The last Arakesh had put Darius Devale on his back, but failed to kill him when Asher dived into the fray. The two fought as mirrored images of the other. They knew each other’s fighting style and used every part of their body as a weapon to give them an advantage. The elves stayed back, helping the newly conscious male elf to his feet.
It was quite the sight to see the ranger in a fight. He was every bit as furious as the assassin, though he had to move quicker in order to avoid both blades. A rapid counter-attack by the Arakesh led to Asher receiving a back-handed slash across his right arm. Nathaniel caught his breath and ran across the clearing to help the ranger. They clumsily battled the assassin together, their fighting styles not attuned to one another. The assassin used this to his advantage, often forcing one to almost kill the other with a stray swing of the sword.
Nathaniel pressed his attack, fighting through the pain of the assassin’s kicks and elbows that continued to knock him back. Asher deflected several of the Arakesh’s swords away from Nathaniel, but could do nothing when the assassin planted his boot square in the Graycoat’s chest. Nathaniel felt his chest compress, forcing the air from his lungs and taking his feet from the ground. From the ground, it took a moment to gain his senses back. He heard a sword hit the floor somewhere nearby and the melee suddenly stopped, with a pained grunt from the ranger. Nathaniel looked up to see the Arakesh falling to his knees with a large broadsword impaled through his gut.
“I’m getting slow...” Asher staggered backwards and dropped to one knee. He had a knife protruding from his left shoulder, buried to the hilt. In one swift motion, the ranger pulled the dagger free and threw it into the woods.
The moon had replaced the sun now, casting the clearing in pale light. Asher placed his palm over the wound on his shoulder, his silver ring glistening with its curious black gem. Nathaniel had noticed the ranger dwell on his ring when asked too many questions.
To his surprise, Nathaniel was helped up by Darius, who kept his eyes on the elves. Elaith joined his side, as the male elf came to, rising to his feet. He was taller than the women and dressed in a long black robe, embroidered with silver along its edges that sparkled in the light. He removed a small dart from his neck and dropped it to the ground in disgust.
“If this is the reception we receive upon Illian’s shores, I can only imagine what awaits us in Velia.” The male elf looked over the humans with dissatisfaction.
Nathaniel couldn’t tear his eyes away from the blonde elf, but he felt concern for Asher. Before he could turn to help the ranger, Asher appeared at his side, as if no injury had been inflicted. The Graycoat couldn’t keep the look of surprise off his face. There was blood on the ranger’s armour but the blood loss had been staunched miraculously. The ranger refused to meet his eye and Nathaniel realised it was no miracle, but magic.
“Just a scratch.” Asher shrugged off the Graycoat’s curious looks.
“My lord and ladies.” Darius bowed to the elves. “I am Darius Devale of West Fellion. King Rengar sent us to...” He looked around at his dead men and lost his words for a moment. “We have been sent to escort you to Velia and give our lives for you if we must.” Darius spread his arm to encompass his fallen comrades.
“Who were these people?” The dark-haired female asked, looking at the Arakesh.
“Assassins sent to stop you from reaching Velia,” Darius replied. “Enemies of King Rengar no doubt, but I assure you a full investigation is being conducted.”
The male elf stepped forward. “I should think-”
“Thank you.” The blonde elf silenced them all. Nathaniel was enchanted by her voice just as much as her beauty. The elf lingered on Nathaniel before looking to Asher with more concern. “You are wounded?”
Asher rolled his left shoulder, allowing his cloak to fall over the wound. “I fare better than most, my lady.” The ranger pulled his broadsword free of the assassin’s gut.
“Who are you?” the blonde elf asked.
“My name is Asher. I am a ranger in these lands.”
“I am not familiar with rangers,” she replied.
“He is an Outlander,” the male elf spoke up. “I have seen tattoos like the one on his face before. Why has the king sent an Outlander and the followers of Tyberius Gray to receive us?”
“When the king discovered that there was a plot to assassinate you, he didn’t want to announce your arrival by sending soldiers bearing his Sigel,” Darius explained. “The Outlander has experience with their kind, that is all. This is Nathaniel Galfrey, a fellow Graycoat and his ward, Elaith Nevandar.”
“I am Princess Reyna Sevari. This is my mentor and protector, Faylen Haladör and my advisor, Mörygan Mörgö.”
Nathaniel couldn’t take his eyes off her. She didn’t look like a princess to him, with her trousers, tall boots and leather jacket that arced over the back of her knees. The sword at her side and bow slung over her back were enough to distinguish her from any human princess, besides the clothes.
“It’s an honour to...” Nathaniel glimpsed something moving in the shadows, beyond the elves.
The snapping of twigs underfoot was all that preceded the magical force that slammed into both the elves and humans. For the third time that day, Nathaniel was thrown off his feet and onto the ground. He groaned, as Elaith landed on top of him, though he felt Darius fly by his shoulder and skid across the dirt and fallen leaves. Luckily they all missed being flung into any of the broken stone walls. The sound of Reyna’s cry sent a bolt of fear through the Graycoat, but he couldn’t see the princess over Elaith.
All he could see was Asher.
The ranger had defiantly remained standing in the same spot, his cloak swept out behind him in the maelstrom. Asher went for his sword but paused, stunned by the figure that slunk from between the trees, as if he were an extension of the shadows. Nathaniel rolled Elaith’s moaning form off his legs and tried to stand against the pain that shot through his back.
The dark figure slowly approached Asher, until he was clear to see in the moonlight. Only his eyes could be seen within the shadowy hood and the black cloth that covered his mouth and nose. The cloak billowed in the breeze and blended into the shadows behind him, as if he was permanently tethered to the abyss. Dull armour protected his body and forearms, with golden script etched along its edges and across his chest. It was hard to miss the menacing sword that hung from his belt. A guardless, two-handed hilt, crowned with a diamond crystal the size of a thumb. Even in the shadow of his hood it was clear to see that the man had the palest skin against deep blue eyes. Nathaniel was sure he could see the faintest sparkle of light behind those eyes.
The hooded figure stopped and tilted his head at the sight of the unmoving ranger. Nathaniel looked from one to the other, sharing the mysterious man’s curiosity. Asher let go of the broadsword’s hilt and retrieved the rune sword from his back. The blade came to life in the light, as the sylver responded to the moon’s touch.
“Who are you to stand against me?” The intruder’s voice was an inhuman rasp.
Asher was a man of few words. The ranger charged the gap between them and jumped at the last second, with his sword held high, coiled like a snake. The hood was fast. He intercepted Asher’s sword arm before the blade could touch him and span the ranger round with his own momentum. Asher collided with a tree, before crumpling to the ground, his sword still tight in his grip. The ranger lashed out, leaping to his feet with the rune sword coming up under the hood’s jaw. Again he proved too fast and side-stepped the attack, whipping an arm out under Asher’s sword arm and catching him in the jaw. The ranger staggered backwards and spat blood, before spinning on his opponent and using his cloak to hide the angle of his sword. It made no difference to the hood, who deflected the blade with the armour on his bracer. The shadowy figure followed his parry with five swift blows to Asher’s body in rapid succession. To Nathaniel’s surprise, Asher remained on his feet, if a little dazed. The hood easily pushed the ranger’s next atta
ck aside and held onto the his wrist.
What happened next was more confusing.
The hood pushed his hand out, opened palm, and appeared to exert some form of energy that forced Asher’s cloak out behind him, as well as all the leaves and branches on the ground. The hood’s eyes widened in shock as Asher remained still, with a cocky grin on his face.
“Guess you’re a slow learner...” Asher followed his comment up with a prompt punch to the hood’s face and a kick to his gut, forcing the man back to the trees. The ranger shot out his arm with an open palm and produced a ball of molten fire that exploded forth from his hand. The hood was instantly taken off his feet by the impact of the spell and fired into the woods.
Beyond all belief, the hooded man picked himself up and ran off into the darkness, until the flames that consumed his body could no longer be seen through the ruins and trees.
“What the hell was that?” Elaith hadn’t even bothered to wipe the dirt off her clothes.
“Was that an Arakesh?” Darius gripped his shoulder with a look of pain.
“No, that was something else...” Asher gave Nathaniel a look that suggested he really had no idea.
As one, they all turned to the elves who looked immaculate, despite having been thrown to the ground not moments ago. Nathaniel caught Reyna looking at him, but she quickly looked away to observe Asher, who was slowly manipulating his jaw.
Faylen stared into the darkened wood and turned to Mörygan with a questioning expression.
The tall elf ignored Faylen. “Clearly humans have delved too deep within the realm of magic. Though you I find curious, Outlander.” Mörygan moved past Faylen and the princess. “How is it you were able to withstand such power, and without the use of a wand no less?”
“I’m being paid to get you from one place to another, unharmed preferably. So I suggest we gather whatever supplies we need and move on, immediately.” Asher ignored the elf’s interest and began to rummage through the dead assassins for anything useful.
“These men deserve to be buried!” Darius exclaimed, gesturing to his Graycoats.
“Perhaps you didn’t see the man on fire that ran off into the woods.” Asher gave Darius a condescending look. “I don’t know what we’re dealing with here, but it doesn’t die easy.” Asher examined his sword as if there was something wrong with it. “If he doesn’t return with reinforcements, they certainly will.” The ranger pointed at the dead assassins. “They can never be seen to fail; they always close a contract, no matter how many of them die in the process. Today we fought eight and lost seven of ours, tomorrow it might be twenty and I promise you we won’t survive that.”
Darius looked away, unable to conjure an argument against the ranger’s logic. “So what do you suggest, ranger?”
Asher looked around, exhausted. “You can find the horses for a start.”
Chapter Fifteen
The Elder Book
“... I said I’m sorry, Abbey.” Gideon had lost count of his apologies. They walked down the stone corridors of Korkanath’s east wing, having left Master Vorn’s office.
Abigail was yet to look at him. “You couldn’t help yourself, could you? Master Vorn told you days ago to leave the teaching to the teachers! Now we’re both in trouble and I’m losing my afternoon. I was supposed to have the rest of the day off after my morning classes. We’ll be lucky if we finish before midnight with all of Korkanath’s security measures!”
“He’s punishing you to punish me-”
“I am aware of that, Gideon. Sometimes being friends with you can be a real pain. You could have just carried on walking and enjoyed the brief break from the rain, but no, you had to stop and help the fourth years climb that stupid tree.”
An old red oak tree stood in the centre of the grassy courtyard in the middle of Korkanath’s grounds. The courtyard was often dominated by the students in their breaks, who craved the fresh air over the musty lecture rooms. Gideon had intended to cross the courtyard, while the rain had stopped, and take a shortcut back to his dorm, until he came across the fourth years determined to reach the top of the red oak.
“They were only a few years away from learning the spell anyway, I was just-”
“Showing off is what you were doing.” Abigail moved aside as a class of sixth years rounded the corner like a herd of animals. “What were you thinking teaching fourth years to shift the pull of Illian’s soil? We’ve finished nearly ten years at this school and we’re still novices in that spell. How could you think they would master it in a few minutes?”
“They did pretty well; they walked halfway up the tree before-”
“Before apprentice Huckerby fell and broke his arm in two places!” Abigail finally looked at him with a gaze that could pierce dragons’ hide.
Gideon had a plethora of counter-arguments, but he replied with the only one that would work. “Sorry...”
They descended the winding staircase, in the north east tower of the campus, and knocked on the wide set door. It creaked with age and opened slowly of its own accord, revealing a chamber devoid of any occupants. With no windows, the room was dimly lit by candles placed around the room, leaving the corners in shadow. Gideon and Abigail cautiously entered the chamber, where they were pleasantly surprised by the aroma of vanilla essence. The room was surrounded with book shelves, lined with thick books and bound scrolls. To their right was a long table filled with alchemy equipment and colourful formulas in glass vials.
“So you’re the unlucky pair that incurred the wrath of Master Vorn.”
The surprising voice came from the other side of the room, where there was another door, secured in place by thick bolts. The man standing in front of it was tall with a bald head and finely-trimmed white hair around the back and sides. His blue robes denoted his rank as an Arch-mage and a member of Korkanath’s council. He approached the pair with a limp, supported by a well-crafted staff, similar to Gideon’s.
“Master Tibit...” Abigail expressed the same confusion as Gideon. “I thought the council had left for Velia, with the Magikar?”
“Alas, my duties to this school keep me here.” His voice was that of an educated man. “As you know, I am responsible for Korkanath’s fortification and protection. Once a month these measures require testing to ensure they’re up to the task. However, my condition makes for hard work when touring the length and breadth of such a large campus, hence the reason for your being here, besides the incident with apprentice Huckerby.”
Gideon brought his own staff to stand by his side and tried to subtly compare the two. Master Tibit’s was a few inches taller and housed a ring of small crystals around the tip of the staff, which branched out like the roots of a tree.
“Isn’t Malliath protection enough, Master?” Gideon asked.
A coy smile crept across Master Tibit’s face. “Have you ever seen our great protector, Mr Thorn?” With a shake of the head from both apprentices, the master turned to the bolted door behind him. “Perhaps you should learn about our first line of defence before we look to internal matters.”
Master Tibit hobbled to the bolted door and knocked his staff against the wood. The heavy iron bolts shot out of their locks and the door creaked open into another steep stairwell. At its base was a circular chamber with an arcing ceiling. The room had a foul, musty smell that Gideon had never come across before. The master showed them in and made his way around the edge of the room, being careful to avoid the large hole in the stone floor. Once inside he put his finger to his lips and signalled them to remain silent and hold their questions. After a moment of silence, both Gideon and Abigail looked to one another in astonishment.
The deep, heavy breathing of what had to be a giant creature could be heard resonating through the caves below their feet.
“Do you know how he came to be this island’s protector?” Master Tibit asked.
“It was his punishment for starting the war against humans,” Abigail replied.
“Indeed Miss Rose,” Mas
ter Tibit continued. “When the great Garganafan died at the end of the elven Dark War, Malliath took his place as the dragons’ patriarch. His reason for starting the war with our kind is unknown, since he never communicated with another soul after the Lifeless Isles were decimated, but many speculated that Malliath blamed us for the departure of the elves. When they were beaten, it was King Tion’s son who reigned over all of Illian. He decreed that the dragon’s punishment should be to live, but only those with knowledge of magic could harness such a creature, so Malliath’s scales were branded in the ancient script and bound to our spells for as long as they mark him. He cannot travel beyond ten miles of the island and he is forbidden from killing humans... unless it interferes with his primary spell.”
“What’s his primary spell?” Abigail’s expression of disgust hadn’t changed since master Tibit used the word, branded.
“Anyone who steps foot on Korkanath, uninvited by one of its occupants, is deemed an intruder and Malliath’s binding magic alerts him to their presence. He is allowed to deal with them as he sees fit.” Master Tibit ushered them out of the chamber and back up to his laboratory. “Now do you see why other measures are required besides Malliath the voiceless?”
Gideon hated to look stupid but he didn’t. “Not really.”
Master Tibit rolled his eyes. “What if an intruder used a portal or managed to reach the heart of the dormitories or the old hall before Malliath found them. His spell would require him to tear the walls of this school apart until he killed them. I must ensure that intruders never get that far. I have enchantments to stop portals from opening as well as conjuring circles hidden throughout the grounds to bring forth all kinds of unnatural beasts.”
Rise of the Ranger (Echoes of Fate: Book 1) Page 15