Relic of the Gods: (Echoes of Fate Book 3)

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Doran continued, “If they’ve any sense they’ll run to Barossh or Velia and hide under King Rengar’s skirt.”

  “We’re no army,” Tauren commented, “they’ll see that.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.” Doran snorted and spat on the ground. “An army’s what we need!”

  Tauren thought of his brother, Halion, and what he would do in this situation. Of the two, Halion had always been the more diplomatic, knowing when words would do more than swords.

  “We can't afford to start a fight here, not with the Darkakin on our heels. If the people of Galosha don't want us passing through their town then we’ll go around.”

  Doran stroked the blond hairs of his long beard. “What about convincing them to leave with us? The Darkakin don't seem like the prisoner type.”

  The thought of leaving yet more people behind left Tauren with a pit in his stomach. “Almost two cities worth of people have abandoned their homes to get this far. That should be convincing enough, for why else would so many flee?”

  The sound of beating hooves preceded Jonus Glaide, another ranger of the wilds. His dark skin and bald head were contrasted by the white mustache and goatee he sported, as he rode up the small hillock to meet them.

  “Ha!” Doran exclaimed. “I still can't believe you found that cowardly beast! Though I find it more surprising that he hasn't run for the hills yet!” The dwarf erupted in hearty laughter.

  Glaide patted the horse's neck with affection. “Hector maybe on the skittish side, but he’s damn loyal and Asher will be glad to see him again.”

  The conversation went no further, as the three considered where Asher and the others would be right now, and the chances of surviving inside Nightfall. Tauren could think of at least four gods who could help and offered up a prayer to each.

  Looking to change the subject, Tauren examined the parade of caravans, wagons and crowds again, reflecting that somewhere among them was a small boy, who by right of blood was the emperor of The Arid Lands. Tauren himself had thought about killing the boy, Faros, many times over the years, always wondering if he had it in him to take such a young life. Though likely oblivious to slavery, it was the boy’s mere existence that kept the trade running.

  He asked, “Do you have news of the child?”

  “It’s confirmed,” Glaide replied. “His vizier has been spotted around the wagon and General Kail’s men have spotted the boy relieving himself.”

  “And what does General Kail intend to do with this information?” Tauren asked.

  “He told me it was up to you,” Glaide replied with an arched brow.

  “Ha!” Doran bellowed. “It seems Karath’s new General has found himself a new leader!”

  Tauren was not so sure. “I doubt he would look for one in me.”

  “I can't see why not,” Glaide commented. “You have worked for the people for many years, freeing countless of the men and women down there. Some of the highborns might want your blood, but most would call you a hero, Tauren. Don't forget who stood before Syla’s Gate…”

  “That is not why Kail leaves this to me,” Tauren argued. “Killing or reinstating Faros Kalvanak could divide the people of The Arid Lands. Those free from slavery would never accept him as emperor again, while those who stand to gain from such a hierarchy would never allow the Kalvanak bloodline to be brought to an end.” The son-of-none turned to the head of the caravan, where Kail An-Agoh rode with a party of his soldiers. “The General leaves it to me to avoid any judgement on himself.”

  Glaide had a smile hiding under his mustache. “Salim taught you well.”

  Images of Salim Al-Anan’s bloodied and ruined body flashed under Tauren’s lids. He wondered when fonder memories of his adoptive father would resurface.

  “Let us be done with it then…” Tauren gestured for Glaide to show him the way.

  “What are ye to do?” Doran asked.

  The reply was simple. “I’m going to kill Faros Kalvanak.”

  Not far from Galosha’s boundary, the caravans of thousands came to a stop. The son-of-none took the opportunity he had been waiting for. Glaide and Doran took to the left of the tall wagon, distracting the obvious Honour Guard, disguised in rags. Tauren hopped off his horse and tied the reins to a nearby cart to keep the animal close by, while he made for the curtained shroud at the back of the wagon. With practiced ease, the son-of-none was inside the wagon and crouched before a sleeping boy and a horror-stricken vizier.

  The pair had lost their fine jewellery and clothes, replaced with loose-fitting cotton. Even the vizier had chopped off his ridiculous pointed beard.

  Tauren glanced from the small blade in his hand to the dishevelled-looking advisor. “Not a word…” When he was confident the Honour Guard was none the wiser, he spoke quietly to the older man. “Faros Kalvanak is dead. He died in Karath.” The fallen expression spreading across the vizier’s face told of his understanding. “He is your son now. He will never know the truth of his heritage. Should anyone ever learn of his existence, his life and yours would be in danger. Explain this any way you will to the Honour Guard, but the Kalvanak line came to an end today. Do you understand?”

  The vizier nodded slowly. Tauren thanked the gods, as he had no idea what he would have done if the man argued. Without another word, the son-of-none hopped out of the wagon and jumped onto his horse. The Honour guard caught his escape and immediately rushed into the wagon to check on his emperor. Tauren would have liked to hear the conversation that took place, but as he was finding more and more lately, his responsibilities would have him elsewhere.

  “Well?” Doran asked, riding his war-hog alongside Tauren and Glaide.

  “The time of emperors is at an end.” Tauren rode down the edge of the extensive caravan, looking out on his people. “The Arid Lands will have to find a new way of governing itself.”

  It took a couple of minutes to find the head of the caravan, where General Kail and his most loyal soldiers sat astride their horses. A bannerman stood in front of their line with a tall flag, bearing a horse, the Sigil of The Arid Lands. Despite the lead of soldiers, there were too many haggard refugees to mistake them as an army.

  Off to the side of the soldiers was another horse, as white as milk, with the mysterious mage for its rider. Tauren trotted alongside Hadavad, still trying to understand how he was now a woman.

  “I’m not sure what to call you anymore?”

  The mage smiled as if Tauren had said a joke. “You look upon Atharia Danell, but I am Hadavad, as I have been for five hundred years.”

  Tauren glanced at the large ruby necklace poking out of Hadavad’s clothes. He had seen the most extraordinary scene in that alley, a sight that would no doubt stay with him forever.

  “The gem,” Tauren looked from Hadavad’s necklace to his freckled face, “what does it do?”

  Hadavad smiled again. “I’ve always liked that about you southerners; you say what you see and you ask pointed questions.” The mage, who now looked to be Tauren’s age, brushed her long, brunette hair behind her ear. “The Viridian Ruby is one of a fabled five, though this is the only one to have been found… as far as I know. They are from an older time than ours. It took most of my first life to discover its purpose; the power to transfer one’s self into another. It’s been my greatest weapon against The Black Hand.”

  “I heard you speak of them in Karath. They are allies of Valanis?”

  Hadavad shook her head. “No, thankfully not. The Black Hand is an evil of a different nature, one I’ve been fighting for centuries, like many before me. They are necromancers, dealers in death, an insidious breed of man. They would harm all life in Illian, but Valanis is the immediate threat, and so I shall deal with one evil at a time.”

  Tauren nodded along, grasping only parts, and asked, “But you’re definitely a woman now, right?”

  Hadavad turned to look upon Tauren with blue eyes that entirely captured his attention. “I am.” Those blue eyes bored into the son-of-none.
“You see this a weakness?”

  “No,” Tauren protested immediately, thinking of the many female warriors he had among his owls.

  Hadavad stared at him for a moment longer. “Good. I have lived many lives as both man and woman, and I can honestly say I have no preference. Magic is ever my ally, and it cares naught for gender.”

  “That’s… that’s great.” The world of magic was new to Tauren, but he struggled most with his attraction to Hadavad’s new form.

  Hadavad laughed quietly. “Your eyes betray, Karathan.”

  Tauren felt a lump form in his throat and a rush of blood settle in his face. “I don't… I mean…”

  Hadavad offered one last smile before drawing her grey hood and hiding her face. Tauren’s mouth opened and closed but no words followed. Instead, the son-of-none guided his horse away and rested beside General Kail, hoping his flushed face was hard to see.

  Kail leaned into Tauren. “Do I still have an emperor to kneel before?” he asked quietly.

  Tauren was happy to think of something else. “Do you want an emperor to kneel before?”

  Kail straightened his back and sighed. “Emperors have a penchant for slaves, they always have. I don't think there is any place for that in The Arid Lands anymore.”

  “That doesn't really answer my question.”

  Kail responded with a short laugh. “I suppose it doesn't.”

  Before their conversation could go any further, a dozen riders charged out from Galosha’s main street and down the Selk Road. Their intent didn't appear aggressive, but the Albornian soldiers were adorned in full armour and flowing red cloaks. It made Tauren reflect on his own appearance for the first time. He was still in his brown leathers and tattered white cloak, which usually concealed his many blades. The light armour was coated with old blood and mud, with scratches and deep cuts laced throughout.

  The Albornian riders spread into a line, allowing the soldier in the middle to trot ahead. “I am Commander Gentry. State your business in these lands.”

  Tauren expected General Kail to take over, but the southern soldier turned on the son-of-none with an expectant eye. In fact, all eyes were on him now, the rangers included.

  “That’ll be ye cue laddy…” Doran winked from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

  Tauren guided his horse so that the soldier from Galosha could better see him in the dying light. “I am…”

  His name couldn't quite reach his lips. Introducing himself as son-of-none would hold no authority in the eyes of King Rengar’s people, but more than that he didn't want to be son-of-none anymore. After today there should never be any sons or daughters-of-none again.

  “I am Tauren Salimson,” he announced. “The people before you are from Karath and Calmardra, refugees all. Our lands have been set upon by an evil left to myth. The Darkakin have breached Syla’s Gate and invaded Illian -”

  Tauren stopped talking when the soldiers from Galosha erupted in laughter. The leader, a strong-jawed man with cropped blond hair sat boldly in his saddle.

  “Alright, horseshit aside,” the leader said, “There’s no place for desert dwellers in Galosha. Turn your mob of sorry-selves around and head back to the sands.”

  “I speak the truth!” Tauren argued. “As we speak the Darkakin are marching -”

  “Do not take me for a fool, southerner. Tales of the Darkakin are best left to bedtime stories. What is your true intent in King Rengar’s lands?”

  Tauren pleaded, “You must see sense, Commander. The people of Galosha and Barossh must come with us, to Velia. Your king’s armies are the only force capable of repelling them.”

  Commander Gentry looked past Tauren, to the caravan. “Your tale is a tall one, Tauren Salimson, too tall for my liking. I have no doubt that something wicked has set upon your people to drive them so far, but you will find no aid here, nor in Barossh. Should you continue north, I will have word sent to Velia, where my king resides. You do not want to meet an army on the Selk Road…”

  Indeed they didn't, Tauren thought. That was why so many were heading north, in hopes of avoiding one. Still, Commander Gentry was a man not to be dissuaded.

  “Send word if you must,” Tauren said, “but I would rather face whatever lies before us than that which marches behind us.”

  Commander Gentry’s face fell into confusion. “What has truly run you from your homes?”

  Tauren didn't have time to barter any more words. “When you hear it, don't wait, just run.” He called for the caravan to turn east and head around the town.

  “When we hear what?” Commander Gentry shouted over the shuffling of hooves and wheels.

  Tauren looked back and locked eyes with the soldier. “The drums!”

  Those beating drums had resounded in his ears for miles after they fled Karath. Tauren would gladly give his life if it meant his people didn't have to hear them again.

  “Why do we not simply ride through?” General Kail asked as they trotted along Galosha’s border, where so many peered out at them from the alleys and windows.

  “Because when we get to Velia and ask for refuge, I don't want Albornian blood on our swords…”

  8

  The lesser of two evils is still evil

  “There’s too many!” Faylen screamed over the staccato of destructive spells.

  Creatures without names poured out of the abyss with abandon, their claws and teeth gnashing in anticipation of the meal to come. With pincers, they crawled along the tunnel walls, big and small, every monster a predator in this world. Many tore through each other to be the first to sink their fangs into the elves, but magic had ever been the ally of the woodland folk.

  “Keep it up!” Alidyr yelled back, brilliant lightning exploding from his fingertips.

  Faylen’s instincts to survive had pushed away any pain, grounding her in the present, where she focused all of her energy on the spells. Fire erupted from both palms and scorched the walls of the labyrinth, burning the monsters. The fire licking their corpses provided enough light to keep the smaller creatures at bay, but the larger, more ferocious beasts were slaves to their hunger and slithered, crawled and scuttled through the chaos.

  Alidyr was notably powerful with magic, but Faylen had noticed his fatigue. The enchanted blade he wielded would put down the monsters who slipped between his spells, though the elf had yet to stop limping. The temptation to turn on him and unleash her own magic was overwhelming. With a single spell, she could end the life of Alidyr…

  The spider-like monster in front of Faylen exploded under the pressure of her destructive spell, opening its hardened shell and spilling out dozens of smaller monsters. They immediately attacked the elf, but Alidyr’s hand shot out and released a torrent of ice and pellets of hail, blasting the small creatures into a frozen hell.

  Perhaps she could wait a little longer until removing the wretch from the world. Faylen decided to let Alidyr tire himself out while reserving as much of her own energy as possible.

  “This way!” Alidyr limped down the tunnel, using his free hand to keep him supported against the jagged wall.

  The sound of yet more monsters found their ears. Faylen couldn't decide what sounded more terrifying; the hundreds of pointed feet or the screeches and shrieks of the nightmarish creatures. With the moment’s reprieve, all of her aches and cuts returned with a fresh sting. The dull ache in her ankle was now a searing pain, forcing Faylen to limp alongside Alidyr. Her right arm became heavy and her elbow felt as if it were locked into place.

  The environment continuously opened up into a network of tunnels before quickly closing them into a claustrophobic space. Every instinct in Faylen’s body told her to stay out of the narrow spaces and avoid being cornered, but the close spaces were the only thing that gave them an advantage over the never-ending horde of monsters. Neither had any idea of the time which may have passed since they fled the collapsed cavern. They had already travelled through the gorge, offering them a single glimpse of light above. At least they
were on the right side of the canyon now, Faylen thought.

  Without warning, as it often was, new monsters shot out of holes in the tunnel walls. Alidyr fell to one knee and plunged his blade into the first, before casting a fire spell to burn the slithering creature in front of him to cinders. Faylen followed up his spell with a storm of lightning, directing the deadly energy down the adjoining tunnel. The elves didn't stop to see if they had killed anything, they just scrambled through the dark.

  “The entrance to the pit….” Alidyr’s eyes had glazed over and his skin was coated in sweat. “The entrance is just up ahead…”

  Faylen was again left with the option of killing him there and then, or simply leaving him to die. But what if he was wrong? What if the entrance to the pit was further away? No, she couldn't end his life just yet; she had already come too far to die now.

  “Reyna…” she whispered to herself. If it was the last thing Faylen did, she would get the princess in front of the elven army. “Come on!”

  The two of them helped each other on to a good footing and made for the entrance. The screeches were getting closer and growing into feral growls. The sound of unnatural legs stabbing into solid rock echoed down the tunnel, accompanied by a smell that reminded Faylen of death and decay. They had to get out of here.

  “There!” Alidyr pointed at the opening above them, where the natural rock slowly blended into carved stone.

  The next roar was only metres away; so close that its thick saliva could be heard between its lips.

  “Go!” Faylen pushed Alidyr onto the ladders cut into the rock. “GO!”

  As a last-ditch effort, Faylen fired one large icicle after the other into the abyss. The spells were loud in her ears, but she could still hear the great beast lumbering towards her. The icicles pierced flesh, eliciting new screams from the monster, but enough space had become available for Faylen to make her mad dash up the ladder. Her ankle threatened to betray her and send the elf plummeting back into hell, but surprisingly, Alidyr lowered one hand and pulled her onto the cold, stone floor of Nightfall.