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

by Philip C. Quaintrell

Alidyr flexed his fingers over the armrest of Nightfall’s throne, feeling the cool wood under his sensitive elven fingers. The transition to ruling over the Arakesh was not as satisfying as he had imagined for so many years. The elf chalked it up to the fact that he lived only to serve Valanis, and commanding an army of human assassins was simply another tool for his master’s will.

  The halls were quiet now. Adellum had taken the five hundred Arakesh in the dead of night, leaving the rest to keep watch over Nightfall. With their unparalleled speed, the Arakesh would reach West Fellion in a couple of days. Woe betide any who came across the marching force as they swept across The Arid Lands and into the Moonlit Plains.

  “DID YOU THINK I WOULDN’T FIND OUT?” The echoing question roared from beyond the Cradle, but Alidyr recognised the voice.

  Thallan...

  Six hidden assassins dropped from the surrounding balcony and drew their twin blades, ready for battle. The sound of clashing swords rang out in the dark, before Alidyr’s keen ears heard the splatter of blood against the walls. He remained seated in the throne and rolled his eyes at Thallan’s dramatics.

  The body of a dead Arakesh exploded through the doors in a shower of wooden splinters and flailing limbs. Thallan stormed into the Cradle with his imposing jewelled sword and a face of thunder, not bothering to conceal his appearance with his hood and half-mask. Still, Alidyr remained seated while his assassins charged the enraged elf.

  “You betray me!” Thallan cried, as the first two warriors closed in.

  The pitch black was instantly illuminated by a light brighter than the sun, halting and blinding all the senses of the Arakesh. Alidyr blinked hard and magically commanded his eyes to adjust. As he suspected, Thallan had used magic to light the decorative pyres and torches that lined the pillars. The blazing fires rendered the Nightseye elixir useless and disorientated the assassins.

  Thallan waded in with his onyx scimitar and cut the first two Arakesh down with decisive strikes that split their torsos open. The remaining four tore the blindfolds from their eyes and shook their heads in an attempt to orientate themselves. It was all for naught, Alidyr reasoned. Thallan would kill a hundred Arakesh if they stood between him and the cause of his wrath.

  Thallan used his elven speed to dash past the first attacker, and whipped his sword horizontally, removing the head from another. Now in the thick of it and surrounded by three assassins, Thallan was in his element. He dodged one sword and parried the other two, before balancing on the ball of his foot and kicking the first Arakesh he had evaded. The woman was launched into the pillar behind her, passing partially through the old stone in a shower of rock and dust. Alidyr heard her spine and skull shatter upon impact.

  The green blade flashed in the firelight and cut the second-to-last assassin from shoulder to waist, separating the two halves completely. The last surviving Arakesh attacked Thallan from behind, but the nimble elf dropped to one knee and span on the spot, evading the twin blades, so he could twist his magical sword around and plunged it into the man’s back.

  Without taking his eyes off Alidyr, Thallan slowly stood up, sliding his blade from the dead man’s body.

  “Feel better?”

  “Did you really think you could march a make-shift army across Illian and I wouldn’t know about it?” Thallan’s golden eyes narrowed.

  “Does it enrage you more that I have an army at my disposal, or that I have Adellum leading them?” Alidyr adjusted his seating and gritted his teeth in an effort to hide the pain that bit into his leg and shoulder. He had applied several ointments and taken multiple healing elixirs since the Father had wounded him with the deadly Reaver, but none had succeeded in combating the pain and sealing the wound.

  “Adellum will answer for his insubordination when I see to it. You should be more concerned with your own betrayal, brother.”

  “You would speak to me of betrayal?” Alidyr abruptly stood up, clenching his fists against the pain in his leg. “You betray the Master every day by abandoning the search for the gem!”

  “Always the gem with you,” Thallan replied, exasperated. He began to pace in front of the throne. “It is lost Alidyr! You know the legends as well as I! It was most likely taken by some Outlander into the depths of the Wild Moores and lost again! I am seeing Valanis’s plan for Verda fulfilled until he returns to power. A plan you are compromising by attacking West Fellion so openly.”

  “Valanis will never return to power without Paldora’s gem. If you can’t grasp that simple fact, brother, then you are of no use to our Master.” Alidyr purposefully walked down the throne steps towards Thallan, his hands threateningly resting on his twin-blades.

  “I am the head of the Hand, Alidyr.” Thallan pointed his onyx sword at his elven brother. “You failed in that role. It is my time now!”

  Alidyr could hear the crack in his voice, the doubt that lingered in the back of Thallan’s mind. If Alidyr took the position back by force, there would be nothing Thallan could do to prevent it.

  “I have found it...” Alidyr couldn’t help himself. The look of confusion on Thallan’s face was worth giving away the upper hand.

  “You lie. You’d say anything to...” Thallan looked long and hard at Alidyr’s serious expression, the truth slowly dawning on him. “Where is it?”

  “West Fellion of course, why else would I send so many to ensure its retrieval?” Alidyr remained a step higher to physically match his superiority over Thallan.

  The bald elf lowered his green blade and looked away, his golden eyes darting from left to right. This changed everything. Alidyr was counting on it to put Thallan off balance and lower his guard.

  “You would let Adellum claim the gem?” he finally asked.

  “Are we not equal in our service to Valanis?” Alidyr countered, slyly. “Return to Kaliban, brother, you need to heal.”

  Thallan looked confused. “My burns are gone, I require no healing.”

  Alidyr struck with the ferocity of a king cobra and sunk his short-sword into Thallan’s shoulder, driving him to one knee in agony. The elf looked up at him, stricken with equal amounts of fear and pain.

  “Return to Kaliban, heal your wounds and await my return. As the head of the Hand, I command you...”

  Alidyr’s self-proclamation stunned Thallan, even through the pain of the blade in his shoulder. The bald elf fell to the floor after Alidyr pulled his sword free, but the master assassin continued on, walking between the recently fallen Arakesh and ignoring the groans from Thallan.

  “You won’t... get away with this.” Thallan managed to stand, while gripping his wounded shoulder.

  “I already have.” Alidyr sheathed his blade and whipped his white robes behind, as he turned to face the bald elf. “Return to Kaliban. I will see to our master’s ascension.”

  Thallan opened his mouth to protest, but he wasn’t given the chance. With the wave of a hand, Alidyr opened a portal beneath the other elf and watched him drop into the abyss. Alidyr didn’t have the power to transport Thallan all the way to Kaliban, but instead left him somewhere between The Arid Lands and the Ice Vales, in the north - he hadn’t been too picky when conjuring the portal.

  Chapter Forty-One

  A Lesson in History

  It had been a long day and slow progress for Gideon and the elves, cautiously moving through Malaysai unseen. The young mage had been forced to enact a spell across the palms and fingers of his hands, creating rough calluses to help him grip the numerous walls, as the three climbed over every rooftop. Galanör and Adilandra scaled every obstacle with ease, ascending the building tops with incredible speed.

  Often had they been forced to hide or cast enchantments to conceal themselves from the many inhabitants. The first of the Darkakin armies continued to pour into the city, though Galanör pointed out that their tattoos differed greatly, indicating the presence of another army having arrived. Gideon’s human eyes couldn’t easily make the distinction, but he was inclined to agree, if the many fights tha
t broke out between the different tribes were anything to go by.

  As the sun was setting, the three companions finally made it to the last building in the street, which sat at the base of the pyramid. The elves stayed low, catching their breath, while Gideon moved to the edge, curious of the spectacle taking place below. A long wooden platform stood by the side of the road, surrounded by hundreds of screaming Darkakin, who were pointing at the line of men and women displayed on the stage. The mage couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Gideon had heard of the slave markets in The Arid Lands, back in Illian, but it was frowned upon by the rest of the kingdoms. Seeing it so openly and among such savages was an entirely different experience to hearing about it in a land far away.

  A fat Darkakin, with a stomach resembling that of a barrel, strode up and down the platform with a cane in one hand. Every now and then he would point at one of the slaves on offer and command one of his men to accept the payment, before shoving the slave off the stage, into the hands of their new owner. It seemed to Gideon that the women sold first and much faster. The thought sickened him.

  “Slaves are just another form of currency here.” Adilandra was beside him, her movements undetectable. “The women will become playthings and the men forced to serve in one of the armies or for hard labour. Only the strong survive here.”

  “It’s not right...” Gideon could only watch as a slave girl was thrown over a man’s shoulder and taken away, into the baying mob.

  His hand dropped to Abigail’s wand on his thigh, before Adilandra rested her own hand on top of his and shook her head.

  “It would be folly to fight so many,” Galanör commented from behind.

  Gideon’s sense of right and wrong had always steered him in life, along with a dangerous sense of adventure, and the mage knew that helping Adilandra was the right thing to do, but working alongside Galanör felt so very wrong. The elf’s continued existence was an offence to the memory of Abigail. And yet there was another voice in his mind that told him it would be wrong to take Galanör’s life. A smaller voice.

  “A pity you didn’t have such reservations when you and your lot attacked Korkanath.” Gideon couldn’t hide the venom in his remark.

  Galanör looked away, an expression of shame staining his angelic features.

  “Enough,” Adilandra commanded with a queen’s tone. “Let the Darkakin enslave and kill each other. They aren’t worth our time.”

  It was a harsh statement that Gideon felt was hard to agree with. The Darkakin were a cruel people indeed, but it didn’t feel right to give up on anyone that needed help, even Darkakin slaves. If only Abigail was here, he thought. She would know the right thing to do; she always gave him the confidence and the encouragement to be brave.

  “Stay here and rest, both of you.” Galanör looked over the adjacent roof, as if measuring the gap. “I will scout the perimeter of the pyramid and search for a way inside.”

  “We should stay together,” Gideon replied. He hated being with Galanör, but they were alone and vulnerable - having more blades and magic was simply the best way to protect themselves.

  “The quicker we find Lörvana and Fallön, the quicker we can leave this wretched place. It’ll be easier if I go alone.” With that, the elf was gone, vanishing over the lip of the building top with the grace of a cat.

  It wasn’t long before night fell and the slave market was replaced with Malaysai’s other forms of entertainment. The armies collided with contests of strength, often ending in bloodshed and arguments that led to more bloodshed. Drunks wandered the streets, before passing out in alleyways where they were stripped of their belongings. Numerous brothels opened across the neighbourhood, but Gideon heard more than one woman being raped in the streets. Malaysai was louder at night than than it was in the day.

  “You know him... Galanör?” Gideon asked Adilandra. She had remained cross-legged and silent since Galanör had left.

  “He is betrothed to my daughter, Reyna, though I believe that neither of them wishes it so.” The queen of the elves studied Gideon for a moment, a moment that made the mage uncomfortable in his skin. “There is more to him than just a blade, Mr Thorn.”

  “Do you know what he did to my home?” Gideon spat back.

  “I was privy to all of my husband’s plans before I left. I believe Galanör was charged with bringing Malliath the voiceless to Ayd. I imagine he didn’t ask for Malliath’s company politely, however.”

  “They killed innocent people, most of them children!” Gideon stopped himself before his voice carried too far.

  “Galanör cannot be blamed entirely; he is the product of his ambitious father. As a child, I remember Galanör being a delicate and sensitive boy. Unfortunately his father had sights on being at my husband’s right hand, and sought to accomplish that through his son. His father had him taken away as a young elf and trained in the Shalarian forests, not an easy place to survive. It is certainly no Korkanath.”

  “Do you think any of that excuses him?”

  “I think none feel the pain of his actions more than he. But I should warn you, if you challenge him on behalf of your friend, Galanör will kill you. Maybe you wish to add to his pain, with your death...”

  Gideon remained silent and thought on Adilandra’s warning. He knew that challenging the elf wouldn’t be what Abigail wanted; it wasn’t even Galanör’s blade that took her life.

  The mage sought to change the conversation. “What is the dragon wall? You said Malliath had to open it.”

  Adilandra looked at him, before resting her head back against the wall and gazing at the starry field above. “Tell me what you know of the Dragon War, Gideon?”

  Gideon hated his questions being answered with questions. “It took place around the same time your people left Illian. Malliath started a war with man for our riches, believing that the elves wouldn’t help us since you were leaving. King Gal Tion rallied the-”

  “King Tion had history re-written in his favour, young mage. It was Gal Tion and his lapdog, Tyberius Gray, who started the war by convincing the other regions to stand behind them in attacking the Lifeless Isles. Only the Dragorn stood with the dragons, but even they fell in the end...”

  “Dragorn?” Gideon knew well of the island nation and the Dragornians that inhabited it, but what did they have to do with the Dragon War?

  “It’s not surprising that your history books don’t speak of them, man never understood the Dragorn. They were a group of chosen few who had the ability to communicate with the dragons, and were allowed to live with them on their island. It was your people who named the island after them, once they conquered it and the Lifeless Isles beneath.”

  “Communicate? With the dragons?” Gideon had heard Malliath’s roar and couldn’t imagine how anyone might talk to them.

  “They are creatures of pure empathy.” It was the first time Gideon had seen Adilandra smile. “To you or me they can reflect their feelings in our emotions. If you were to anger them, you would feel angry, if you made them happy, you would feel happy and so on. But Dragorn could discern individual words from the dragons, carry entire conversations. They were the best of us all. When the first dragons fell, my people made the wrong choice to leave for Ayda, abandoning Illian to war and the dragons to near-extinction.”

  “Why did you leave?” Gideon asked.

  “We were still reeling from the Dark War. We have long memories and elven blood still stained the ground. Fighting another war was simply too much, though our inaction is greatly regretted now. Man’s defeat over the dragons was unexpected, but victory was only claimed when the surviving dragons fled the Lifeless Isles, leaving man to his greed.”

  “They fled to Ayda as well? To Mount Garganafan?”

  “It wasn’t so named until we arrived, but yes. It is the biggest mountain in all of Verda. Rainael the emerald star led the last of her kind to the base of the mountain, where they stored the remaining dragon eggs to keep them safe from mankind. To ensure that man hadn�
��t followed them to the mountain, they left for the south. Dolvosari the storm maker unleashed his breath upon the mountainside, sealing the entrance with fire and magic. It can only be opened with dragons’ breath.”

  “That’s why you need Malliath...” Gideon couldn’t believe the history of the world that was being imparted to him. The real history. Abigail would have loved to hear it.

  “That’s why my husband wants Malliath,” Adilandra was quick to correct.

  “You don’t speak fondly of him, your husband I mean.”

  “We have a stark difference of opinion. Now I require rest and silence, Galanör will be back soon and I need to gather my energy for what comes next.” Adilandra closed her eyes again and turned away from Gideon.

  What a strange life the mage had been thrown into. Gideon adjusted the leather jacket around his neck, unaccustomed to the heat of the south. How could everything have changed so much in so little time? How could it all of gone so wrong?

  Galanör crouched on the corner of the tallest building, beside the pyramid, getting the lay of the land, savage as it was. It was good to be out of the mage’s gaze and the shame the elf felt under it. It would be an uneasy alliance between them, but Galanör didn’t fear for his own life, rather that he would be forced to kill Gideon.

  Having almost circled it completely, he knew that the structure had four entrances, one at the base of each side. The number of Darkakin guarding the rectangular openings varied, an indication of their disorganisation.

  The scimitar on his hip gave him confidence that no single group of guards could keep him out, though he longed for a second sword. The elf had spent centuries training and fighting with two scimitars, learning the techniques required to handle two swords. Most fumbled and struggled to coordinate their hands and body while wielding twin swords, but never Galanör. Still, one sword would be enough to cut through the Darkakin.

  It would be impossible to enter the pyramid at night. There was too much activity on the streets and more than a few fighters with the added army, filling every gap in Malaysai. The pre-dawn would be the best time to infiltrate, by Galanör’s reckoning. The guards would be tired or drunk and the city’s inhabitants would be sleeping. Of course, getting in was going to be easy, getting out would be a different matter.