Empire of Dirt

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Kail An-Agoh looked from Asher to Tauren. “An order from the White Owl is an order from Halion Al-Anan.”

  Tauren wished his brother could have seen this. “We will ready to defend from the north first. The Darkakin are still a day away and they will struggle to find a way past Syla’s Gate, but Alidyr will march on us without any obstacle. We have to be ready.”

  Alidyr could feel his master’s disappointed gaze fall over him and he wasn’t even in The Arid Lands. Valanis would punish them all severely if they failed to usher the Darkakin through Syla’s Gate, and right now the odds were tipping. From the balcony he could see the thousand-strong traitors on horseback, trotting along with their new allies. The battle on this side of the gate would be more evenly pitched now.

  The elf was so angry he couldn’t even look at Nakir. “What a mess you have made, brother. You were supposed to have The Arid Lands under your control.”

  “A betrayal in their numbers could not have been foreseen.”

  “It isn’t about foresight, you fool! It’s about planning. Our master set this plan in motion decades ago. You have spent too long herding the upper echelons of Karath, when you should have been focusing on those that count.” Alidyr pointed at the riders in the distance. “Soldiers Nakir! Mindless troops who want for nothing but killing and fucking! That was all you were supposed to create.”

  “We still outnumber them.” Nakir was holding his anger back.

  “They have a few who count for more. Do not underestimate your enemy, Nakir; that has forever been the downfall of you and the others. You think the power gifted us makes us invincible, but I saw Adellum fall at their hands through his own arrogance.”

  “Then together we will concentrate on those few. Let the soldiers create a bloody mess of it, while we thin the herd of the strongest.”

  “We will not be riding out with what’s left of our army. That gate must be opened when the Darkakin arrive or our master will have both of our heads.” Alidyr had been meditating almost continuously in preparation for opening the gate.

  “And how are we to do that with a battle raging around us?”

  “Who said we’ll be on this side of the Gate?” Alidyr held up the glowing crystals he had taken from the pools of Naius. “We will portal to the other side and open it from there. While they are busy fighting Karathan soldiers, the gates will be opened and the Darkakin will finish off anyone still standing...”

  30

  Revelation

  Gideon took blow after blow as he forgot specific movements within Mag’dereth. Every time his arm or leg failed to be in the right place at the right time, Adriel would lash out and hit the mage around the head or jab him in the ribs. They had been going through the routines together for hours on top of the highest boulder, floating above the lake.

  “You’re not concentrating…”

  Adriel’s statement was followed by another smack to the side of the head. Gideon rubbed his pain away and moved off instead of falling back into the Mag’dereth.

  “The view can be distracting,” Adriel commented, “but I don’t think that’s what’s on your mind.”

  “Galanör was just exiled!” Gideon replied with an irritated tone that he quickly regretted.

  “It wasn’t that long ago that you wanted him dead for his part in your friend’s death.”

  Gideon blinked slowly; that very thought having crossed his mind more than once since the elf’s exile. The mage was standing by the edge now, looking out over the Reach. Smoke was still rising from the forest canopy where Galanör had set them on fire. The dragons had halted the flames and brought Malliath back under control, but the oasis was scarred. Adriel had plans to rejuvenate the damaged trees, but emphasised the importance of Gideon’s training.

  “Galanör will see to his own suffering for the part he played.” Gideon sighed and dropped his head. “What am I doing? Why am I training to be a Dragorn? I’ve already had years of training; I’m a mage, and a good one! I have the power to help Galanör and maybe even rescue Adilandra. Why am I not doing that?” Gideon was pacing now. “I should have gone with him…”

  “You need to train.”

  “For what?” Gideon threw up his hands. “Galanör was right. I’ll be dead before I finish my training and what little I learn will never be put to use in Dragons’ Reach!”

  “You cannot think of yourself anymore; you are Dragorn.”

  “I’m not thinking of myself! I’m thinking about Galanör and Adilandra, I’m thinking about how I warn Illian of the Darkakin and the elves when I’m stuck here!”

  “I was not talking about them.” Adriel looked up, beyond Gideon’s shoulder.

  The mage turned around to see Ilargo flying towards them with magnificent grace.

  “Ilargo has bonded with you. You even share a sanctuary. You could not abandon him anymore than you could abandon your arm or leg.”

  I can feel your turmoil.

  The words had Gideon following Ilargo’s flight path over the boulder and around the lake below. Just watching the dragon glide between the rocks was soothing.

  People don’t actually say turmoil.

  I am not people.

  It’s hard to argue with that.

  You must train, Gideon.

  You sound like Adriel…

  Adriel is right.

  Gideon could feel a rising sense of hope building inside of him. It wasn’t his hope. The mage continued to watch the green dragon and realised that Ilargo had invested a great deal in their bond, though his expectations were still beyond him.

  “You said it yourself, Adriel; the Dragorn are not needed anymore. Why are we doing this? If it’s so we can help the rest of Verda then let’s go with the dragons, destroy the Darkakin and broker peace between our people before they go to war! Without the threat of war you could open the Dragon Wall at Mount Garganafan and release the eggs. Their kind could thrive beyond the Red Mountains...”

  Adriel turned to the horizon. “The Dragorn harbor a greater responsibility than keeping peace in the realm.”

  “What could be more important than averting a war so terrible it will consume every race? Or destroying the Darkakin; they’re pure evil, Adriel!”

  The elf locked eyes with the mage. “You don’t know real evil. It’s hard to understand from your perspective but, by staying in Dragons’ Reach, we are preventing evil from reigning over Verda.”

  Gideon was more confused. “What are you not saying? What are the Dragorn really supposed to do?”

  Adriel was silent, his expression unreadable as he gazed across the Reach. “I would talk with Rainael.” Without any warning, the elf stepped off the edge of the boulder and plummeted to the ground, where Galandavax swooped in at the last moment to carry him away.

  “I hate it when he does that.”

  We could do that. I would catch you.

  Gideon looked over the edge, his fear of falling not quite expelled. “I think I’ll climb down the old fashioned way.”

  The mage collected his staff, standing rigid on end, and stamped it into the hard rock. The boulder cracked around his feet and lifted away, hovering over the edge. Gideon did his best not to look down as the platform descended back to the lakeside. Ilargo continued to glide overhead, casting shadows over the pebbled beach.

  What is Adriel not telling me, Ilargo?

  A sense of trepidation swept through Gideon’s body, emanating from the green dragon. The feeling was so powerful it made the mage instantly regret asking the question, as he too felt that the subject was somehow forbidden.

  Our bond is strong, Gideon. Stronger than I thought it could be. No elf and dragon have ever formed a sanctuary inside of ten years together. It took Adriel and Galandavax fourteen years to share theirs. The memories you have seen through my mother’s eyes… you were not expected to see those so soon.

  Ilargo came to land elegantly in front of Gideon, with his impressive wingspan outstretched to slow him down. His green scales glittere
d with the same gold that his mother had and his blue eyes bore into the mage.

  You didn’t answer my question. I thought we didn’t have secrets anymore. Gideon touched the side of his temple, signifying their deeper bond.

  Ilargo arched his neck and puffed out his chest. Gideon knew this was the dragon’s physical display of contemplation. For just a moment, Ilargo checked the skies above, searching for his kin. Gideon didn’t flinch as the dragon’s head dipped to his level.

  Adriel lied to you. You are not the first human Dragorn...

  31

  Attack On Syla’s Gate

  Asher leaned against the scaffolding beside Syla’s Gate and scrutinised the new forces. They had spent the day discussing strategy with Tauren son-of-none and Kail of the Karathan army. The ranger had glimpsed victory when the Karathans arrived to help, but he had kept his true thoughts to himself.

  They were all going to die...

  That particular thought had stuck with him since Vangarth, when they had first decided to retrieve the gem from Nightfall. Asher didn’t consider himself a pessimist, he was simply a realist. He had seen too many battles and fought enough foes to know that the ‘underdog’ was just wishful thinking. The larger force always won in the end.

  “You think we’re going to lose…”

  Asher was getting used to Faylen being able to sneak up on him. “They outnumber us, and that’s without the Darkakin at our backs.”

  Faylen came to rest beside him, her natural perfume as intoxicating as her beauty. “I have been taking the measure of these men. The horses will put us on an equal footing -”

  “The horses will create chaos,” Asher interrupted. “It’s not the kind of battle I’m accustomed to fighting.”

  Faylen half-smiled. “I thought you thrived in chaos.”

  Asher turned to the elf. “Have you ever been hit by a charging horse? You don’t get up from that. The best thing we can do is let the Karathans fight Karathans out there, away from the Gate. When the horses realise what they’re in the middle of they’ll scatter. That’s when we should wade in with the owls.”

  Faylen nodded, no doubt thinking about Reyna’s safety. “I believe they plan to keep their backs to the Gate, so the overwhelming forces can’t surround them on the battlefield or charge into them with any great speed.”

  “Then we’ll be pinned, and we’ll die.” Asher was massaging his index finger again, missing the shard of Paldora’s gem. He had never liked using magic, even when he had an unlimited supply of it, but it had clearly given him a confidence he was sorely missing now. He could no longer heal himself or use it as a last ditch effort to beat his enemy. He was just like everyone else.

  “I have been talking with Hadavad and Atharia. Along with Reyna, we have a considerable magic arsenal. We will break their ranks before they meet us in battle.” Faylen’s gaze had left the preparations below to look at the foreboding gate.

  Asher couldn’t help looking at the elf. He wondered how long it had been since he’d lain with a woman and the thought struck him as crude in the presence of someone so… pure. The ranger shook his head and thought of anything else. “Nathaniel told me about your conversation up there. You think Alidyr and Nakir can really open this thing?”

  Faylen reached out and touched the iron, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns. “The door was sealed by Lady Syla and the elders. I believe the magic binding its seal is impenetrable to any human or elf, but the Hand are blessed by Valanis and the power of Naius. I wasn’t alive to see them in battle during The Dark War, but there is a reason those five survived everything. They are strong.”

  “I don’t put much stock in the power of the gods. The pools of Naius? I don’t believe it. Valanis, the Hand, they’re just more naturally powerful with magic. I’m willing to bet there’s nothing they can do that you couldn’t with enough practice.”

  Faylen’s exquisite features furrowed. “But you saw Adellum at West Fellion…”

  “I saw Adellum die. That’s good enough for me.” In truth, Asher hadn’t been able to comprehend those events. Even magic couldn’t prevent four impaling swords from delivering death where a single arrow had done the job. Still, the ranger concentrated on the part that mattered; the bow could kill them, and they had the bow.

  “The Echoes of Fate cannot be undone…”

  Asher rolled his eyes. “Don’t start with the prophesy, please. I’m about to take part in a fight that will most likely be my last.”

  Faylen gripped his hand on the scaffold and squeezed. “Don’t you see your own part in the Echoes? It has already come to pass. The immortal man, risen from infamy to playing a significant role in the fate of the world.”

  “If that’s true then my only role was to ensure that Valanis got his hands on Paldora’s gem.” Asher lifted his ringless hand. “Which he now does…”

  “So you do believe.”

  “That’s not what I said -” Asher’s next words were drowned out by the sound of blaring horns.

  Through the wavy lines on the horizon, Asher and Faylen could see the horses pouring out of the southern Gate of Karath. The soldiers and owls below scrambled for their weapons and horses, with Tauren in the middle barking orders. The twelve hundred Karathan soldiers in front of the Gate had removed their cloaks in a bid to make it easier to identify friend from foe, but Asher could already see the chaos of this battle.

  Faylen gripped his arm. “This isn’t going to be like West Fellion. Whatever happens, we stick together.”

  “I would be more concerned with Reyna going off and doing something heroic than me.”

  The two set off down the stairwell, Faylen skipping over the bannister in most cases. Asher jumped the last flight and came to land on the dusty desert ground with his folded bow in hand. A flick of his thumb had the cogs rolling and the limbs snapping to life, pulling the string taut. Thoughts of the coming fight distracted him from the pain in his knees, after the drop.

  Both Karathan soldiers and owls were running in every direction to get into position. The ranger shook his head, thinking that the men should have already been in place. It was only after the dust had settled and a quiet took over the field that Asher realised that his judgement was in err. The few hundred owls that remained at the foot of the gate had lined up with Karathan bows, gifted to them by the soldiers. At their feet were dozens of arrows, buried into the desert, waiting to be plucked and fired. Reyna was still running along the edge and pulling handfuls of arrows from her enchanted quiver. For every handful she dug into the ground, ten more took their place on her back.

  “Are they charging?” Asher asked Tauren, who was walking back from the horses.

  “Not exactly,” Tauren replied with a wicked smile. “Kail and I were talking with Nathaniel and we had a different idea. I hope you’re good with that bow.”

  “So you trust this Kail?” Faylen asked, readying her own bow.

  Tauren sighed. “I don’t believe that every man here wants a world without slavery, but I do believe they want a world for their families to live in. They have all heard the legends of the Darkakin; no man wants those savages in The Arid Lands.”

  Asher nodded at Glaide and Doran, who were a mixed bag of skills when it came to archery. Glaide wasn’t a bad shot, but Doran was simply too small to use any of the bows.

  “Pah! When can we get to the real fightin’?” Doran pulled out his wide sword as he trotted up on his hog. “Bows just aren’ personal enough.”

  Glaide rolled his eyes. “Bale is practically salivating in anticipation.”

  Indeed, the barbarian was hefting his axes around on the far end of the archers, shouting his prayers to Krayt, the god of war. Close by was Hadavad and Atharia, chatting calmly with each other, as if they weren’t in a fight for their lives.

  “Mages…” Asher muttered to himself.

  Something in Karathan was yelled over the top of the amassed forces, but Asher missed it. He assumed Alidyr’s army was growing closer and
orders were being given by Kail. From their position at the back, none of the rangers or even the elves could see what was happening.

  “Positions!” Tauren barked. Every owl nocked an arrow and aimed at the sky, where the sun was about to kiss the horizon.

  Fighting in the dark had its advantages, Asher thought.

  The old ranger removed the red cloth from his belt and examined it. For fourteen years he had been able to resist its call to give in to his old ways. Since meeting the elves and Nathaniel, Asher had not only worn it twice, but he had needed to wear it to survive. It was an advantage he could no longer ignore.

  “Are you ready?” Nathaniel asked, though he was watching Reyna and Faylen attend their positions in the open space between the riders and the owls.

  Asher thought about his next words very carefully. “If this doesn’t go the way we want it to, find three horses, take Reyna and Faylen and ride east until you hit the coast, then go north, to Velia. King Rengar has the largest army in Illian; you’ll be safer there.”

  Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were going to tell me how to reach Nightfall…”

  Asher frowned, reaching for an arrow on his back. “None of you would survive inside Nightfall without me. It’s a maze filled with assassins and a basement of monsters. Oh, and there’s no light. If this goes the way I think it’s going to, ride for Velia and forget about the gem.”

  Nathaniel smiled at some unsaid joke. “Tauren wondered if you should make some rousing speech to the men, but I deterred him...”

  Asher had a sharp retort on the edge of his lips, but the sight of Salim caught his attention. The old honour guard was standing beside the barracks with his sword in hand and a deadpan stare. There was nothing left of him anymore; long gone was the composure and serenity that had always surrounded him. There was nothing but the desire to destroy now. Asher had never lost anything in his life that could be compared to losing a son, but he knew the look of a man who felt he had nothing more to lose.