Rise of the Ranger (Echoes of Fate: Book 1)

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “Portals?” Abigail stopped examining the spine of a book. “Isn’t that a waste of time, Master? That form of magic has never been understood.”

  “Don’t tell me Master Rollo has stopped teaching you about Samuel Higgins? I shall have to stop by his office later. Samuel Higgins was an apprentice of this school about three hundred years ago. He had been reading some of the older scrolls on how the elves had the power to open portals and traverse great distances in a single step. Before he could reach twenty and become a fully fledged Caster, as you soon will, he began experimenting with teleportation. He became the first recorded human to open and pass through a portal. Samuel had planned his final experiment to give him a grand entrance to his graduation, however, only a certain percentage of the young mage made it to the intended destination. The rest of him was never found...” Master Tibit didn’t dwell on the terrible ending to Mr Higgins’s experiment. “So you see, he proved that it is possible for humans to do so, even if his calculations were wrong.”

  “So where do we come into this, Master?” Gideon had the sudden urge to find everything ever written about teleportation.

  “I’m going to teach you a simple spell, and the two of you are going to test each of the protective enchantments around Korkanath. I’ve got a map here somewhere...” Master Tibit rummaged through a small chest in the corner of the chamber, where Gideon noticed a short stand with a book resting on top, protected by a glass box. “Ah, I see you’ve noticed the Elder Book.” The master appeared to take extra care in keeping his fingers from touching the glass. “It belonged to the mages of King Tion’s court. Within its pages are the spells used to bind Malliath... among other things.”

  “Forgive me master,” Abigail began, “but why is something so, well... dangerous, kept in the corner of your study? Should it not be guarded?”

  Master Tibit chuckled to himself. “I would like to see anyone try and get their hands on this book, let alone read its pages.”

  Gideon looked upon the simple book stand and its glass covering with new wonder. A sense of morbid curiosity overcame the young mage, as he considered the possible horrors that could be unleashed by the protective wards set over the book.

  Master Tibit hesitated before he continued. “There was an assault on our vaults within Stowhold.” Gideon and Abigail couldn’t hide their shock. The vaults of Stowhold were the only places more secure than Korkanath. “Do not be alarmed, the break-in was thwarted by Stowhold’s security measures, as expected. However, the would-be-thieves succeeded in penetrating the vaults further than anyone before. It was decided that a few of the school’s more, delicate possessions, should be temporarily kept under our watchful eye, just until the investigation is completed, that is.” The master continued to potter with things on his table, as if to downplay his statement. “Come now, for that spell...”

  The sun had set before Abigail finally forgave Gideon. They had checked almost all of the places on Master Tibit’s map and tested the enchantments strength. A mispronunciation from Abigail almost summoned a Banshee from one of the conjuring circles, before Gideon quickly corrected the spell.

  “My feet are killing me,” Gideon complained. “I can see why Master Tibit always gets students to do this, it would take him days with that leg of his.”

  “I don’t see why he doesn’t just have it healed.” Abigail dropped like a stone onto the nearest stone bench. “It’s like he enjoys having a limp.”

  “When Master Graf took me to the Vrost Mountains a couple of years ago, he had a little too much wine one night and told me a few things he shouldn’t. Apparently, Master Tibit was bitten by a Basilisk when he took a student out on their field trip, this was before you and I even came to Korkanath. There’s no cure for Basilisk venom, he’s lucky to have gotten away with a bad leg. It’s also why he never leaves the campus, so Master Graf says.” The rain picked up again, forcing the two to seek shelter under the walkway.

  “Come on, we shouldn’t be gossiping.” Abigail retrieved her wand, ready for the next stop on the map.“I would very much like to have some dinner and a good night sleep before the next sun rises.”

  “Just think, Abbey,” Gideon had his wistful voice on again, “in a few months we get to decide what we do and when we do it...”

  “I think the realities of this world, beyond these walls, will provide quite the shock,” Abigail replied with an air of superiority. “You realise everyone else in our year has already sent out their applications for positions in several courts across Illian. You wait until we need to pay for our first meal or a roof over our head...”

  “Come on, Abbey!” Gideon wouldn’t hear it. “With our fine skills in the art of magic, what could possibly stand in our way?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, fitting your head through the door on our way out?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  A Steep Price

  Thunder rolled across the night sky, as if the gods themselves ran over the clouds. Lightning reigned over Dragorn, striking the high towers and spires that decorated the cityscape. Galanör could taste the water in the atmosphere and knew the rain was only minutes away. He crouched over the ledge of the high building, overlooking the Trigorn Brothel across the street. As always, he felt comfortable at such heights, surveying the land around him from a safe distance. His elven eyes and ears made such a lofty vantage an easy way to spy on the less evolved humans.

  The elf leaned out, holding onto a rail, as he tried to get a better look down the alley, adjacent to the brothel. The wooden cart Ailas had prepared remained off to the side, undisturbed in the alley. Eliön had managed to sneak through the Trigorn’s building the previous day, using magic to conceal himself; his report had detailed the structure within. Underneath the brothel was an extensive bath house reserved for the clients with larger accounts in Stowhold. The rooms were lavishly decorated with whores of both sexes throughout, each with a guard positioned at the door.

  “We’re ready,” Adamar said from behind him.

  Galanör took one last look at the brothel. He was at the turning point. Humans had been killed to achieve their goals so far, but after tonight, the elf knew innocent blood would have been spilled on his command. There would be no going back after this, he would be a fool to believe the children would survive whatever horrors the Mer-people had in store for them. His conscience fought with itself for a second before he stood and faced the group, each of them with a sword at their hip and hooded cloaks flapping in the growing wind. The part of him that desperately wanted to walk away from this told him that he could and everything would be ok, but the faces of his comrades, ready and eager for what lay ahead, reminded him otherwise. Galanör had made an oath to his king and a promise to his own father. There could be no failure.

  “You all know what to do.” The group gave a single nod. “I will meet you on the shore.” All but Lyra dashed off the edge of the building to reach their entry points.

  “Be safe...” Lyra’s words were almost a whisper, as she leapt from the building.

  Galanör turned back to the edge, looking down on the street filled with tavern stragglers and beggars. He didn’t see any of his group, but he knew Adamar, Eliön and Ailas would already be moving through the sewers under the brothel, where they would come up within the bath house where the children were kept. Naiveen and Lyra would be working their way around the block to come up behind the brothel where they would climb to the third floor. Eliön had reported that the best looking prostitutes were kept there.

  Now for his part.

  Galanör moved to the side of the building and stepped off, skipping from one wall to the other, quickly making his way down without a sound. The elf strode into the road, pushing a drunken man aside and confidently approaching the three guards stationed outside the brothel. They noticed him right away, taking note especially of the fine scimitar on his hip. All three men put a hand on their own swords and eyed him cautiously, when Galanör came to stand in front of them. They were clearly t
rying to decide whether he was a client or a threat and couldn’t make up their minds whether to be welcoming or threatening. Galanör never gave them the chance to decide.

  Before a single sword could be lifted between them, the elf removed his scimitar and swiped it across the humans. The fine blade cut through each of the men, opening their flesh at different points along their head and torso. Galanör was already stepping over the threshold when the humans hit the ground.

  Blood dripped off his sword, staining the braided rugs on his stroll into the first room. The elf was met with screams, when the whores and their clients caught sight of him. A guard rounded the corner and charged at him with an axe aimed high. Galanör side-stepped the slow human and split his gut open to reveal his intestines and spray blood over several prostitutes. This worked to increase the pitch of their screams and create chaos. His keen ears picked up the sound of heavy feet on the floor above him. A group of armed men on the Trigorn’s payroll barged into the room through a set of double-doors to his right.

  “The Fenrig family send their regards!” Galanör shouted at the men.

  “Fenrig scum!” they replied with anger.

  Galanör ran from the brothel as planned, having heard more guards approaching from under his feet and even more from the floors above. The elf sprinted into the street, but maintained a human speed so the guards could follow him. He had memorised the path that would take him to the nearest Fenrig establishment, filled with their own militia. The whole city knew the Fenrigs were at odds with the Trigorns over territory, and that their alliance was the weakest of all four ruling families.

  It wasn’t long before he found himself running towards the temple of Oemis, the god of the sea. The stone steps that led to the main doors were split by the ten-foot statue of the ocean god. Like all human effigies of the gods, it was wearing little clothing, exposing the god’s perfect body of well-defined muscles. Galanör knew he had to run down the alley to the temple’s left and then make another left onto Button Street. The group of angry guards were close on his heel and their threats never let up.

  The elf emerged from the alley and was forced to deftly flip over a passerby leaving the temple. He heard one of the guards collide with the woman and curse, before backhanding her. The chase caught the attention of several people milling around, including a pair of city guards who changed direction, as if they hadn’t seen anything.

  One more corner and the Fenrig’s gambling house would be in sight. Galanör thought about the others and felt confident that they had already achieved their goals. His own part in all this had ensured they met as little resistance as possible. The elf rounded the corner at such speed he was forced to push himself off the adjacent wall to keep to the path. Two Fenrig guards were positioned outside the doors, minding their own business, when Galanör leapt from the shadows and drove both men through the door with an almighty crash. He needed to make as much commotion as possible.

  Galanör stood up, leaving the injured men winded at his feet and reeling in pain from the impact. The gambling house was scattered with round tables across the ground floor and masked with smoke from a plethora of pipes. Galanör could smell the various herbs and weeds being smoked and tried his best to inhale as little as possible and keep his mind sharp. Some of the clients moved away from the elf, while others remained in their seats, unwilling to part with their winnings.

  “The Trigorns rule this city!” Galanör yelled at the guards rushing at him from the other end of the casino.

  It all came together beautifully, as the Trigorns’ men burst through the broken door at the same moment the Fenrigs’ men reached Galanör. The two winded guards were trampled when both groups slammed into each other with their swords and axes raised. Galanör nimbly jumped from one table to another, cutting down a pair of guards in his way. He was quick to reach the back of the casino, where he had already scouted ahead the previous day, and knew there to be a back-door he could disappear through. Looking back, the casino had erupted into bloodshed, the men ripping each other to shreds as revenge for trespasses neither had committed.

  After entering the alley outside, Galanör climbed the nearest building, using the balconies and tight spaces to push himself up. He found his way to the roof before the rain started. In the flashes of lightning he could make out the twin turrets that sat either side of the northern main-gate, half a mile away. The elf wasted no time, leaping from roof to roof, as he had in the great forests around Elandril. With elven agility the run was simply fun for Galanör, who enjoyed the freedom of using his body’s natural skills. Having avoided the winding streets, the elf made it to the farmland in front of the gate in no time. After dropping to street level once more, he pulled over his hood and walked past the city guard. The sights and smells of the horrid city would soon be a memory he would do his best to forget. He didn’t even bother to look back.

  After an hour of traversing the shoreline, Galanör came across the abandoned cart in the sand, the tarpaulin ripped off. Beyond the rocks he could hear familiar voices and crying children, amidst the rhythmic splashing of the waves. The group of elves stood at the base of the cave that ran under Dragorn, each holding a different hostage. They were up to their thighs in water with the three children standing up to their shoulders in icy cold waves. Galanör tried to hide his discomfort at the sight, but Adamar appeared to take extra note of his expression.

  “Stop to take in the sights?” the big elf asked.

  Galanör felt his frustration rise to the surface. “Perhaps it would be a good idea if one of us remained behind, to cover our tracks.” It brought him true joy to see Adamar squirm. He leaned in and whispered, “It’s a long way to portal back to Ayda...”

  Galanör wished he could witness such a feat. Adamar would come out somewhere in the middle of The Adean between Dragorn and Ayda, too weak to create another portal and die at the mercy of the sharks.

  Eliön and Naiveen struggled to hold their female hostages, who cried out at the same time, when their eyes fixed on the horror emerging beyond Galanör. The elf didn’t need to turn around to know the Mer-folk had arrived. Even the elves looked on, perplexed by the wonder of the twelve sea creatures, whose torsos floated above the water. The cries of the children had no doubt summoned them so quickly.

  “You have delivered what you promised, elfling.” The lead Mer-man snaked through the water, drawing closer. As before, the waves settled in the Mer-folks’ presence, leaving only the sound of the rain.

  “I have,” Galanör replied. “Are you prepared to uphold your end of the bargain?” He assumed it was the same Mer-man he had encountered previously, but in truth the elf couldn’t tell them apart.

  “If you believe you can survive the journey, then we are prepared to take you to Korkanath.”

  The Mer-man flicked his head at the children and three of the Mer-folk dived for them, covering the distance with a speed even an elf would find hard to achieve. They snatched the children from the elven hands and coiled back into the dark water with barely a splash. The children’s cries were instantly cut short, as they were dragged under the surface, propelled by powerful tails. Galanör closed his eyes in hopes of never recalling the sight.

  Two other Mer-folk slithered forward, slowly, until the water was too shallow for their tails. Galanör took a step back when the sea creatures began to spasm and wail in pain, while their skin and scales split down the middle. Their fingers shrunk and the webbing disappeared, along with their pointed nails. The seaweed-like tendrils that flowed from their head changed structure and took on the appearance of long dark hair.

  With a piercing scream from both, their scaled tails split open completely and two slimy, human legs fell out and dropped into the water. The giant tails flopped to the side, imitating a dead fish, while the Mer-men crouched in the water, surrounded by slime and broken scales. Galanör’s wonder turned to disgust when the new men vomited into the ocean and tried to stand on wobbly legs.

  Their perfect for
ms could easily have doubled as a model for a statue of the gods. On shaky legs, the new humans approached the women, who struggled and cried, unsure of their fate. The new men stood in front of a woman each and stared deeply into their eyes. Galanör watched with fascination, as the women immediately calmed down and stopped panicking. Eliön and Naiveen released them and moved away, allowing the naked Mer-men to take the women by the hand and silently lead them into the cave under Dragorn. After a few moments their movement could no longer be heard in the water and they were hidden in shadow.

  “Are you ready?” the snaking Mer-man asked.

  The elf turned to his group, who were still trying to pierce the cave’s abyss and witness the creation of a hybrid.

  Galanör cleared his throat. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” With their attention back on him, he continued, “Swallow the Maktacha.” They all removed a small ball of sticky green weeds that Lyra had been preparing and enchanting for several days.

  They all shared the same sour expression, before the ball dropped into their stomach and the magic began to work. Galanör felt a wave of nausea rise up into his throat, only for it to change into a burning sensation across his neck. The pain broke his concentration and with it the human image he had been wearing for over a week. His hair reverted back to its natural, straight, brown gloss and the stubble on his face disappeared, leaving behind a smooth angular jaw. Even his eyes reverted back to their vibrant shade of blue.

  When the burning stopped, his skin felt tight and stiff around the joints. Breathing the sea air was a laboured exercise that made Galanör feel light-headed and dizzy. Lyra and the others came up behind him, so they were up to their waste in water. From the look of them, they too were struggling to breathe the air.