across The Adean, the young warrior was never content to sit normally, or stay still for any length of time for that matter.

  “What news do you bring?” the elder inquired.

  “Graycoats from all over Illian are coming here. Their leader, Lord Marshal Horvarth, is inside the theatre. They have taken over every room behind the stage, as well as many of the local inns. Apparently, the king of Orith has offered them sanctuary for a time. There were many talking about the events that led to their current state.”

  “Did they mention the princess or the ranger?” Tai’garn asked, urgently.

  “Only in the context of the battle,” Alwyn quickly replied. “They don’t seem to know about their presence in Vangarth from what I could gather. But the Lord Marshal appears to have been in recent contact with the king of Velia, judging by his conversation with his second-in-command.”

  This changed everything. Though Tai’garn had struggled with his faith, it was hard not to believe that the gods were guiding them. They had arrived in a town with potential sources of information that could not be ignored.

  “I’m never getting that smell out of my clothes,” Hela commented with disdain and the agreement of her companions.

  Tai’garn ignored the interruption and fell back into deep thought. The presence of the Graycoats didn’t offer any problems, but he wondered if they could be used to gain any advantage. If the Lord Marshal has been in touch with King Rengar of Velia, there might be valuable information to garner. The kings in these lands would no doubt have their spies, and it stood to reason that Rengar would be searching for Princess Reyna, as they were.

  Alwyn swept his wet hair over his head. “Did any of you see the man behind the bar? He had hair on his face!”

  Tai’garn allowed the others their laughter before interrupting. “I’m afraid rest will have to wait.” The elder thought of his king’s urgency. “I would speak with this Lord Marshal and gather what details there are to have.”

  The elder could see the protest marring their elegant features, but no words escaped their lips. His word was final and born of experience gained from a lifetime longer than all of their ages combined.

  The five elves made their way back through the streets of Darkwell, their identities concealed by their extensive hoods. The town was somewhat quieter now, with many of the taverns closing for the night. Even with their cloaks and hoods, Tai’garn was aware that the group stood out. The way they carried themselves was simply different, and though subtle, it was detectable.

  “Which part of exiled did you not understand?” a voice bellowed from inside the theatre.

  The elves came to an abrupt stop outside the double doors, moments before they burst open and a man tumbled to the ground. The man slipped in the mud and stumbled to his feet with a glazed expression. He was older by human standards, with a white mustache and unkempt hair to match.

  “Fennick…” the man said the name as if it were dirt. “You always were a little slow to the words finding your ears.” The older man wiped mud from his face and adjusted the sword on his belt, which hung between a scruffy, long coat and mis-matched armour.

  “Kaleb Jordain...” A younger man, though not by much, walked out of the theatre in typical Graycoat attire. “I suppose a man who couldn’t learn to keep it in his pants could never learn when to keep his words in his mouth!”

  The wide-set Graycoat was quickly followed by a small mob of knights, each appearing eager to lay into the older man. Seeing them all together, Tai’garn noticed the similarities between the mob and Kaleb Jordain. despite the intrigue behind the event, the elder did not have time for it.

  “Darius,” Fennick called to a knight with blond hair and hard jaw. “See to it that Kaleb here is escorted from the town and sent on his merry way. Go piss your life away someplace else, you drunk!”

  Tai’garn stepped forward and his elven companions moved with him. Without a breeze, their cloaks hung over them as shrouds, concealing most of their weapons, as well as their heritage.

  Fennick looked from one face to the next, bemused. “This is Graycoat business, on your way.”

  Tai’garn removed his hood and the others followed suit. “I am High Elder Tai’garn, of the elven council to King Elym Sevari. I would speak with your Lord Marshal.”

  The mob were stunned into silence, none daring to move under the elf’s gaze. It was not surprise at seeing an elf however, the difference subtle but observable to Tai’garn’s keen eyes. These men had seen elves before, just not so many. Kaleb Jordain simply rolled his head, stretching his neck and blinking hard.

  “Then perhaps you had better come in,” a voice replied from inside the doorway. A man strode out with an air of command about him. “I am Lord Marshal Horvarth.”

  “We have much to discuss and very little time, Lord Marshal. We are searching for Princess Reyna, who I believe you have already met.”

  Horvarth hesitated, clearly wanting the discussion to take place inside. “Yes, I have had the pleasure of meeting your princess. Indeed her actions at West Fellion saved many lives. Perhaps we should go inside, away from prying eyes…” The Lord Marshal glanced at Kaleb Jordain.

  If it sped things along, the elder was happy to accompany the Graycoat.

  “I know where she is…” the dishevelled knight announced.

  All eyes fell on him, with Horvarth swivelling on his heel to face the drunk. “Ned,” he glanced at the wide-set Fennick, “if he utters another poisonous word you have my permission to run him through.”

  Tai’garn raised his hand to halt the sword already being drawn from Fennick’s scabbard. “If this man has knowledge I seek then I would hear him out.”

  “He is drunk, My Lord,” Horvarth came to stand between elf and man. “He would say whatever he must to find a warm bed and shelter for the night.”

  The drunk straightened his back. “They were in Vangarth.”

  Kaleb’s words arrested Tai’garn’s immediate attention. This was knowledge passed on to King Elym by Faylen Haldör herself. The elven elder moved past Horvarth and faced the apparently disgraced knight.

  “From there they travelled into the heart of The Evermoore, to Lirian.”

  “How do you know this?” Tai’garn asked.

  “They were brought to us by Asher, he’s a…” Kaleb hiccuped. “Well he’s actually quite complicated as it turns out.”

  There was another name the elder had recently come by. The Outlander who had been in possession of Paldora’s gem and trapped in the Amber Spell for a thousand years. Indeed his was a story Tai’garn would like to
hear someday.

  “Whose us?” Horvarth interjected.

  “Rangers, like myself.” Kaleb tugged on his tattered coat. “Wait… I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be telling you this part.” The ranger scratched his head and frowned.

  “This part?” Tai’garn echoed. “It seems we have much more to discuss than I believed.” The elder looked from Horvarth to the interior of the theatre expectantly.

  The Lord Marshal clenched his jaw and stared at Kaleb. “Let us get to the bottom of this together, My Lord.”

  Tai’garn smiled and gestured for the old knight to accompany them inside.

  “Elder…” Nalmar came up close on Tai’garn’s side and whispered, “I can feel magic. Something approaches from… the north I think.”

  The ancient elf had come to trust Nalmar’s abilities. “The same thing you felt as we passed Stowhold?”

  “No, not as powerful, but it must be strong for me to feel it approaching. Whoever it is, their magic has been drawn from a powerful well.”

  Tai’garn nodded along. “Remain vigilant. If this man proves true, we will leave at dawn.”

  22

  The Call Of A Dragon

  Gideon fell through his dreams, until his conscious mind became fully aware that he was falling through fog. This unique blend of reality and dream was dizzying and disorientating, but his confusion soon past when he realised, with no small amount of terror, that he was actually falling through clouds. The constant rush of air in his ears gave way to the sound of a battle, and a large one at that.

  His body broke through the clouds to reveal a land he didn’t recognise; at least not from the sky. A giant city dominated the landscape, surrounded by an army he had never seen before. Dragons flew in every direction, delivering death by fire and ice, while evading the giant projectiles fired from inside the city grounds.

  Gideon blinked and he was no longer falling, but standing on the battlefield instead. The mage knew he must be dreaming, but he had never been so aware before. Everything felt so real, from the breeze on his face to the ground under his feet.