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

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Making History

  Mörygan crawled across the floor in a way that Merkaris felt was beneath an elf. He should have known when he was beaten and met his maker with some dignity, while his honour was still intact. The arrogant elf had assumed his power was levels of magnitude above Merkaris’s, and now he would die because of that miscalculation.

  The king of Orith limped behind the elf, using every technique he knew to ignore the pain in his leg... and his back, shoulder, chest and head. Mörygan had wounded Merkaris from head-to-toe, but the human was still standing. Merkaris patted down his left arm - which was still on fire - as if it was no bother. The limp in his leg would take more of a seeing too however, since it wouldn’t look good for the king to be limping after doing nothing, except supposedly sleeping.

  The elf’s chambers had been obliterated in the fight. The balcony doors were missing, having sprayed glass everywhere, some of which was still lodged in Merkaris’s body. The bed linen was on fire with several scorch holes burned into the mattress. Not one piece of furniture had escaped the devastation, littering the room with splintered wood and broken chandeliers. One corner of the room was completely frozen over with a thick layer of ice. That particular spell had delivered a rather nasty frostbite to the elf’s hand, turning it black. Worming between it all was a thick trail of elven blood, slowly being smeared over the stone floor by a crawling Mörygan.

  Merkaris pointed his black wand at the elf’s back and with a flicking motion, the king flung Mörygan across the room, slamming him hard into the wall. The sound of bone cracking was just audible over the cry of pain that escaped Mörygan’s lips. Merkaris bit down on his own pain, when he realised at least two of his fingers were broken in his wand hand.

  “Impossible...” The word came out of Mörygan’s mouth as a whisper, looking upon the foreboding shadow that advanced on him.

  Merkaris laughed. “Nothing is impossible through Valanis. He has the knowledge of the gods. The same gods your people have forsaken...”

  “Were you sent to talk me to death?”

  Merkaris lashed out immediately, silencing the whelp with a spell he had learned from Nakir Galvörd, one of Valanis’s Hand. The spell acted as a whip, producing a red, hot line of energy from the tip of the wand, and cut through the air as easily as it did Mörygan’s face. The elf moaned in agony, covering his face, but failed to keep the blood from gushing between his fingers.

  Commotion in the adjacent rooms demanded Merkaris’s attention. It seemed the fight was over and someone was still alive, but in pain. His men would be dead, of that he had no doubt, but nor did he care, as they were all replaceable. The fate of the Arakesh was unknown, but he was sure all would be revealed in time. For now though, he had to finish his work and get back to his chambers unnoticed. It wouldn’t be long before someone came to check on Mörygan Mörgö. Without a word, Merkaris aimed his wand at the elf and unleashed a barrage of lightning that consumed every inch of his victim’s body. The king of the north smiled to himself. The elf’s body would be smoking long after he was dead.

  By the time Asher returned to Reyna’s room, his new wounds had set in and demanded his attention, as they spread aches and pains throughout his body. The sight of Nathaniel’s prone and pale body helped him put such troubles aside. With only a small blanket over his waist, the elven princess knelt over his torso, her hands covering the wound in his abdomen. Blue light emanated from between her fingers, and Asher noticed the deep look of concentration on Reyna’s face.

  Asher paused on his way over, stopping to check the faces of the dead assassins on the floor. Two of them were hard to place but looked familiar, and the third, closer to Nathaniel with his neck cracked, was easy to place. The ranger had seen the man’s face when Lord Merkaris’s convoy passed them by on the Selk Road. Asher scrutinised the would-be-killer’s features one last time, making certain it was the same man. Chances were high that the other familiar faces belonged to men he had seen in the convoy. It was entirely possible that Merkaris had no idea that some of his men were rogues. Asher couldn’t see how the king of the north fit into the attack, as it had clearly been orchestrated by the Arakesh. The ranger looked up to see a white owl staring at him from its perch atop a broken wardrobe. He couldn’t recall the name of the bird, but he found its intense stare to be unsettling.

  “Is he alright?” Elaith was also standing over him, her expression full of concern for her mentor.

  “He will be,” Faylen replied, standing over Reyna with her scimitar in hand. The elf was wearing a long night dress, stained red with blood. Not her blood, Asher noted.

  Nathaniel gasped and his brown eyes opened wide for a moment. Reyna visibly relaxed and removed her hands to inspect the new flesh, though it was still coated in dry blood. Asher couldn’t help but smile at the look of surprise on the Graycoat’s face.

  Elaith’s grin out shone them all. “Why are you naked?”

  Asher chuckled heartily, while Reyna turned a shade of pink and Faylen rolled her eyes, stepping away. Nathaniel just let his head fall back and rest on the floor, relieved and surprised to be alive.

  “Thank you...” The Graycoat took Reyna’s hand in his own.

  “You should thank Asher.” Reyna glanced at the ranger, a warmth in her eyes that Asher wasn’t accustomed to. “Had he not arrived when he did, I wouldn’t have been able to heal you.”

  Asher simply nodded at Nathaniel’s grateful smile, still enjoying the look of adoration he had received from the princess. The ranger liked the new feelings his friends evoked in him, and yet at the same time his instincts told him it was futile. People die around him. They always have and they always will, he thought. Not only that, but allowing himself to feel anything for anyone put him at risk as well. Nightfall had bred that into his bones.

  “Where is the assassin now?” Faylen asked, clearly ignoring the naked Graycoat on the floor.

  “Rengar’s guards have taken him into custody.”

  “He lives?” Faylen’s words intoned her disappointment.

  “Barely...” Asher blinked hard to stop the room from spinning. “The guards took him away before I could finish him.”

  “At least he failed.” Reyna looked at Asher again with a knowing look. It seemed the princess knew Ro Dosarn hadn’t come for her.

  “Indeed...” Faylen looked back to her room, distracted. “Where is Mörygan?”

  “Probably interrogating anyone he left alive.” Reyna didn’t appear bothered by the elf’s absence, clearly trusting in his abilities.

  Faylen disappeared into her room, while Reyna and Elaith helped Nathaniel to his feet. The Graycoat was still a sickly shade of grey, and he nearly lost his footing, as he concentrated on keeping the blanket wrapped around his waist.

  “Where the hell have you been, anyway?” Nathaniel asked Asher through glazed eyes.

  The ranger took Nathaniel’s weight from the elves and half-carried him to the edge of the bed, where the Graycoat appeared happy to sit, no doubt feeling the effects of blood loss.

  “Doing what I was paid to do,” Asher replied casually.

  Nathaniel smirked, as if intoxicated. “I think you’ve gone above and beyond what the king paid you to do...”

  Before Asher could find a witty reply, Faylen called for help in the distance. “Wait here,” the ranger ordered. Without his assistance, Nathaniel flopped onto the bed.

  Elaith stayed with him so Asher could accompany Reyna into Faylen’s room and then into Mörygan’s. It was more of a mess than the princess’s chamber, with evidence of a significant magical battle all around. Asher looked scanned the debris, while his hand stuck to the cut on his thigh, the magic flowing out of the black crystal and into the wound. The cut had already healed by the time the ranger caught sight of the dead body, lying at Faylen’s feet. The smoke rising off the body was evidence to the source of the charred scent Asher had stuck up his nose.

  “He’s dead.” Faylen r
olled Mörygan over so they could see his burnt and lacerated face.

  Asher didn’t detect any heartache on Faylen’s side, or Reyna’s for that matter, but rather a sense of distress that Mörygan could be killed at all. The ranger couldn’t judge them; from the brief time he had spent with the elven advisor, he had come to the conclusion that Mörygan Mörgö was an arrogant ass.

  “Who could do this?” Reyna asked.

  “The elf from the woods, perhaps?” Asher suggested with a coy look cast over Faylen. Her recognition of the masked attacker hadn’t been lost on the ranger.

  “Elf?” Faylen was quick to respond. “What elf?”

  “Come on, we both know an elf when we see one.” Asher walked away to inspect the room.

  “We will talk about this later...” Faylen added at the sound of heavy boots marching down the corridor.

  “Worrying about that shadow is the least of our problems.” Nathaniel walked into the room, now partially dressed and ignoring their looks of concern, with his arm slung over Elaith’s shoulder for support. “The men who attacked us; I recognise them. They’re part of King Tion’s escort, they work for Merkaris.”

  “It isn’t safe to stay here,” Asher added, making no comment that he had made the same observations. It seemed that even in his debilitated state, the Graycoat wasn’t to be underestimated.

  “That much is obvious, Outlander.” Faylen was already gathering any belongings she could find of Mörygan’s.

  Asher met Reyna’s apologetic look, but made no acknowledgement. Faylen’s disdain for the ranger was clear to see, though he knew not why and he didn’t really care much. The entire realm had similar feelings for Outlanders and often with good cause. The black-fang tattoo below his eye was there to stay however, of that he had no choice. Asher only wished he knew why or how it came to mark his skin.

  The door burst open, as two Velian guards entered the room and parted, making way for King Rengar in his flowing robes. His face portrayed a dramatic performance, though the ranger couldn’t tell if it was rehearsed or not. Had it not been for the gain the king stood to receive from the elven alliance, Asher may have suspected he had a hand in the assassination. Lord Merkaris was involved in some way, but it would be foolish to assume he was working alone. Either way, they had worked in concert with the Arakesh. All roads led to Nightfall.

  “This is unacceptable!” Rengar roared. The king gasped at the sight of Mörygan’s body and covered his mouth in shock. “I assure you Princess Reyna, the people responsible for this will be hung, drawn and quartered! My men tell me we already have an assassin locked away in the dungeon, an Arakesh no less. He will...” The king stopped talking when he caught sight of Asher. “Ranger, what are you doing here? How did you get in?” Before Asher could give him an answer, Rengar continued his tirade. “Never mind, arrest this man!”

  Everyone, including Faylen, moved at the same time the guards reached out for the ranger. Princess Reyna came between them first, halting the guards with her mere presence. Nathaniel and Elaith had their hands resting on the hilts of their swords behind Asher.

  “Princess, this man has ties to the assassins that-”

  “Asher arrived in our moment of need, King Rengar, a moment in which your men did not.” Reyna spoke calmly but authoritatively. “To that end, my mentor and I no longer feel safe in your kingdom.”

  The shock displayed across Rengar’s face was genuine now. Asher could see the fear in his eyes, with the new Velia he had imagined was crumbling around him. The ranger tried to hide his grin, but wasn’t sure how well he succeeded.

  “Princess, please!” King Rengar pleaded. “The guard has already been tripled. Why don’t you sleep on it and we-”

  “Sleep where, Your Grace?” Reyna replied sharply. “In the same rooms where my advisor lies dead?”

  Rengar winced at the sight of the smoking remains. “New rooms are already being prepared...” The king could tell it wasn’t going to be enough.

  “Your people will prepare a pyre for dawn. Mörygan will be given back to Verda under the sun’s first light. Until then we will make use of these new rooms you offer. But we will be leaving, King Rengar.” Reyna turned away to signify her disinterest in continuing the conversation.

  “Where might you go, if I may ask, that you feel is safer than Velia?”

  To that, Asher could see that Reyna hadn’t thought her plan all the way through. The elves would be welcome in every kingdom across Illian, but none would be any safer than Velia. The Arakesh could get to them anywhere. They needed a fortress with high walls and guards up to the challenge of repelling an assassin of the highest order, a place that wasn’t densely populated, making it harder to blend in or slip by unnoticed. The answer hit the ranger like a club to the head. He wasn’t going to like this.

  “West Fellion...” Everyone turned to Asher. “We’ll go to West Fellion.”

  “Asher...” Nathaniel started, before the ranger held up a hand to quiet his protest.

  “They are sworn by a bunch of oaths to do a bunch of goodly things.” Asher waved his hand dismissively. “The point is, they’re neutral with nothing to gain by an elven presence in these lands, and they despise the Arakesh, who are apparently hell bent on killing you.” He looked to the princess. “And besides all that; they live in a fortress...”

  Rengar appeared deflated with their choice to leave his kingdom. There were no protests from the elves, but Nathaniel and Elaith continued to look on with grave expressions.

  “They will welcome you and protect you... Princess.” Nathaniel added her title as an afterthought, though he spoke with a heavy heart. The Graycoat knew, as Asher did, that when they finally arrived at West Fellion, the ranger would be taken into custody. If he was lucky.

  “There you have it, King Rengar. We will need horses as well. Oh, and when we are situated and feel safe again, I will contact you with regards to my father’s wishes about our... future alliance.” Reyna walked out of the room without even looking back at Mörygan’s body.

  There was something about the way the princess had spoken of their future alliance that gave Asher pause.

  The ranger kept that thought to himself.

  Merkaris slipped back into his room, having used a concealing spell to move through the palace’s corridors unseen. When the door closed behind him, he slumped back and slid to the floor, exhausted after his battle with the elf. His body ached from head-to-toe, with several cuts and lacerations making themselves known. Blood trickled down his right arm from a particularly nasty cut, pooling around his supporting hand. Merkaris groaned when the burn across his back stuck to the door, pulling at his raw nerves.

  The king of the north let his head loll back, while he laughed at his good fortune, no, not fortune, but skill. He had killed an elf, and a powerful elf at that! As promised, Merkaris would sit at the right hand of Valanis in the new world and rule over the humans. If he could defeat an elf like Mörygan then there was nothing that could stop that future from happening.

  Craving the softness of his bed, Merkaris attempted to stand, but found his left leg could no longer support him. He decided to sit a while longer and rest. As long as he appeared respectable come morning, all would be well. The king of the north drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face. Soon, he would be the king of more than just the north.

  Chapter Thirty

  Prisoners

  Exhausted, bleeding and starved, Adilandra was thrown into her cell with little care. The Darkakin guards sneered and spat at her, before walking back into the darkness, beyond the torchlight. The queen of elves hated the dark, but knew better than to use magic to illuminate her surroundings. The Goddess had made it very clear what would happen to Fallön and Lörvana if she called on her innate abilities.

  Without hesitation, the elf dived for the scraps of meat, left on the dusty floor, and consumed them in a few mouthfuls. There was only enough water in the mug for a sip, leaving her thirsty and craving more. Her cell was
situated somewhere inside the giant arena, hidden from everything else in the dark. Adilandra refused to cry openly, but rogue tears streamed down her cheeks. All was lost and she knew it. Her friends were dead and those left alive were suffering a fate worse than death.

  The Goddess had promised to show her the dragons tomorrow, but the elf knew this to be more lies now. Adilandra was being kept in the arena, instead of at the palace, because they planned to have her fight again. Already today, she had killed thirty-two Darkakin gladiators under the sweltering sun, and she remembered every face. Seeing all the blood in her mind made her feel sick, and for a moment, she feared the only food she had consumed in as many days was about to come back up. The bloodlust and rage the elf had experienced during the battle had soon left her when it was all over.

  “Great Atilan, give me strength to see this through...” Adilandra offered a prayer to the king of the gods.

  It had been a long time since she had prayed to any of the gods, and often practised it in secret, away from the prying eyes in Elandril, the elven capital in Ayda. The gods had long been forgotten and ridiculed by the elves after their departure from Illian, seeing them as nothing more than fables created by their ancestors. Adilandra knew better. She knew that the elven nation had forsaken the gods out of spite and anger, after the Dark War and the war between mankind and the dragons, seeing that the gods did nothing to help.

  Adilandra’s mother and father had never lost faith however, teaching their daughter about the heavens and raising her to love the gods. It was this faith that reassured her that Nalana’s prophesy was true; the Echoes of Fate had been sent by the gods themselves, as a warning of what was to come.

  Crouching in the filth and the dark, her faith was waning. Adilandra thought on the prophecy she had memorised many centuries ago, and as she had many times before, the elf recited the last verse to herself in the fading light of the torches.

  “Children of fire and flame offer great promise, but only one perceives the time we will fall. As the gods recast their fortune and power, one will suffer the burden of destiny for all...”