Empire of Dirt

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  The princess reacted perfectly, weaving between Nakir’s punches and reaching out for the short-sword. Asher paused to pick up the whip as Reyna dropped to one knee and plunged the blade into the dark elf’s stomach.

  Nakir froze. Only his eyes could be seen behind his black veil, but a degree of torment marred his pale face and golden eyes. Asher wasted no time looping the whip around his neck and squeezing with all the strength he had left. Reyna twisted the blade and Asher pulled on the whip. Nakir’s hands gripped the ranger’s wrists, but his strength was waning. A few seconds more and the dark elf went limp.

  Asher knew what came next, having seen how Adellum left the world, but there was no time to move before Nakir’s body began to expel all of its considerable magic. Both the princess and the ranger were thrown backwards, in opposite directions. The dead body of a Darkakin cushioned Asher’s tumble, but when he got to his feet again, Reyna had already recovered and was crouched over Nakir’s corpse, which was emitting a lot of light and pushing all of the surrounding sand away.

  “What are you doing?” Asher shouted, feeling a distinct lurch beneath his feet.

  More chunks of the mountain fell over the walkway and the sound of the wood snapping reached the ranger’s ears. The only remaining scaffold had been torn asunder by the falling debris, leaving them stranded.

  Reyna said nothing as she handed Asher his short-sword back and rummaged through Nakir’s belt. She detached a small leather pouch and held it up with the whisper of a prayer on her lips. Relief lit up her face when she removed a single crystal from the pouch.

  “It’s the only way!”

  Asher wasn’t convinced. “Have you ever opened a portal before?”

  “No! I’ve always been better with healing magic!”

  The gate lurched again and Nakir’s body began to shake violently. The first wave of energy he expelled was hot against their skin, but it was only the beginning; soon he would explode and wipe everything off the top of the walkway. Asher looked up at the raining debris of massive rocks and wondered what would kill him first.

  “Think of Nathaniel!” The ranger gripped the princess’ shoulders. “Think of Faylen! See them in your mind!” Nothing sharpened the mind like the instinct to survive.

  Reyna took a breath and threw the crystal away. Asher’s hand hovered over her shoulder, ready to drag her through the moment he saw the familiar abyss. The gate tilted and more rocks showered the walkway as Nakir’s body expelled wave after wave of magical energy.

  Then the crystal exploded.

  Asher gripped Reyna’s shoulder pad and rushed the two of them through the portal, leaving Syla’s Gate to crumble behind them.

  35

  A Life Of Purpose

  Adilandra awoke to the concoction of sweet perfumes and sweat. The elf was lying on a bed, wrapped in the finest sheets and entirely without clothes. The last thing she could remember was being drugged and marched through the corridors of the pyramid. After seeing The Goddess waiting for her in the bedchamber, her memories became distorted and then nothing at all. The queen of the elves had yet again been the plaything of the savage witch, forced to satisfy her every desire.

  But she was awake…

  Never had she awoke in the chamber before. The guards always marched her back to the cells before the drugs wore off. Adilandra sat up and balled her fist, testing her strength. After killing the last Darkakin to use her body, they should have increased the strength of the drugs or given her a higher dose. She was even stronger than the last time. Now Adilandra was awake and felt as if she were her normal self. A part of her had hoped that this would come to pass; that her elven anatomy would adapt and eventually fight off the drugs. The Darkakin had never drugged an elf for so long before, but they had assumed their power came from magic, not simple biology.

  Powerful elven ears detected the light breathing beside her, and Adilandra slowly turned around to see The Goddess, asleep. She too was naked, covered in black tattoos from head-to-toe, and completely vulnerable. Adilandra’s instinct was to conjure a ball of fire and burn the bitch alive, but no fire could be brought to life. At the base of the bed was a stand, holding another mysterious, green crystal. It didn’t matter; elven strength was more than enough to end the life of a human.

  Adilandra crawled across the bed when three sharp blasts of a horn blared out from somewhere inside the pyramid, followed by the continuous ringing of a large bell. The sudden noise had the elf looking out of the open door, to the balcony and the blue skies beyond. It was a distraction she couldn’t afford.

  The Goddess whipped her foot into the air and thrust her heel into Adilandra’s jaw, knocking her off the bed. The Darkakin queen shouted something in her native tongue and the double-doors exploded open with a flurry of guards to follow. Adilandra flexed her jaw to examine the extent of the damage and rose from the floor, cracking the knuckles of her free hand and spitting blood. The first guard assumed she was too occupied with her jaw - a mistake he would never have the opportunity to regret.

  Adilandra moved too fast to follow, her fist already buried deep in the throat of the first guard. Her sensitive, elven skin felt his windpipe collapse, but she ducked out of the way before he could spray her with blood from his mouth. When she came back up, her other hand was already gripping the spear of the second guard and twisting it away to intercept the sword of the third. The elf’s foot shot out at a low angle and inverted the knee of the spearman with a satisfying snap.

  “Don’t kill her!” The Goddess screamed over the melee. “I want her alive.”

  The third guard came again and again with his sword, every swipe too slow for the elf. Adilandra evaded every attack with a pivot of the shoulders until the fallen spear was at her feet. The queen deftly flicked the spear up into her hands and deflected the sword at the last second. A simple push-kick was enough to launch the guard across the room, where he collapsed in a heap, desperate for a breath that would never come.

  Adilandra turned around, her bloodlust reaching a crescendo now. The ease with which she could kill was still intoxicating, but right now there was no shame to be felt. The Goddess would die!

  Adilandra looked every way only to find an empty chamber. Her attention was pulled to the doors, where the sound of heavy feet were running towards her. The Goddess was sprinting down the hall, slipping between eight more Darkakin, who were charging towards Adilandra.

  Three more blasts of a horn could be heard echoing through the halls and outside, with the bells. The alarm had been rung before Adilandra tried to kill The Goddess.

  “Galanör…” Adilandra both loved and hated the elf for returning.

  As the new guards began to fill the chamber, Adilandra picked up the green crystal and casually threw it out of the window, hoping that it would eventually land on some Darkakin’s head and kill them instantly. With the crystal gone, Adilandra could feel her sixth sense returning. The eight killers surrounded her with their clubs and swords, each licking their lips with the thought of what they were going to do to her. Adilandra knew there and then that she would never leave Ayda with a single Darkakin left alive. They would all burn.

  The queen raised her hands so they were level with her shoulders. “So…” With over a thousand years of experience, the ability to conjure fire came naturally to he, and both of her hands set alight with a brilliant blue flame. “Who’s first?”

  Galanör had become a creature of instinct. With a scimitar in each hand, the elf released himself of any restraints and unleashed the warrior that he had been trained to embrace since birth. After trekking through the Great Maw and crossing The Trident, he knew that rest should have been his immediate priority before any kind of assault, but the sight of the pyramid infuriated him. The thought of what they could be doing to his queen drove one foot in front of the other, until he was chopping Darkakin down in the street like animals. Had he turned around, the elf would have seen a bloody trail cut through the city, from the edge of the jungle to th
e base of the pyramid.

  The alarm wasn’t raised until he breached the palace grounds. Everyone else had made the mistake of attacking him on sight and losing a limb or two. Its hard to ring a bell without arms or legs, and elven scimitars are excellent tools for separating body parts. The Darkakin scurried out of every shadow in the pyramid, vying for his blood. Galanör wasn’t in a hurry anymore. The elf strode through the halls, only pausing to dispatch more Darkakin and sever more limbs. The blood sprayed across the golden walls and the cries echoed in every direction, bringing more to him.

  Good, he thought. Let them come.

  Dancing around the savages was the only thing Galanör did as naturally as breathing. His blades dashed out in every direction, twirling and spinning to deflect, counter and often shatter his enemy’s weapon.

  “Adilandra!” Galanör shouted at the top of his voice. “If she’s dead I’ll kill you all!” he growled

  More and more came for him. Spears were thrown and arrows fired, but his speed would always have him one step ahead. After rising through two more levels, the elf became aware of the burning smell. Smoke was slowly filtering through the corridors and the distant sound of fire crackling reached his ears. Someone had started a fire…

  “Adilandra...” He dared to hope.

  Two archers appeared at the other end of the hall and took aim. Galanör threw one scimitar and dropped into a roll, avoiding the arrows, and came up throwing the other scimitar with his momentum. Both swords found their mark in the chest and gut of the archers. Had Galanör not given in to his instincts, he would have instantly regretted throwing his weapons, as the hall quickly filled with a dozen more Darkakin.

  The elf balled both of his fists and smiled at the charging horde.

  Gideon hugged Ilargo’s neck closely as the green dragon raced around the Red Mountains, circling the Reach for the third time. Ilargo had said that regular flying was required to acclimatise the mage to the new form of travel. For once, the dizzying heights were not on Gideon’s mind. His head swam with all the history he had taken in, his mind still trying to make sense of which were his memories and which were Ilargo’s. Of course, the bulk of his new memories had been passed down from Rainael the emerald star.

  The idea that the gods were no more than real people, who had fallen into legend before being idolised, had left Gideon with an empty feeling, but the fact that those people had started off as humans was a revelation he just wasn’t ready for. Too much had come the mage’s way since he left Korkanath, and now more than ever he wished he had Abigail to talk to. She would know what to do.

  The lush trees rushed by beneath them, with Ilargo flying as close to the tops as he could without touching them. Other dragons lounged here and there with a few taking off from between the trees to enjoy the freedom of the skies. Gideon could feel their serenity mingling with apprehension. His connection with Ilargo gave him greater insight and the mage knew instantly that they were collectively concerned about Malliath. The black dragon’s presence had them all on edge, his disposition unlike anything they had ever experienced in the Reach.

  Gideon tapped into Ilargo’s emotions, as the green dragon was less concerned with Malliath.

  You’re worrying about me…

  Of course, Ilargo replied, you have been initiated far quicker than any Dragorn before you. You have taken on a lot and have few to rely upon.

  I have you. Gideon could feel Ilargo’s elation to hear him say that.

  You do. But you have only Adriel to guide you as a Dragorn.

  Well apparently I have a lot of time to learn…

  Gideon hadn’t given his new life expectancy much thought. Immortality excited him beyond words, but it also terrified him to think of how alone he would be. Ilargo would always be there, Adriel too, but any connection he formed with another human would always end the same way, eventually. That again brought him back to the fact that he wasn’t leaving Dragons’ Reach any time soon.

  Fate has brought you this far, Gideon. Ilargo was well aware of his feelings. Trust in yourself to be where you are needed.

  Gideon knew he needed to be in more than one place right now. The mage wanted to be in Malaysai, helping Galanör to find Adilandra and crush the Darkakin. He also wanted to fly west and warn all of Illian that the savages were marching on their land. But after learning of the Dragorn’s real purpose from Adriel, Gideon could feel his calling in his gut. The mage knew he had to retrieve The Veil and destroy it in the pools of Naius; it was the only way the Dragorn would be free of the burden.

  The Dragorn have never found Kaliban...

  Gideon sighed. You need to stop reading my mind all the time.

  The connection between man and dragon is old. Our bond will always be more intimate than it would if you were an elf.

  Gideon didn’t know what to think anymore. The responsibility he felt was becoming a crushing weight on his shoulders. Feeling his anxiety, Ilargo gained height and exuded an aura of calm as the dragon tried to sooth his troubled mind. The trees dropped away and the lake soon became smaller than Gideon’s hand. Malliath could still be seen in the ruin of trees, surrounded by the larger dragons.

  The two soared through the sky for a while, settling into the rhythm of the air currents. Gideon couldn’t believe he was actually enjoying it, leading him to suspect Ilargo’s meddling in his emotions. The lines between them were becoming awfully grey.

  The dragon banked to the west, giving the mage a clear view of Malaysai in the distance. Smoke was rising over The Great Maw, pouring out of the central pyramid; from this distance it was mostly a blur to Gideon’s human eyes.

  What can you see, Ilargo?

  Fire... Malaysai is burning!

  Galanör…

  It could only be Galanör. Setting things on fire was a talent he had already proven to be a good distraction. Either that or things had gone horribly wrong and now both he and Adilandra were trapped in the burning pyramid. Gideon’s mind raced and thoughts of anything but saving them quickly vanished.

  I… I have to go to them. I have to help, Ilargo!

  I know. The green dragon banked again and turned back to the Reach.

  What are you doing? Gideon hated that Ilargo’s thoughts and feelings were better guarded than his own.

  The dragon didn’t reply, but instead angled them over the crater and dived. Gideon knew enough about the way Ilargo’s body moved to know when to expect a dive, but it did nothing for his stomach. The sheer drop kept the mage from arguing with the dragon about flying back to the Reach, as all he could do was hold on.

  Ilargo spread his majestic wings at the last second and brought them down in the small clearing that housed Mournblade. The dragon bowed low, signalling to Gideon to get off.

  “What are you doing,” the mage asked.

  Take it, Gideon. Ilargo was staring at Mournblade.

  Gideon looked from the dragon to the red hilt sticking out of the rock, its golden script shining in the sunlight. “It will only come loose when the Dragorn are needed again.”

  Do you feel needed now? Ilargo’s blue eyes looked through him.

  Was it that simple? Gideon thought. Had Adriel been unable to remove the blade because he didn’t feel the Dragorn were needed anymore?

  Take it, Gideon…

  Transfixed as he was, Gideon found himself standing in front of Mournblade with no memory of taking a step. The Dragorn wrapped his hand around the hilt and pulled with no great effort. The scimitar lifted cleanly out of the rock with a satisfying sound, its curved blade glistening in the rays of light.

  Gideon was speechless.

  The Dragorn marvelled at the blade in his hand, surprised by its lack of weight and comfortable grip. It fit his hand perfectly. Upon closer inspection, the flat of the blade was engraved with elven glyphs, though their words were lost on the human.

  The time of the Dragorn has returned!

  Gideon looked at Ilargo and the two shared a moment of pure joy, as if they co
uld glimpse the future that awaited them, a future that they would forge together.

  “Let’s go.” Gideon ran back to Ilargo’s side and hopped onto the base of the dragon’s neck, with his staff on his back and Mournblade in his hand.

  As Ilargo pressed down, ready to shoot into the sky, Adriel stepped into the clearing and locked eyes with Gideon, before finally resting on the scimitar. Despite the significance of the scene, the mage was still unable to read the elf’s expression. Through Ilargo’s link to Galandavax, Gideon could feel a sense of awe and apprehension coming from Adriel. There was no time to debate, however. Ilargo launched into the air, leaving the clearing and Dragon’s Reach far behind.

  Soaring into the sky astride a dragon, with Mournblade in hand, Gideon began to finally embrace the life that had been thrust upon him, a life of meaning, the life of a Dragorn...

  36

  Aftermath

  Asher ran through the portal, with Reyna gripped in one hand, and hoped that it led to somewhere out of the shadow of Syla’s Gate. The ranger’s faith in the young elf paid off, but it came at a painful price. With no ground to place his foot, the contents of his stomach shifted dramatically, as the pair fell into the desert outside Karath’s southern gate. Reyna had successfully opened the portal, but she had failed to orientate it to the desert floor by ten-feet.

  Reyna landed on her feet, with her reflexes adapting easily to the fall… Asher was not so graceful. The old ranger required some assistance finding his feet again, though he had more than one pair of hands picking him up. A new cut above his eye had blood trickling into his vision and the other was hazy with dust and sand, but Faylen’s angular face could not be mistaken.

  “Where in all the hells have you two been?” Nathaniel appeared by Faylen’s side, rushing from the mob of soldiers that crowded through the gate. The Graycoat and the princess came together in a crushing hug and a tender kiss.