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

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Adilandra's attention was instantly drawn to Krenorak. The hulking Darkakin was standing to the side of the Goddess's throne, with Lörvana chained up on her knees. Krenorak rested his meaty hand on the elf's shoulder, keeping her down and stating his claim over her. It broke Adilandra's heart to see the state Lörvana was in. Both of her eyes looked swollen and bruised, surrounded by smaller cuts that split her lips and marred her cheeks and nose. The elf’s keen eyes could see the tears constantly running down her face. Fallön was notably, but disturbingly absent.

  For the first time in her long life, the queen of elves was feeling wrathful.

  One of the Darkakin guards handed the Goddess a sheathed sword, Adilandra's sword. The wicked ruler pulled the sword free and held it up to the light, inspecting the ancient glyphs engraved into the blade.

  "Let us see how your elven steel holds up against Darkakin brutality. And no magic! It’s so very boring..." The Goddess threw the sword, the blade spinning end-over-end, until it dug into the ground at Adilandra's feet.

  The elf didn’t hesitate to drop the rusted, heavy blade and pick up her sword - a manoeuvre that saved her life. The spear whistled past her ear and carried on into the wall, below the Goddess's podium. The arena erupted in cheers, as the first wave of gladiators charged the elf. They were a lot closer than they should have been before Adilandra heard them. She had been distracted by the sight of Lörvana and the mention of the dragons.

  You will survive today...

  Adilandra focused her mind and sharpened her senses, using the few precious seconds to assess her opponents before they were on her. The four Darkakin rippled with muscles and rage, sprinting across the sandy arena. They wore little armour, making Adilandra's job that much easier. Between them, she caught sight of two swords, an axe and shield and the lead runner with a net and spear.

  As the queen of elves, Adilandra had enjoyed lessons at the hands of her people’s most skilled warriors. Her husband had made certain that his wife could defend herself when war was upon them. Until right now, she had never felt the need to kill, as so many of her kind often did. The Darkakin had forced this hidden nature from within her, and now they would pay for it.

  Predictably, the first gladiator threw his net at Adilandra. The hooked edges span round and round, designed to either impale its victim or secure them to the ground. The elf deftly rolled under the flying net, feeling one of the hooks brush her hair. The gladiator leaped into the air, with his spear angled down at Adilandra when she came out of her roll. The man couldn’t compete with the agility of an elf, however. Tilting her head to the right, by only an inch, Adilandra avoided the tip of the spear and made a slicing motion with her sword. The gladiator's momentum pushed him through the elf's sword, almost separating him from his legs.

  Adilandra didn’t look back; confident the warrior was dead or soon would be. The first death created an eruption of cheers from around the arena. The Darkakin didn’t really care who died - as long as there was blood and gore to be had, they were entertained.

  The two swordsmen attacked her as one, having witnessed the folly of the net-thrower. Parrying both slashes of their swords, Adilandra whipped her leg around, catching the gladiator on the right in the jaw. She felt the man's jaw dislocate, before he spun away, tumbling to the ground. The gladiator wielding the axe and shield quickly took his place, swinging the curved blade at the elf's head. Adilandra arched her back to avoid the axe, while simultaneously flicking the remaining swordsman's blade aside, ensuring the axe embedded itself into his chest. The axe bit through the gladiator's breast plate, until it severed major arteries inside. His shock at being accidentally wounded by his fellow gladiator was short-lived, when Adilandra twirled on the spot and brought her sword to bear across the swordsman's neck, removing his head with a single swipe.

  The axe-man snarled when the headless body dropped to the floor and took the axe with him, leaving the remaining gladiator without a weapon. With only his shield, the warrior blocked the elf's attacks. Adilandra drove him back with every swipe of her powerful sword, its edge scoring the metal shield from top to bottom. When she realised she was using too much energy to kill an inferior opponent, Adilandra changed tack and ducked low, swiping at the gladiator’s legs. Everything below the man's knees was cut away in the blink of an eye and an agonised scream. He could do nothing but fall backwards, with his shield covering him. The shrieks and whimpers that escaped his lips only drove Adilandra's bloodlust on. The elf dropped to one knee and brought all her strength down on her sword, plunging it through the shield and into the gladiator's chest. His death was horribly satisfying.

  A mangled war-cry was all the warning she got, before the swordsman with the dislocated jaw charged her from behind. Adilandra's scimitar was lodged in the shield and refused to come out in the time she had to avoid the swing of his blade. Instead, the elf opted to roll over the dead axe-man and take on the last gladiator with her bare hands. The swordsman's jaw wobbled independently, while he jumped over his dead friend, shouting profanities even a Darkakin would struggle to understand. Adilandra didn’t hesitate to come up inside the man's swing and shove the edge of her open palm into his throat. The counter-attack halted the gladiator instantly, causing him to drop his sword. The elf forced him to the ground with a hand around his throat. Thankful for her flexible body, Adilandra stepped on the man's sword arm, pinning him with her hand around his neck. She squeezed. The elf didn’t stop until his eyes bulged and turned red.

  Snap!

  The gladiator stopped squirming. The mob remained silent, watching with fascination and glee at such ferocity. Adilandra slowly stood up, catching her breath and looking around at the hungry eyes of thousands of Darkakin - the arena was holding its breath. She finally rested on the Goddess, seated regally on her throne, like a snake coiled to attack.

  "More!" the Goddess shouted to the cheers of the crowd.

  Iron gates fitted into the wall around the arena were rising on their pulley system. Adilandra counted twelve more gladiators entering the arena. The queen of the elves casually walked over to the dead axe-man and retrieved her sword. Just for today, she would be everything her husband wanted her to be.

  You will survive this...

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Nature of Elves

  The Velian guards remained at their stations at the end of the corridor, while Nathaniel and Elaith followed the elves back to their rooms.

  "You can get some sleep." Nathaniel motioned for Elaith to return to the servants’ quarters they had been allocated. "You can relieve me at dawn." The Graycoat knew he was being too good giving her that much time, but the reception in the hall had been awfully boring for the young knight, and the elves were far safer this deep into the palace.

  Elaith's eyes lit up at the prospect of having a whole night's sleep on a bed. Without another word she turned around and disappeared down the corridor. Nathaniel chuckled to himself and looked down at the wooden chair that was to be his post for the night. He suddenly felt very sorry for the sore behind he was about to get. The thought of a sore arse naturally made him think of Darius Devale. During the reception, Darius had told him that Asher was nowhere to be found and that he had been forced to send a messenger bird to West Fellion, informing the Lord Marshall that he had failed to bring in the elusive ranger. It was followed by more threats that he would see to it that Nathaniel was thoroughly punished. It was less amusing however, to hear that King Rengar had sent men to fetch the bodies of the fallen Graycoats for proper burial, though he was thankful for it.

  Nathaniel sincerely hoped that the ranger was miles away from Velia by now. He had come to enjoy the company of the man, despite his past misdeeds. A part of him hoped that they might meet again on the road, though whether he would still be a Graycoat remained to be seen.

  The knight spent the next hour or so going over the events of the last few days. The fact that he had survived a confrontation with so many Arakesh was a miracle. No, he th
ought, a testament to his skill. Nathaniel didn’t completely believe that and remembered Asher and Reyna coming to his aid at the right moment. Who was the mysterious assassin who fought Asher? Had it not been for the ranger's affinity for magic, Nathaniel may well have fallen to the assassin's blade in defence of the elves. It troubled him more to think of who hired the assassins in the first place. The men and women they had just met in the reception hall were the only people in Illian that knew in advance that the elves were coming. It stood to reason that one of them had made contact with the Arakesh. But why? What did any of them have to gain from the assassination of the princess?

  Nathaniel lost track of time while he chewed over his thoughts. The door in front of him creaked and pulled him from his reverie.

  "It occurred to me that you didn’t get to eat at the reception." Reyna stood in the doorway, a vision of beauty. Her clothes had been replaced by a long night dress that clung to her body. Nathaniel's reply came in the form of a blank expression. Reyna laughed softly. "Come inside."

  The Graycoat checked to see if the guards were watching, before he followed the elf inside. A gentle breeze drifted through the open balcony, lifting Reyna's night dress to reveal her bare feet. She indicated the food laid out on her central table, but Nathaniel ignored it and followed her out onto the balcony. He couldn’t take his eyes off her golden hair, blowing in the breeze. Everything about the elf was enchanting to him, as if from the moment they met a spell had been cast over him. Nathaniel came up on her side and did his very best not to look down her dress. Remember, you're a knight, he thought.

  "So what do you make of the world of man?" Nathaniel had to say something, before he gave into the urge to kiss her.

  "The world of man? You might want to change the name." Reyna’s eyes were piercing.

  Nathaniel smiled apologetically and looked out to sea, afraid that he would be drawn in by her exquisite green eyes. Direport lay below, a sprawling network of masts and decking that curved round into the ocean.

  "It seems you arrived on our shores with a lot more knowledge about us than we have of you." Nathaniel kept his tone light.

  Reyna smiled. "You didn’t think the lord of elves would send his only daughter without learning about current affairs?"

  "Should I even ask how you came by so much information?" Nathaniel met her smile and they both shared a laugh at the unspoken.

  Nathaniel had no doubt the elves had taken precautions to learn more about humanity, possibly even sending other elves ahead in secret, but he also didn’t much care. It was hard to care about anything around Reyna.

  "What would you like to know about elves?" The princess turned to look at Nathaniel, while leaning against the rail.

  The Graycoat thought about what Asher had said over the fire. "Everything..."

  Reyna laughed again and Nathaniel found it intoxicating. He glanced over her shoulder at the adjacent balconies that belonged to Faylen and Mörygan, hoping they wouldn’t hear them and order him to leave.

  The princess looked away, as if considering her words. “We’re everything you are, only more. All our emotions and urges are the same; we just feel everything more... intensely. And we're immortal."

  “You’re right, we’re practically the same." They laughed again, before Reyna became serious.

  “We're not like the elves that lived in Illian before our departure to Ayda. At least that's what I hear; I haven't yet seen thirty winters myself. I'm still considered a child by elven standards..."

  Nathaniel could see some resentment in her eyes. There was a lot more to Reyna than his human eyes could see, and he was instantly filled with the need to discover it all.

  "Well you don’t look like a child." Nathaniel couldn’t help his eyes taking Reyna in from head-to-toe. He paused, fascinated at the sight of her pointed ears, protruding from her hair.

  “You're very sweet." Reyna met his eyes with an intense gaze. “I’m unaccustomed with your own appearance, but I can't say I don't enjoy it."

  Nathaniel was stunned by the statement. He was as ordinary as any human, at least in appearance.

  "I think you had too much wine at the reception, Princess."

  "Reyna..." she corrected, gently. “And I don’t drink alcohol; it affects our ability to use magic."

  "Very wise," Nathaniel added with wry smile.

  "Well I am an elf, you know?" The princess laughed in her melodic way again, drawing him closer.

  “You don't seem that different from a human,” the Graycoat commented in jest, knowing just how different the immortal was.

  “Is that right?” Reyna held Nathaniel in a predatory gaze. "Because we're faster," the princess took two impossibly quick steps, putting her face under his, their bodies touching, “we're stronger," Reyna grasped both of Nathaniel's arms and pinned him against the wall, “and..."

  There was no time for words. Reyna pushed her soft lips into his and any thoughts of his oath to the Graycoat order was forgotten. The elf released her strong grip and slid her hands up, behind his head, while Nathaniel tugged on her waist, pulling her even closer.

  Unyielding in their embrace, the couple stumbled back into the bedroom, knocking every piece of furniture on their way to the bed. The Graycoat was more than happy when the princess's owl fled the room and out onto the balcony.

  Nathaniel became very aware of how much gear he was wearing and the awkwardness of having to stop and remove it all. Apparently, Reyna had thought of the same dilemma and decided to take care of the problem. With a strength that didn’t belong to a person of her size, the elf ripped his leather coat open without pulling all the gold buttons off. In a second she had stripped him of his coat and was already removing his shirt. The Graycoat had a moment of self-conscious thought when Reyna looked upon the scars that covered his torso, each a story in themselves.

  Relieving him of such doubt, the princess kissed him again while massaging her hands into his chest and abdomen, taking every inch of him in, until her hands found the buckle to his belt and trousers.

  "You're very forward, for an elf," Nathaniel managed between kisses.

  "I'm really not..." After dropping his belt and sword, Reyna pushed him backwards, onto the bed. With delicate fingers, the elf hooked her fingers into her night dress, around her shoulders, and pulled the gown off, allowing the silky dress to fall at her feet.

  Nathaniel was speechless before the perfect body that crawled onto the bed, between his legs. It had only been seconds since their lips were parted, but the addiction was undeniable now.

  He needed her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Security Measures

  Galanör took a precautionary step back, after Eliön announced that he was finished with the history mage. The man had been levitated upside down and suspended in the air beside his desk, immobile and defenceless against the elf's techniques in torture. Eliön's disinterest in the mage was the only indication that he had released the magic holding him there. The man's body fell to the floor, narrowly missing Galanör's foot. Blood had pooled on the floor, running into the cracks between the flagstones and spreading across the classroom.

  "I'm fairly confident he was telling the truth from the beginning," Eliön explained, wiping the blood from his hands, "but I had to be certain..."

  That certainty had cost the mage several fingers and most of his facial features. Looking down, Galanör no longer recognised the man who had aimed his wand at him earlier. The elf hid his discomfort at such a gruesome sight.

  Ailas rolled out the map on a nearby table - the mage's desk was unusable - and waved his hand over the parchment to bring it to life. Doing his best to ignore the dead body, Galanör examined the map, searching for the room described to them over and over again by the mage. The room was easy to spot, though on the other side of the school, due to the annex built beneath it. A set of spiral stairs led down into a circular room with a hole in the middle. There were no grounds beneath it on the map.

  "The
book is in this room." Adamar pointed at the chambers next to the spiral staircase.

  "Well done Adamar," Ailas replied sarcastically, evoking a laugh from the others. Adamar grinned at the elf with a smile that said, I'll get you later.

  "So..." Galanör brought the group back. "We move with caution and take every measure to reach the room undetected. When we find the book we destroy it, ending Malliath's enthrallment. Now, to make certain he doesn’t just fly off, I will head to the highest point in Korkanath before you destroy the book. The king has shown me a spell that can attract a dragon for miles. I will pass the king's message on and..." Galanör didn’t really know what would happen next. This particular part of the mission relied heavily on hope. No, he thought; trust in the king. The lord of elves had more knowledge about dragons than any other of their kind.

  Doubt ate away at him.

  They had come so far from home and accomplished so much. There was nothing for them but to move on with the plan and give everything they had to see it through.

  The door creaked open and Galanör chastised himself for not hearing the footsteps beforehand. The elves instinctively wrapped themselves in magic and concealed their bodies. Except for Adamar.

  “Master Rollo?” The voice of an older man preceded his entrance. “Tis' only I, Master Tibit.”

  Galanör could do nothing as the man hobbled into the room with his tall staff and looked upon Adamar, standing defiantly between the rows of tables. The new mage looked in horror from Adamar to Master Rollo, dead and mutilated on the floor. Galanör wanted to lash out and punish Adamar, but he was beaten to it by Master Tibit.

  Adamar took one step towards the mage with a malicious smile, which Galanör wanted to strike from his face, until Master Tibit waved his staff to the side with more speed than was expected of his age.

  Adamar was swept aside by an invisible force that flung the elf with enough power to put him through the wall and into the next classroom. The explosion was ear-shatteringly loud, taking chairs and half a table into the adjacent room behind the elf. If Adamar wasn’t dead, he deserved to be, Galanör thought. The stupid elf had forced their hand.