“You think I require instruction on the matter?” The Goddess moved like a viper, coiled to attack. “We are war incarnate, old one. All of Verda will tremble under our feet.” She sat back and turned to the bald servant on her left. “Hyvark will see to the blood oath.” The bald servant walked towards the elves, with Alidyr in his wake.
Time seemed to slow as their eyes met. Alidyr’s reaction was far better controlled, but his surprise was still there to see. His flawless complexion was cut with a small scar that curved down from the corner his left eye, forming a crescent moon. Alidyr deserved a greater punishment while serving in the Hand of Valanis. Those dark, elven eyes reflected a life older than her own, with a gaze that chilled Adilandra’s bones. He hesitated in front of the kneeling elves, glancing back at the Goddess.
Upon closer inspection, Adilandra could see the twin-swords were etched in the gold script of the ancients. Alidyr didn’t stop or protest their capture, but instead continued to follow the servant, as if they meant nothing to him. What was the Hand of Valanis doing in the Darkakin lands?
After the elf’s departure, Adilandra and her companions were hefted roughly to their feet and pushed before the Goddess. A swift kick to the back of the legs put them all on their knees again, at the foot of the throne.
“Welcome to Malaysai. We don’t see your kind for a millennia,” the Goddess began, “and then I see five of you in a single day, though some of your companions made their way to my palace much earlier.” A wicked smile crossed the queen’s face. Without any shoes, the Goddess’s bare feet padded over the stone floor, as she circled the group. “It turns out your kind have many talents...” She traced a seductive line across Fallön’s jaw. “...Delicious.” With every measure of control, the elves remained steady, trying not to react to the queen’s words. The Darkakin were cannibals and rapists. “What’s the matter old ones? Do you not speak man’s language?” With no response, the Goddess gave an order in the Darkakin tongue.
Ederön dropped like a stone, after the large Darkakin slammed his meaty fist into the elf’s jaw. Adilandra’s keen ears weren’t required to hear the sound of his jaw breaking before he hit the floor.
“No!” Lörvana screamed. Her guard tugged her hair back to keep her in line.
“So you do speak.” The Goddess clamped Lörvana’s mouth in one hand. “Even I despise speaking the language of such pathetic creatures, but since you don’t speak Darkakin and I don’t speak elf, we are left with little choice.”
Adilandra’s eyes filled with tears at the sight of Ederön’s unconscious form. “You must let us go,” she pleaded. “We are on an errand of grave importance.”
The large Darkakin stormed over, ready to punish her for speaking out of turn, until the Goddess held up her hand, stopping his own from falling across Adilandra’s face. The queen moved closer, inspecting the auburn-haired elf with vibrant, green eyes.
“You speak for the group? You are the one who has forced them to run for their immortal lives across my land?” The Goddess wiped the blood from a cut on Adilandra’s eyebrow and sucked her finger clean.
“You must let us go...”
“Why? So you can find the dragons?” The Goddess’s face was inches away.
Adilandra didn’t know what to say. She was too stunned at the queen’s knowledge and her face reflected it. How could she have come by such knowledge?
The Goddess laughed wickedly. “You should see your face, elfling. I believe his name was, Tölvarn.”
The name pulled at the elf’s heart. Tölvarn was the second elf to be taken by the Darkakin and sold on from clan to clan, constantly beyond their searching reach. He had been the youngest of their group and Adilandra had promised his mother she would see him safely returned.
“I played with him for some time,” the Goddess continued. “We have many aphrodisiacs and hypnotic elixirs potent enough to affect even an elf. You can imagine my delight at the opportunity to sample such legendary wares. It is rare my appetites are sated by a single man. Of course, when I was bored of his body I handed him over to my inquisitors.” Adilandra felt sick. “He lasted considerably longer than any human would, but there’s only so much flesh one can lose before they spill all their secrets.” Ederön’s blood flowed across the cold slabs, slithering towards the Goddess’s bare toes. “Krenorak...” The large Darkakin stepped forward. “Let my people see an elf up close.”
Adilandra and the others struggled against their captors, when the large Darkakin dragged Ederön off by the ankle. The sudden movement woke the elf up, who could sense his impending fate by the distress of his friends.
“NO, PLEASE!” Lörvana begged.
Ederön could only moan through a broken jaw, as Krenorak picked him up with both hands and flipped him over the edge of the balcony. There was only silence after he disappeared from view, the distance too far for the sound of his impact to carry.
Adilandra felt the tears running freely down her cheeks. She had seen too many elves die since they left Elandril, and every death was on her. The throne room span, while Adilandra’s stomach lurched and she threw up at the Goddess’s feet.
“My ancestors told stories of the great wyrms of the sky,” the Goddess continued, as if ordering Ederön’s death was trivial. “They also told of how your kind drove the Darkakin from Illian. Apparently my ancestors were weak.”
Her words were lost on Adilandra, who only wanted to fall to the floor and pass out, but the sharp tug on her hair kept the elf on her knees. Lörvana hung limply in her captor’s hands, her eyes fixed on the balcony, while Fallön fought against the Darkakin with a face of rage.
“I assure you queen of elves,” the Goddess returned to her throne, “the Darkakin are not weak. Soon the world will see what we are capable of...” With a wicked eye, she looked over the captive elves. “Krenorak, you have proven yourself with the blood of so many elves. You have tracked them for many moons and are deserving of a great gift. You may have that one.” The Goddess’s eyes rested on Lörvana.
“No!” Fallön doubled his efforts, but Krenorak barked an order in Darkakin and the elf was struck across the head by his captor. “I’ll kill all of you!”
“I like this one’s rage.” The Goddess fixed Fallön with a predatory gaze. “Have him prepared for tonight, he may need a more powerful elixir than the last.” Fallön was dragged away with a new cut across his temple.
Adilandra was left alone, surrounded by her enemies once again. She saw the world through blurry eyes, barely aware of the blade at her throat. The Goddess was suddenly by her ear, running a sharp nail over the pointed tip. Adilandra didn’t even have the energy to pull away from her hot breath.
“What to do with you, elfling? There isn’t enough room in my kingdom for two queens. But you did come all this way for the dragons,” the Goddess lifted Adilandra’s chin with a long nail, “so perhaps I’ll grant you your wish...”
Chapter Fourteen
A Shadow in the Dark
After another day of non-stop riding, the company came to a steady trot, as dusk approached. Nathaniel closed his eyes and let his head roll back under the warmth of the sun. The Graycoat was thankful to have seen blue skies and white clouds for a couple of days. The storm hanging over Velia was far from sight but he had the feeling it wasn’t going anywhere for a while.
Their journey had remained uneventful for the most part, with only a handful of caravans and traders passing them on the road. The other Graycoats had grumbled, with little subtlety, regarding their opinion of Asher’s leadership, though Darius Devale had kept them in check, unsure, no doubt, of the ranger’s tolerance and eager to keep his men’s limbs attached.
Nathaniel looked from Asher to the others. The ranger had certainly committed terrible crimes in his life, crimes the Graycoats were commissioned to prevent, but having heard only a small part of the ranger’s history and Nightfall’s horrific regimes, it wasn’t hard to see how children could be so easily moulded into killers. At leas
t Asher had made the conscious decision to leave the Arakesh and make amends, even if they did come with a bag of coins for his troubles.
Looking at his worn leather coat, Nathaniel knew his duty should be black and white. Asher is and always would be an Arakesh; the ranger’s rigorous training would never let him forget that. His knowledge of Nightfall and its inner workings was invaluable to West Fellion, and Nathaniel knew that this should be the only reason to allow Asher to breathe, with the Graycoat’s only instinct to drive his blade through the assassin.
Nathaniel looked at Asher and knew he didn’t feel that way.
Unhappy about his torn emotions, Nathaniel did the only thing he knew and kept it to himself. A life as an outcast amongst his own people and a job that kept him on the road didn’t offer much in the way of friends.
“You know,” Asher came up beside him and unexpectedly started a conversation, “with your skills, you don’t have to stay bound to that coat. You’re already accustomed to life on the road and I know the pay is better on my side.”
“I’m a Graycoat, it’s all I know.” That was all Nathaniel knew to say. He felt it was in his blood.
“That’s how I thought for a while.”
“What changed?” Nathaniel knew he was asking a very personal question.
“They ordered me to do something I didn’t agree with...”
The reply piqued the Graycoat’s curiosity, but he refrained from asking further questions. Instead, he dwelled on the ranger’s words and saw a similar dilemma in his own future. Whatever bargain had been struck between Asher and King Rengar, the Lord Marshal would still order his arrest. Nathaniel glanced at Darius, who was watching them intensely, and wondered what choice he would make when Devale gave that order.
“The Lord Marshal ordered my father to do something he didn’t agree with once. Had he obeyed, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”
“Where did he meet your mother?” Asher was more insightful than Nathaniel gave him credit.
“Not far north of here, in Longdale. He had been sent to root out a band of rogue dwarves preying on traders in the Iron Valley. I didn’t see him much growing up. My mother died giving birth to me, so I was raised by her brother, Uncle Job.” Nathaniel looked to the north, where the Vrost Mountains sat, their image fading in the light of dusk. Beyond them was Longdale, where he often wondered what his uncle was doing. “He’s a good man, raised me as well as he could on a farmer’s income. My father was ordered to never return to Longdale, but he disobeyed often. Even after my mother died, he would journey north to check on me, always promising that the next patrol would be his last, until of course it was...”
“I was in Karath when I heard of his death,” Asher replied. “It’s said he fought off an entire war band of Outlanders attacking Snowfell. There is a statue of him in the town square, if I recall.”
“I’ve seen it.” Nathaniel avoided Snowfell whenever possible. Seeing his father depicted in stone only ever served to remind him of the life that he had been robbed of.
The two rode in silence after that, Nathaniel making it clear that he had nothing else to share. It was more than he had shared with anyone else for some years though, and the thought of his uncle rekindled fond memories as a child.
“You hear that?” Elaith called back to the group. “Running water!”
The horses sped up to round the cluster of trees that concealed the mouth of the Unmar. The ocean was narrowed for fifty miles until it formed the beginning of the river, where the group spotted the wooden ship beached across the shore. Nathaniel had a bad feeling at sighting the ship. Its design was different enough from any human ship to make it notably elvish, but something about it didn’t sit right with the Graycoat.
Upon their approach, Asher jumped of his horse early, while the rest of the Graycoats continued on to the ship. Nathaniel looked back to see the ranger crouched, examining something on the ground.
“Hello?” Darius Devale cried out from atop his horse.
After several more calls it was clear there was going to be no reply. The head Graycoat turned to his men and instructed them to search the ship, before they lost all the light.
“There’s no need.” Asher came up behind them, pulling Hector by the reins. “Three tracks in the ground, all heading away from the ship. Two women and a man I’d say.”
“Are you sure?” Darius asked, disbelieving of his skills.
“The tracks stop halfway down the shore, before veering off into the trees.” Asher nodded towards the small forest that lined the south of the river.
“Why would they head into the trees?” Gorf asked through his bushy black beard. “It’s safer to stay in the ship and wait, surely?”
“Not if we aren’t the first ones here...” Nathaniel felt his hand instinctively rest on his sword.
“I see no tracks but our own,” Gorf replied.
“The Arakesh don’t leave tracks.” Asher jumped back on his horse and charged into the woods without delay.
Nathaniel quickly followed along with Elaith, while the others looked to Darius for their orders. Nathaniel didn’t wait to see what he instructed, but instead spurred his horse on. The trees flew by, with the ranger leading the way, only slowing to inspect the ground or a broken branch. It wasn’t long before the sound of clashing steel could be heard in the distance.
The other Graycoats caught up with them as the trees gave way to a small clearing, dotted with the old ruins of a forgotten temple. Their horses leapt into the open space and the warriors freed their weapons. The horses were separated in an effort to avoid galloping into an ancient archway or decaying wall. Nathaniel’s breath was taken away at the sight of the melee. Two female elves moved with incredible speed in a defensive circle around a third, lying on the ground at their feet. Eight Arakesh danced around them, probing for a weak point with their twin-swords.
The assassins were a mix of men and women, each blindfolded with red cloth. Their armour was comprised of dark leather that covered every limb, with padded areas around the large muscle groups. They were built for speed, agility and no lack of ferocity.
An arrow flew from Nathaniel’s bow, as it had a thousand times before, only this one was cut from the air a foot away from its mark. The Arakesh moved like lightning, knocking his next two arrows aside with ease. The distraction worked perfectly for the blonde elf, who lashed out with her curved blade and opened up the assassin’s chest cavity. The dark haired elf pulled the blonde one back protectively and parried the attack against two other Arakesh.
The seven Graycoats charged across the clearing, swinging their swords from atop their horses. Not a single blow landed against the assassins, who either parried or dodged the predictable attack. Elaith followed Nathaniel in leaping from her horse and drawing her sword. The Graycoat suddenly felt very vulnerable with his ward by his side. He had the overwhelming urge to protect Elaith, who he knew was no match for this foe.
“Stay close!” Nathaniel instructed her, moments before the first Arakesh turned on him with twin-swords slashing. Panic set in as he was pushed away from Elaith by the assassin’s pressing attack. His ward tried to help him, but received an immediate kick to the gut by another Arakesh, forcing her to the ground.
Nathaniel couldn’t get to her.
The Graycoat dodged and ducked, doing his best to meet every blow with his sword and counter-attack. The assassin was ready for his every move, knocking aside his sword and lashing out with every part of his body. Glimpses of Elaith showed her to be in greater peril than himself, as her attacker bore down on her with both swords.
“Elaith!” There was nothing he could do.
A familiar green cloak cut between Nathaniel and Elaith and Asher rammed himself into the girl’s attacker. The assassin was thrown to the ground by the surprise attack and dropped both of his swords in the process. The ranger never stopped, continuing his attack with an arcing swing of his sword that came down to decapitate the Arakesh, sprayi
ng blood across the stone wall.
Nathaniel’s relief was short-lived, when his own attacker flipped in the air and kicked him across the face, putting him on the floor at the assassin’s mercy. The whistle of a sword was all Nathaniel heard before the clash of metal over his head. An exquisite blade was held over him, keeping the assassin’s swords at bay. Standing over him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with flowing blonde hair and bright green eyes. The elf flicked her wrist, causing her sword to spin and send the assassin’s weapons flying into the air. Nathaniel didn’t hesitate to kick the Arakesh in the knee, forcing the man’s leg to snap backwards and his whole body to collapse on top of the Graycoat. Nathaniel clamped his hands around the assassin’s jaw and head and snapped his neck. The elf’s eyes met his for an instant, but there was no time for thanks.
“Get up!” Asher shouted in his direction.
By the time Nathaniel picked himself up, Asher had back-handed another assassin with the spiked pommel of his sword. The blow whipped the Arakesh’s head around and the spikes tore up her skin, caving her skull in. Together, two of the Graycoats managed to kill an assassin, but their own deaths were inevitable against the other Arakesh. Looking around, Nathaniel could see three other Graycoats, Gorf amongst them, lying still on the ground with blood pooling around them. Darius was holding his own, but had sustained several cuts across his body and a deep gash across his left arm.
The dark-haired female elf cut down another assassin with her sword and expelled a fireball from her palm, taking down another and slamming them into a tree. The beautiful, blonde elf continued to dance around the prone elf on the ground, keeping the Arakesh’s deadly blows from landing.
Nathaniel charged and jumped, sword first, into the nearest Arakesh. Before his second attack landed, Elaith came to join him with her own sword swinging. The three fought across the clearing, kicking up leaves and dirt, as they each tried to kill one another. The assassin ducked Nathaniel’s sword and used a sweeping kick to knock Elaith off her feet. Infuriated, Nathaniel doubled his efforts and used every technique he had ever been taught to drive his sword home. They were soon fighting by the burning body of the recently killed assassin, when Nathaniel had an idea. He retrieved the small pouch from his belt and threw onto the flaming body. The resounding crack was loud, even for his human hearing, but it had the desired effect on the Arakesh, who had dropped his swords to cover his ears. The Graycoat spun on the spot, bringing his sword around into a devastating swipe that cut the assassin from shoulder to waist.
Rise of the Ranger (Echoes of Fate: Book 1) Page 14