“As you say, coincidence. Besides, Paldora’s star will cross the night’s sky as it always has. Like every time before Princess, it will not be seen in the daylight, as Nalana’s words claim,” Mörygan replied.
“What about Galanör’s part in this? If he succeeds at Korkanath, the lord of elves will be fulfilling part of the very prophecy he doesn’t believe in!” Reyna could feel Faylen’s eyes on her. It wasn’t befitting of a princess to raise her voice.
“Focus on your part in this.” Mörygan strolled to the edge of the deck, his hands clasped behind his back. “Forget the garbled words of a dying elf and see clearly what lies before us. We must destroy Valanis once and for all, before the dim-witted humans accidentally free him, and while he is vulnerable in Elethiah.”
Reyna left for her room, seeing that Faylen wasn’t going to speak for her or her beliefs. Mörygan couldn’t be reasoned with, having his head firmly planted inside the king’s behind. Ölli glided down to meet her, eager for his lunch having stretched his wings.
“You shouldn’t allow her head to be filled with such nonsense.” Mörygan chastised Faylen after Reyna left. “If there are no gods, there can be no prophecies. She must believe in the natural abilities of our kind, not the useless words of a believer in false deities.”
“We believed in those deities once...” Faylen relinquished her hold over the wind and allowed the ship to sail naturally.
“We were young and naive, primitive even. Gods would not grant Valanis the power he claimed. They wouldn’t allow for such devastation to be wrought across our land, our people. Valanis found a natural source of powerful magic and it corrupted him, that’s all.”
“What is magic, if not a gift from Naius?” Faylen had not been alive during the Dark War, but she knew Valanis had claimed Naius, the god of magic, granted him the power.
“Magic is a part of this world, like fire and ice. It’s woven into the fabric of our reality.” Mörygan ran a critical eye over Faylen. “Perhaps the king was wrong to put the girl in your care all these years...”
Faylen bit back her retort, refusing to rise to him. Instead she looked to the horizon, south of the ship.
“How fairs Galanör?”
“His mission isn’t without its difficulties,” Mörygan explained, “but he assures me they will reach Korkanath at the appointed time.”
“At this rate we will reach Illian in a few days. Do you think King Rengar will have an emissary waiting to meet us?”
“No doubt. He will want to show us off to the other rulers of Illian. I wouldn’t be surprised if he sent an army to escort us...”
Chapter Twelve
A Wolf among Sheep
After nearly two days of hard riding, Galkarus’s spell faded and the company’s horses needed their first rest, along with everyone’s behinds. Barely a word had passed between the group since they left Velia, a silence Asher was grateful for. As well as Nathaniel, Elaith and Darius Devale, six Graycoats accompanied him on the king’s errand. Every time the ranger caught Devale giving Nathaniel a dirty look, he couldn’t help but laugh to himself. Sending him into the tavern to recruit Nathaniel had been his first order to the arrogant Graycoat. It wouldn’t be his last.
The storm was behind them now, its borders hanging over Velia in the distance. They had kept to the Selk Road on their journey north, the well-beaten track the fastest and safest way to travel. The road connected all the kingdoms in Illian, passing through some of the bigger towns and cutting through The Evermoore. Asher rarely used the road, preferring the isolation of the wild and the opportunity to travel across the land unseen.
The horses trotted along the road with the last of their energy. Asher led the group with Nathaniel coming up on his side, ignoring the glances of the other Graycoats.
“We should probably stop soon,” Nathaniel commented. “Let the horses rest. We’ve made good time; we’ll reach the mouth of the Unmar tomorrow.”
“Soon, they’ve got a little more in them.” Asher patted Hector on the neck, as he looked over the group behind them.
The horses were covered in white foamy sweat and the men were haggard from riding non-stop. Elaith was half asleep over the mane of her chestnut mare.
“It’s still hard to get my head around...” Nathaniel kept his voice low enough so not to be heard by the others.
Asher wasn’t sure what to make of the strange friendship forming between them. “They won’t stay,” the ranger replied. “When the elves realise that humans are just as barbaric as they were a thousand years ago, they’ll return to Ayda. The only question is how many survive the Arakesh.”
“Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“I’ve spent over a decade avoiding them for a reason, Galfrey. The Father won’t send old assassins to kill the elves, he’ll send the best. I might be able to predict their moves but that doesn’t mean I’ll survive an encounter with them.” Asher shifted his bum in the saddle, resigning himself to the fact that there was no comfortable position.
“The Father... that’s the head of Nightfall?” Nathaniel’s tone had changed, his curious nature returning.
Asher silently laughed to himself, giving Nathaniel a sideways glance. The Graycoat was always searching for answers, though whether it was to elevate his status within West Fellion or just his curiosity was unknown to the ranger. Asher felt his old instincts kick in when probed about Nightfall’s secrets, however. He had been brought up and trained to live a life shrouded in deceit and lies, with a foundation built around loyalty to the Arakesh. Every assassin was to die with Nightfall’s secrets.
“Why keep their secrets?” Nathaniel pressed. “You’ve said it yourself, you’re not an Arakesh anymore, you owe them nothing.”
“Why share them?” Asher countered. “Nothing good has ever come out of that place. What would you do with the information? Even if you took every Graycoat to Nightfall there would be nothing but death waiting for you.”
“So if you share their secrets, people will die, and if you don’t share their secrets, people will still die...” Nathaniel’s horse slowed down, leaving the ranger to carry on and think on his words.
After a brief pause for lunch, Asher drove the group on until nightfall, where they made camp south of Palios, the most northerly town within Alborn’s borders. Devale and his men rested against their horses’ sleeping bulk, having feasted on the hunted deer Elaith had caught. Asher had taken her out and allowed her to use his bow, while teaching the young woman to track. Against Devale’s protests, Nathaniel had allowed them to hunt alone, though Asher didn't doubt there was still some caution on Nathaniel’s side. Elaith had taken to him in a way most never did. She apparently didn’t see him as an assassin or a natural enemy of her order, but as an interesting person with a rich life, filled with intrigue.
Asher was content to sit by the fire and take first watch as he polished his rune sword. Under the moonlight, the blade sparkled as if the silvyr were inlaid with diamonds. Nathaniel sat beside him, entranced by the hypnotic flickers of the fire. The Graycoat had naturally gravitated towards the ranger after the group made camp - the others had made it clear that they didn’t want to socialise with him. Elaith too had come to sit with him by the fire. Was this friendship, the ranger wondered?
He had only ever called one person a friend.
“The Father is always the leader.” Asher spoke into the fire, catching Nathaniel’s attention. “It can be a Mother as well. It’s a violent hierarchy. You can only ascend by killing the previous Mother or Father, but leading the Arakesh comes with a price. Once you claim the position, the order claims your sight, literally.” Nathaniel failed to hide his shock. “From the day you’re inducted the order’s alchemist puts you on a regime of Nightseye elixir - one vial every day until you’re twenty-five. After that, you’re permanently affected, but the elixir was developed for elves. In humans the potion only works if the user is in complete darkness.”
“That’s why the Arakesh use
blindfolds...” Nathaniel looked at the red cloth hanging from Asher’s belt.
“When completely blinded, you can see, hear, taste, smell and feel everything. Your reactions are heightened as your senses tune you into the world in a way you can’t imagine. It becomes addictive though. It makes you crave the next opportunity to flex your skills and kill on Nightfall’s behalf. If you take on the role of Mother or Father, you’re expected to live this way until you die. If you’re good enough to beat an Arakesh who lives permanently attuned to their environment, then you’re good enough to rule.”
Nathaniel looked over the group of snoring Graycoats. “How are we expected to repel a foe like that?”
“They can be over-sensitised.” Asher retrieved a small pouch from his belt and dropped into Nathaniel’s palm. “Talo spices from Karath, in The Arid Lands. Set the bag alight and throw it; creates an almighty bang that plays hell with sensitive hearing. It won’t last long, but it could be the difference between life and death. Do you know any magic?”
“Some, but I don’t carry any crystals for storage. West Fellion discourages us from using it.”
Asher knew that a novice in magic, without any crystals, ran the risk of draining his energy. He had never experienced this himself, but had witnessed it first hand in others. In a fight however, lighting the bag of spices with magic was the quickest way.
“Do you know the word for fire?” Asher asked.
“Vala...” Nathaniel opened his empty palm, and without Demetrium to help conduct the magic, only a pathetic ball of fire came to float above it. He quickly extinguished it and closed his eyes, no doubt feeling the drain. “Your control over magic, is that another Arakesh secret?”
Asher twisted his silver ring. “Not exactly...” The ranger stopped at the sound of trotting hooves in the distance. He estimated at least twenty horses travelling south, along the Selk Road.
They walked away from the fire, to allow their eyes to adjust in the darkness, when Asher heard the distinct sound of carriage wheels. The other Graycoats stirred and came to meet them beyond the firelight. From around the trees came an entourage of knights on horseback, surrounding a majestic carriage adorned with golden lion heads, reflected in the glow of the fire. Every knight wore shining armour with golden cloaks draped over the back of their horses. As a natural reflex, Asher scanned the faces of them all, assessing for any threats.
“The royal house of Tion.” Darius Devale released the grip on his sword.
The royal knights kept their eyes on the group as they rode by. The sight of the Graycoats was obviously unthreatening to the warriors of Namdhor, who continued on. Asher caught sight of a fair haired woman peeking between the velvet curtains inside the carriage. She looked at them for a moment, before a man’s hand grasped the curtain and closed them in.
“Lord Merkaris...” Nathaniel observed the carriage drive by, curiously. “He must be travelling to Velia for the festival.”
“It seems he travels with better company than us!” One of the Graycoats jested, rousing a laugh from the others.
“Are they going to a celebration or going to war?” Elaith commented, noting the large number of soldiers.
The ranger watched Gal Tion’s lineage disappear into the night. Merkaris Tion ruled Orith, the northern region of Illian, from the kingdom of Namdhor, as the first king had, centuries ago. Asher had visited the city several times in his youth, as an Arakesh, and was yet to find a reason to return as a ranger. The ancient city was built into the rocky slopes of Vengora, the slumbering mountains, in the north-west.
“...What rumours?” Elaith asked the Graycoats muttering to one another.
“Murder’s what I heard,” one of them replied.
“His father, mother and sister die at sea… on a stormless waters.” The Graycoat spat on the ground.
“I’ve heard Merkaris has a wicked side. Sadistic behind closed doors apparently,” a third man added.
“The hearsay of milkmaids.” Nathaniel returned to the fire.
“Well why don’t we ask the old man?” The first Graycoat, with a black beard wider than his face, turned to Asher. “Aren’t the Arakesh supposed to know everyone’s secrets?”
“Would you like to know your mother’s secret?” Asher rested a hand on the buckle of his belt.
The bearded Graycoat strode forward with violent intent, halted by Devale, who stepped into his shoulder and placed a firm hand on the man’s chest. The two men locked eyes for a moment, before the bearded warrior breathed out a sigh and walked away.
“Perhaps we should get some more rest?” Devale suggested.
Hidden within his cloak, Asher pushed the dagger back into its sheath at the base of his back. “We ride at dawn.”
Chapter Thirteen
A Dark Pact
The sound of a noisy and chaotic world came back before her sight did. Through bleary eyes, Adilandra took in the spiked cage in which she lay, as it dragged her through the streets of the largest Darkakin city the elf had ever seen. All around her, humans shouted at one another across a giant market, bartering in the lives of animals and slaves. As her senses returned, the smell of wild animals and human sweat filled her nose in a nauseating concoction. Turning in her cage, she searched for her companions through the dust and sand, kicked up by the horses pulling her along. Fallön lay unconscious in an identical cage on the wooden track, behind Adilandra’s, but Ederön and Lörvana were nowhere in sight.
“Fallön!” Her cries were drowned out by the crowds.
The cage ran over a rock in the road, jostling Adilandra inside. She recoiled at the pain from bumping into a row of spikes that pointed inwards. When she looked up from the cut on her arm, the elf was greeted with the faces a dozen humans, clambering at her cage. They shouted and spat at her with lust and rage, their hands jutting between the bars to claw at her.
The explosive crack of a whip drove the baying mob away from the cages. One man fell to the floor with a bleeding gash across his back and head. The large Darkakin from the jungle came up alongside her, astride a giant lizard, twice the size of any horse. His dark face was half covered by what looked to be a real skull, though his cheeks remained exposed, painted in white patterns that accentuated the small fangs fused into his cheeks, as if he were a beast. A deformed and lipless mouth revealed bloodied gums and sharp teeth. The wooden armour, that barely covered his muscled body, was covered in similar horns, with two large fangs protruding from the fur around his shoulders. The club on his back was coated in the dry blood of Adilandra’s friends.
The crowds parted at the sight of the large Darkakin, going back to their market stalls and watching the paraded elves from afar. Unable to stand up in the cramped cage, Adilandra placed her palms against the roof and the floor to steady herself, but when the cage was dragged into an encompassing shadow, the elf adjusted her position to look between the spiked bars.
The giant pyramid blocked out the sun.
All of Adilandra’s instincts screamed about the danger of entering such a place. The structure emanated dark magic and sacrificial rituals. Rotting corpses, old and fresh, were nailed to looming posts outside the temple’s entrance. The row of posts continued in both directions around the pyramid, surrounding it in dead bodies.
The large Darkakin shouted something in their native language, leading to the warrior beside him to hold up a slender pipe and blow a dart at Adilandra. The dart sunk into her neck with a sharp bite, poisoning her body with a powerful toxin. She tried to ignore the pain and pull the dart out, but failed to lift her arm. Again, the large Darkakin was the last thing she saw, before darkness took her.
“Adilandra...” The hushed voice was as familiar as the fear intoned in it.
Adilandra opened her eyes to find herself on her knees and a painted hand grasping her shoulder. Beside her were all three companions, also on their knees, with a Darkakin standing behind them. Fallön received a smack to the head for speaking. Adilandra didn’t understand the words spok
en by the guard, but knew a threat when she heard one.
Ederön was being held up on his knees at the end of the row, his clothes stained with blood where the arrow had struck him. His skin was paler than the rest, but not as marred with fresh bruises and cuts like Lörvana and Fallön.
Adilandra blinked hard to correct her blurry vision and examine their surroundings. She felt the cool breeze coming from the long balcony to her right and realised they must be high up to feel anything but the heat of the sun. The chamber where they knelt was covered in large cushions, low tables and dark strips of fabric hanging from the ceiling. Perfectly toned men and women lay sprawled across the cushions, drinking out of goblets and sharing meat and fruit. Adilandra was shocked at what little the humans wore. Painted guards stood in parallel rows in front of them, each facing one another before the elf caught sight of the throne.
“...I want the terms of our agreement bound in blood, Alidyr.” Sitting on the throne of bones was a beautiful woman, for a human, with black hair braided down to her waist and red paint across her eyes. Her lips were painted black against an olive-skinned body, which was covered in tattoos that ran down her arms, until they met sharpened nails.
“My master’s word is his bond, Goddess.”
Alidyr Yalathanil…
Adilandra couldn’t see his face, but she didn't need to. There wasn't an elf alive who didn't know the name of Valanis’s most honoured general. With his back to the elves, she could only see the long dark hair that ran down his back, over a floor-length white robe. The twin-swords hanging on each side of his hip were intriguing, with their curved white hilts and gleaming crystals. Those blades had claimed many elven lives during the Dark War.
The Goddess bared her sharp teeth. “Words are but piss in the wind! Bind our fate together old one, or return to your master a failure...”
The robed figure paused before answering. “So be it.” He delved into his robe and presented the queen of the Darkakin with something Adilandra couldn’t see. “This is a diviner; I will contact you through it with my master’s wishes. Until then, prepare your people.”
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