Empire of Dirt

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Asher wiped his eyes and took in the sight of his companions. Nathaniel had taken a beating by the looks of his swollen eye and fresh cuts, not to mention his damaged armour and notable limp. Faylen was still standing as regal as ever, despite the blood and dirt that blemished her skin. A cut on her jaw line looked as if it needed attention, but it was nothing elven magic couldn’t handle.

  “We lost you,” Faylen said.

  “We were…” Reyna gestured to Syla’s Gate, behind them.

  They all watched the colossal gates collapse under its own weight. The army, flooding through Karath’s gate beside them, even stopped to watch the spectacle. The mountains either side crumbled, losing their hold on the iron, until eventually there was nothing left to support the ancient gate. The displacement had one side falling flat into the desert with a resounding boom that shook the ground, while the other twisted out of place and remained stuck between the mountain and the ground. The fog of sand clung to the northern face of the Undying Mountains, but it was clear to see that with a few ladders, the Darkakin would scale the fallen gate with ease. There was nothing stopping them now.

  “You were on the gate?” Nathaniel asked in disbelief.

  “Nakir -” Asher coughed to clear his dry throat. “Nakir is dead.”

  “He’s dead?” Nathaniel echoed. “That would explain all the light we saw.”

  “The fighting has stopped,” Reyna stated, watching the Karathan soldiers enter the city.

  “Valanis has given them a common enemy,” Faylen replied, her eyes running over Asher with a critical eye. “The Darkakin are too savage to make allies with the men of Illian.”

  “Oh no…” Reyna was staring into the distance.

  Asher spat a loose tooth and a mouthful of blood onto the ground before following everyone’s gaze. The first wave of Darkakin had already scaled the fallen gate and were charging into the desert. The ranger narrowed what vision he had left and focused on the two hazy figures standing before the savages.

  “Valanis...” Reyna stated with audible trepidation.

  Faylen’s response was grim. “He really is free. Who else could bring down Paldora’s star?”

  “He is walking-death,” Reyna said absently.

  The ranger could just make out the figure robed in white, beside the dark elf. “Alidyr survived…” Asher croaked, his throat course with sand. He reached for the magical blade on his back and felt the muscles and tendons in his shoulder protest.

  “No,” Reyna said. “We cannot face Valanis. He is too powerful.” The backdrop to the dark elf was testament to that statement.

  “I already tried…” Nathaniel held up his sword. The steel blade had several divots in the middle, as if someone had gripped the sword and changed its shape.

  Reyna cupped his face and smiled. “You are a fool, Nathaniel Galfrey, but a brave fool.”

  The distinct roar of a dwarf pierced the rushing crowd beside them. “What are ye doin’?” Doran pushed his way through the mob until he faced the four of them. “Ye need to ge’ inside the walls, now!”

  They all looked back at the scrambling army, climbing over the fallen gate and round the mountain debris. Valanis and Alidyr stood defiant in the middle of the desert. Even without an army of Darkakin behind them, the destruction those ancient elves were capable of was beyond all of them. Asher looked at the high walls and wondered what the point in hiding was. The dark elf had just plucked a star from the heavens and brought down Syla’s Gate; what protection could Karath offer?

  The four companions filtered into the crowd and found their way behind Karath’s walls, guided by Doran. Asher could feel every ache and cut setting in, refusing to be ignored any longer. Before he could give in and slump against the nearest wall, the ranger caught sight of Glaide and Tauren crouching over Salim. He was glad to see that Glaide had made it back to the city, but it was clear to see that Salim had not fared so well. The southerner was lying atop a pile of sacks that were soaked with his blood. Gone was his olive tone, replaced with a pale, clammy pallor that Asher had seen many times before.

  Salim was going to die.

  Tauren held his father’s hand and rested his head against it. The son-of-none had lost his aura of rage now, leaving only despair behind. Asher placed a hand on Tauren’s shoulder and squeezed, watching Salim take his final breaths. He would have liked to speak with Salim before he left this world, but Asher knew that such moments were always robbed of people in their line of work. Theirs was not a life of sentiment, but action. Seeing Salim die, the ranger could only wonder if it was all worth it. Could they have had a life beyond this one, beyond the fighting and pain? The ranger knew the truth of that question and did the only thing he could in a moment such as this.

  “I’m sorry…” Asher offered, his words of little use now.

  Tauren closed his father’s eyes when Salim failed draw another breath. “He died with his honour intact.”

  Asher knew that was more than most would ever get, himself included. He would always choose survival over honour; it just made more sense to him.

  The streets were chaotic and rammed with soldiers and citizens alike running in every direction. Some were preparing for battle, while others shouted for their families, intending to flee. There was no order or chain of command to take control anymore.

  “Asher…” Faylen’s expression was distant but the ranger had come to understand her. The elf could feel Valanis and his overwhelming aura approaching; something Asher couldn’t feel anymore without his ring.

  Asher spoke directly to Tauren. “You need get everyone out of the city. The elf approaching us isn’t like Alidyr and the others; he’s much worse. The city walls won’t keep him out and the Darkakin will cross the desert soon.” The ranger waited for a response that wasn’t coming. “Tauren!”

  The son-of-none looked up with the face of a wild animal. His soon found the chaos beyond Asher and his rage slowly melted away. His city was falling into ruin.

  Asher crouched down to his level and gripped the young man by the back of the head. “Now isn’t the time to fight.” The ranger looked down at Salim. “And now isn’t the time to mourn. We have to run, Tauren.”

  The son-of-none stood up, much faster than Asher was able to, and looked about, no doubt seeking his fellow owls. “You would have us take the Selk Road north, to Velia?” he asked.

  Asher glanced at Jonus Glaide. “The Karathan army is broken; there are too many divides. You need to get behind another army now. If none of your people survive this invasion, there will be no one left to rebuild.”

  Doran coughed. “That’s if we win…”

  Asher shot the dwarf a glare, silencing any further remarks. “Take your people north. Survive. When this is all over, you can return and start again. If you stay and fight for nothing but the bricks, there won’t be any people left to call it home, Tauren. You have to run…”

  Glaide wiped the sweat from his bald head. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not coming with us again?”

  Asher looked to Reyna and the others. The four of them knew what they had to do.

  “Ye don’ mean to follow through with that?” Doran interjected. “Ye can’ go to Nightfall now, not after after all this. Ye need rest!”

  “We will accompany you, as promised.” Glaide squeezed Salim’s shirt before standing up to face them.

  “No,” Nathaniel replied flatly. “Tauren will need all the help he can get. Help these people instead; they have to leave this place before the Darkakin arrive.”

  Glaide and Doran looked to Asher, who nodded his approval. The rangers would be an asset on the road to Velia. Taking them to Nightfall would only have them face death again, and losing Bale and Salim would weigh on Asher’s conscience enough as it was.

  “Wait… Where’s Hadavad and Atharia?” Nathaniel asked.

  Glaide’s eyes went wide as if he were just remembering something. “Atharia took him into the alley…”

  Tauren was the last
to leave Salim, but the companions ran round the corner to find Atharia crouching over the old mage. Hadavad was sat against the wall with his hand pressed into his abdomen; blood rushed freely between his fingers. The group approached cautiously before Atharia held up her hand, stopping them from coming any closer.

  “Arakesh…” Hadavad could be heard to rasp. “So damn quick...”

  “I am ready, Master.” Atharia threw her staff down the alley and brushed her hair behind her ears.

  Hadavad smiled and coughed, contorting in pain. “Five hundred years… you were my favourite.”

  Atharia smiled through her tears. “I bet you say that to all of your apprentices.”

  “The Black Hand... will perish.” Hadavad used his free hand to pull the ruby gem out of his shirt. “Your sacrifice will see to it…”

  Asher had heard of the Black Hand over the years, mostly from Hadavad, but he had never encountered them in the way Faylen had in the tower of Gadavance. The mage’s grievances with them was entirely beyond him, except for their fondness of necromancy; that was something the ranger would never get behind.

  “Do it,” Atharia said.

  Hadavad let go of his wound and began to whisper an enchantment under his dying breath. The ruby came to life in the same way a crystal would exude light and energy upon use. Both of their faces were illuminated in the red glow, which continued to intensify until neither of them could be seen. Asher shielded his eyes for a moment, desperate to catch a glimpse between his fingers, but before his eyes could adjust, the blinding light vanished, leaving a dead Hadavad behind. Atharia stroked the mage’s cheek and removed the ruby necklace with care. The young woman stood up and collected the old mage’s staff as she did, claiming it for her own.

  “Atharia…” Faylen said, offering her condolences.

  “I am not Atharia,” the woman replied boldly, “though her sacrifice will go down in history this day.”

  There was some confusion among the group and Asher looked from the ruby up to Atharia’s eyes, connecting the dots he had been putting together over the years. “Hadavad?”

  “None other.”

  “How?” Tauren appeared the most perplexed of the group. The son-of-none had lived a life devoid of magic and enchantments.

  Hadavad, as he now was, tucked the ruby into Atharia’s clothing. “Tis’ a long tale, older than all of you,” the mage eyed Asher, “almost all of you.”

  “Is Atharia dead?” Glaide asked, looking at Hadavad’s new body as if it were a ghost.

  “Yes,” was Hadavad’s only reply.

  The mage’s lack of regret or sympathy for his new host didn’t escape Asher, but the ranger was not one for judging others and their ways, especially with a past like his own.

  Still, the group had a moment’s silence for the dead girl who stood before them. Knowing that Hadavad was alive was good, but seeing Atharia’s body so obviously alive made it hard to acknowledge her death.

  “We’re running out of time,” Faylen interrupted.

  “Valanis is approaching.” Reyna looked beyond the alley, to the chaotic streets.

  “Valanis is here?” Hadavad asked incredulously.

  Faylen was already making to move. “We need to get out of the city, now.”

  “No. Wait here.” Tauren dashed out of the alley without explanation.

  Asher could feel Faylen’s eyes on him, her impatience an ever present shadow. The ranger was eager to abandon the city as well, if not for their own perilous task but to simply survive the wrath of Valanis. A part of him wanted to stay and finish his fight with Alidyr, but it would be suicide with the dark elf by his side. Again, in his moment’s pause, the pain of his wounds lashed out and demanded his attention.

  “Here!” Tauren came back into the alley holding the reins of a pair of horses. The animals were streaked with blood, their saddles included. “Go to the east gate, past the palace.”

  Asher had a lot of respect for the young man; there weren’t many who could have survived on the streets of Karath, challenged an empire and made a stand before any army of Darkakin. To reward him for such courage, the gods had seen fit to rob him of both his brother and father, not to mention the devastation to his House of Owls. Now, at the end of such a hard road, he still wanted to help them save Illian.

  “You have been well met, Tauren son-of-none.” The ranger grasped his forearm. “Salim and Halion would be proud.”

  “Salim and Halion are dead,” Tauren replied flatly. “Let us…” The son-of-none took a breath, considering his words. “Let us be concerned with the living; that is what they died for.”

  The response reminded Asher of something he would say. There was a deep rooted anger inside the man, an anger that would never know release while there was injustice in the world. The ranger admired him for that; at least Tauren’s anger had a purpose. Asher was just an angry man. He wanted to leave the son-of-none with some lasting advice or words of wisdom, but such speeches were not among Asher’s strengths.

  “Asher…” Faylen prompted.

  “I’m sorry,” Hadavad said, “between the fighting and the dying I appear to have lost track of what’s going on. What’s happening?”

  Asher wasn’t used to hearing him speak with Atharia’s voice. “You’re going to get these people out of here, before the Darkakin arrive.” Asher mounted the horse and offered a hand to Faylen, who sat behind him. “Escort them to Velia. As many as you can. We’ll meet you there.”

  The four companions turned their horses to the end of the alley. Once again he had lost Hector in the all the chaos, but Asher decided it was probably for the best, since he had continued to lead the horse into danger, and the mounts they now sat upon weren’t heading anywhere good.

  Asher looked back at the rangers and Tauren, wondering who he would see again… or if they would see him again. A swift kick had the horses charging into the city streets, where the citizens of Karath were forced to dive out of the way. Asher wasn’t waiting for anyone now; they had to reach the east gate and hope the madness concealed their escape.

  The eastern side of the city was largely abandoned now, with most of the residents heading to the north gate. Asher and Reyna had their horses gallop through the gates and out into the desert. The ruin of Syla’s Gate dominated the mountain range to the south, their peaks hidden within a cloud of sand. Karath was lost, The Arid Lands would follow and from there, Valanis could march his army of savages into the northern realms.

  An overbearing thought weighed down on Asher, a thought he was becoming tired of having, but seeing the Darkakin march over the desert to the south, and the refugees fleeing the city to the north, there was no mistaking it.

  They had lost…

  Alidyr gave himself over to the fall, instead concentrating his efforts on removing the last crystal from his belt. Throwing the crystal while falling was futile, leaving the elf with only one option. Centuries had past since he had been forced to use a crystal in this manner, but the pain could never be forgotten. With one hand he crushed the crystal and thought of Valanis. The magic folded Alidyr into nothingness before spitting him back out across the desert floor.

  Thanks to his years of training, the elf was able to orientate the direction of his makeshift portal, preventing his momentum from still being the end of him. Humiliatingly however, Alidyr was shot back into existence at the feet of his master. After rolling over the desert and the battlefield of dead bodies, the elf picked himself up and brushed off his tattered, white robes, now stained with blood and dirt.

  “Master…” Alidyr bowed his head, though Valanis took little notice of him.

  Syla’s Gate was falling. The ancient magic that had sealed it for over a thousand years had been for nothing when challenged by Valanis. His master was truly as powerful as the gods. Who but the herald of the creators could bring down a star?

  “How did you know,” Alidyr asked. “How did you know we would fail to open the gate?”

  Valanis’ chest
heaved and Alidyr could only imagine the magical strength required to pull off such a feat. He feared his master would suffer for it.

  Valanis tilted his head, as if listening to something else. “The gods know the true strength of us all.” The dark elf opened his arms to the spectacle before them. “And now man will know the strength of the gods.”

  A bright light shone from the top of the gate, piercing the fog of sand. Alidyr had only seen a light such as that once before; when Adellum died in West Fellion. It seemed another brother was leaving him now.

  “Nakir was weak,” Valanis announced. “He could not keep Karath from splintering. Instead they will unify against this threat.”

  Alidyr cared little for whether Nakir died or not, but Valanis’ indifference was disturbing. Would he care so little if Alidyr was to perish? Such doubts were a weakness he could not afford now, not when the war was only just beginning. They were all tools for the gods, Valanis included.

  “The forges completed their work before -” Alidyr held his tongue, mesmerised by the sight.

  The only remaining monument to the oldest of their kind collapsed into the desert with a deafening roar. The mountains buckled and cracked, raining boulders the size of castles upon the ground. For the first time in over a millennium, the valley of the Undying Mountains could be seen from The Arid Lands. The ground shook and the elf likened it to Atilan taking his first step on Illian soil. The Echoes of Fate could not be denied...

  A new portal opened beside them and Thallan strode out in his dark armour and hood. His jade scimitar was strapped to his waist, as ever, but his appearance was too clean for their surroundings, setting him apart. Only Valanis could have summoned him so accurately, and only a crystal from the pools of Naius could bring him so far. Thallan was speechless at the sight of Syla’s Gate.

  “Thallan…” Valanis called softly. “You are to take charge of the Darkakin now.”

  Alidyr didn’t like that his brother was receiving so much responsibility, but the idea of leading the savages appalled the elf. Let Thallan deal with the rabble, he thought.