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

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Varӧ took a step closer and lowered his voice. “My Lord?

  “Our enemy has moved unseen,” the king finally replied. “Valanis has rallied an ancient evil our people banished millennia ago.”

  Varӧ’s brow furrowed. “The Darkakin?”

  “The savages have breached Syla’s Gate and torched The Arid Lands.” Elym wondered where Reyna had been in all the mayhem, sure that the princess would be in the thick of it. Reyna was her mother’s daughter, after all.

  “Impossible!” Varӧ gasped.

  “Tai’garn suspects Valanis’ hand in the destruction of the gate.”

  Varӧ leaned against the railing and sighed. “Perhaps he does have the power of the gods…”

  Elym’s hand squeezed the tattered scroll tucked into his belt. He had brought it with him from Elandril, but the scrolls journey was far older than that. The king didn't need to unfold it to picture the ancient runes and glyphs scribed in blood, or the black hand which marked the parchment in the manner of a signature.

  “There are no gods…” Elym hissed. “And never suggest such a thing again, High Guardian. Not to me, not to anyone.”

  Varӧ stood up straight and bowed his head. “Apologies, My Lord.”

  “No apologies necessary, Varӧ. See to it that word reaches every ship. This war just took a bloody turn. Ten-thousand Darkakin will complicate things…”

  “Ten-thousand?” Varӧ echoed. The High Guardian turned back to the fleet of ships behind them. “We have the better warriors, but I fear we do not have the numbers.”

  “You are my master strategist, Varӧ. I do not want your fear, only that brilliant mind of yours.”

  Varӧ hesitated. “We may have to consider a temporary alliance with the king of Velia if we are to defeat the Darkakin.”

  The king kept his eyes on the horizon. “Ten-thousand Darkakin will make no difference to my warriors. Taking Velia is still our best course of action. We just have to ensure we take it before the Darkakin arrives.”

  “Your confidence in my warriors is reassuring, My Lord, but the strategist in me sees no sense in pitting our six-thousand against ten-thousand, as well as the estimated seven-thousand King Rengar has in Velia.”

  Elym swivelled on his High Guardian. “I have had our people prepare for this invasion for decades. I cannot suggest an alliance between our two shores as we cross The Adean -” The king cut himself off, aware that he was repeating words from the very prophecy that hung on his belt; Only alliance and trust between two shores offers an imitation of hope and a glimpse of eternity. “There can be no alliance, Varӧ. Only victory. Our people expect nothing less…” They expect nothing less of me, the king thought, feeling the pressures of his crown for the first time in centuries.

  “Forgive me, My Lord,” Varӧ bowed again, “but I see no victory if we reclaim Illian at the cost of so many. The army behind us makes up the bulk of our population -”

  “We make our own fate!” Elym snapped. “There are no gods to help us. That is why I have had you train our people, High Guardian. They must rise to this challenge as we once did against Valanis.”

  “You say we make our own fate,” Varӧ replied solemnly, “but our fate is placed in your hands, our king.”

  “Do you doubt your king?” Elym asked accusingly.

  “No, My Lord. I worry that you doubt yourself. I want to see the world of man under our heel, but I would respect you no less if you suggested a temporary alliance. The legends of the Darkakin are still told to our children as cautionary tales. We must consider -”

  “You must consider your king’s words, High Guardian. That is all. I have set us on this course and I will see it through.” Elym longed for the council of his wife or the embrace of his daughter. He had treated both as accessories to his throne for too long, but now that they were gone, he felt the hole in his heart all too keenly.

  Varӧ took on a servants tone. “I will summon the generals, My Lord. We will revise our strategy to consider the Darkakin.”

  Hearing his friend speak to him this way only weighed the king down more. He could picture Adilandra’s look and that was all it took to calm him. Those days seemed so long ago now...

  Elym placed a hand on the warrior’s shoulder. “Have patience with me, Varӧ. My thoughts are clouded by concern for Reyna.”

  Varӧ positioned himself so that others on the ship could not see the king. “Of course. You are a king and a father. Your burden cannot be shared.”

  “Your own children are among, yes?” Elym asked, gesturing to the other ships.

  “Yes,” Varӧ agreed with a proud smile. “Warriors born, every one.”

  The king sighed. “Reyna is not a warrior. Trained, yes, but she does not have the heart of a warrior.” Elym turned back to the horizon. “I fear she cannot survive such a place.”

  Varӧ visibly relaxed again. “If the princess has any of her mother in her, I would not be concerned for her safety.”

  Elym knew his old friend was trying to reassure him, but the king felt as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Did you say goodbye to your wife?” he asked.

  “I did, My Lord.”

  “Family is important.” Elym continued, his thoughts adrift. “It’s why we fight in the first place. Reclaiming our homeland is for all elves, even those yet to be born. Adilandra and I planned on having more children, but I put it off. I wanted my children to be born in Illian, as we were. I fear I have lost them both and we have yet to set foot on The Shining Coast.”

  The thought of losing a loved one had the king dwelling on his sister, Nalana. She was the only person he had ever loved besides his wife and daughter, though she had been lost to him for a thousand years. He could still see her, dying in his arms in The Wild Moores, the Echoes of Fate her last words. Elym almost crushed the scroll on his belt, an action he caught Varӧ taking note of.

  “My Lord, you have carried that scroll since we left Ayda…”

  Elym glanced at the leathery scroll, all too aware that it was made from human skin. “It reminds me what’s real... and what’s nothing but a fairy tale. It holds my course steady.”

  A moment of silence was held between them, with nothing but the sound of the waves crashing into the ship to fill the void.

  “I will gather the generals,” Varӧ finally said, before bowing and leaving the king.

  Elym was left with his dark thoughts. Valanis had himself an army again. Reyna was missing in the middle of it all and Adilandra was gone, her fool’s errand to find the dragons would see her never returned to him. He was alone. He gripped the so-called prophecy, taken from the cave in The Wild Moores, and fixed his eyes on the ocean.

  They would make their own fate…

  13

  Hope in the breeze

  Asher woke to the sound of drums. As his eyes snapped opened, Reyna was already jumping to her feet and making for the balcony. The ominous beating had the ranger’s heart racing and his instincts pushing to take control. He knew what the drums were, having heard it from atop Syla’s Gate, and the volume from outside suggested they were inside the city.

  “What’s happening?” Nathaniel half fell, half sprung from his cot.

  “That treacherous snake!” the princess spat.

  Asher braced his injured leg and made for the balcony, though his instincts had him moving quietly and without thought of his weapons. The ranger already knew what sight would greet him, and decades of training told him when disappearing was more beneficial than fighting.

  “What have you done?” Reyna hissed, striding towards Nasta, who rested calmly by the railing.

  The companions stood in silence, awed and stunned by the view before them. At least ten thousand Darkakin marched through Calmardra’s main gate, their bulk stretching back over the horizon with a plume of sand clouding the air. Cries of pain and screams of horror broke through the beating of the heavy drums, with those few who remained in the city unfortunate enough to be discovered by the savage ho
rde. The Darkakin would be hungry in every sense of the word. Calmardra would burn in their wake, but not before they sacked every inch of it and had their fun with the last of its inhabitants.

  A chorus of unnatural roars drowned out the drums and cries for help. The ranger leaned over the edge to see lumbering trolls being guided through the streets at the point of spears. Their sheer bulk devastated everything they came into contact with, destroying the remnants of market stalls and tearing through the corners of every building. Beyond the city, amid the dark horde, there were yet more trolls, pushing giant catapults and deadly ballistas. They were prepared to bring down a city, a city such as Velia…

  “They’re flooding the city,” Nathaniel said, his hand on his sword. “How in all the hells do we get out of here now?”

  Reyna turned on Nasta with all the fury of an elf, but Asher beat her to it and rushed the assassin, pinning him to the wall. With his elbow across Nasta’s throat, the ranger had already drawn a short dagger with his other hand and now pointed it threateningly in his old mentor’s face. A sharp poke in his ribs, however, proved that the assassin was always prepared.

  “You’re getting sloppy…” Nasta commented.

  Asher ignored the threatening blade in his ribs and continued to pin the old man. “Why?” he demanded. “Why betray us now? They will just kill you too!”

  “The savages have a unique odour,” Nasta replied calmly, “but as they drew nearer I discovered a new scent, carried in the breeze as if nature itself had been tasked with delivering it.”

  Asher gritted his teeth and squeezed the hilt of his small dagger. “I should run you through…”

  “Asher,” Reyna’s tone of desperation, mingled with an edge of hope, stopped the ranger from drawing blood.

  The elf was pressed against the railing with her eyes fixed on the outer wall of Calmardra, where the main gates were packed from edge to edge with the funnelled Darkakin. Nathaniel joined her by the railing and searched the horizon, his frown mirroring Asher’s.

  “What is it?” the knight asked.

  The ranger released Nasta and scanned the growing horde below. That was when he saw it. Reyna’s elven eyes had found the wooden stake first, but even Asher’s old eyes could now spot the X-shaped structure atop a cart, being pulled by a giant lizard. Strapped to the wood was the broken and bloodied body of Faylen Haldӧr!

  “Impossible…” Asher whispered absently.

  “We live in a world of impossible things.” Nasta Nal-Aket leant on the end of his stick. “You of all people should know that by now.”

  “It cannot be,” Nathaniel said. “No one could have survived that…”

  Reyna’s mouth remained ajar in shock and pure elation. “She’s alive!” the elf exclaimed, ignoring all else. Tears welled in the princess’ eyes and ran freely down her cheeks.

  “That might be overstating it…” Nasta commented.

  The joy and elation in Reyna’s face drained away in the blink of an eye. Nathaniel reacted first, before Asher could reach the elf, and grabbed her arms, preventing the princess from jumping over the railing and rushing to Faylen’s aid. Reyna struggled but the knight managed to keep her firmly on the balcony, while the ranger stepped in front, cutting off the view of Faylen.

  “What are you doing? Let me go!” Reyna shrugged Nathaniel off. “We need to save her!”

  “You’re not going to save anyone if you face that many Darkakin,” Nathaniel chastised. “Think!” He turned the elf to look at him. “There are hundreds, maybe a thousand Darkakin between us and Faylen right now. We aren't going to help her by taking on an army. We need to…” The knight looked over Reyna’s shoulder, to Asher and Nasta. “We need to think more like them.”

  It stung Asher to be associated with Nasta, but the ranger knew by now that Nathaniel meant no offence. In truth, he was still a little numb to learn that Faylen had survived. Instead of relieving him of any guilt, however, it only added to it, as the ranger dwelled on what might have been had he entered the pit again and searched for the elf. This kind of flux in his emotional state was new to Asher, and the only thing he knew to do was simply get on with what was laid before him.

  Nasta Nal-Aket tilted his head towards the masses below. “I’m afraid even the ways of the Arakesh might not be enough to save your friend.”

  The companions looked out over the city and quickly found the source of the assassin’s comment. Behind the cart that carried Faylen, a team of horses broke the constant procession of Darkakin, each ridden by a figure in dark armour with twin short-swords on their back and red blindfolds over their eyes. As disheartening as it was to see so many Arakesh, the two elven riders in the centre had Asher reaching for the diamond-tipped short-sword on his back. Alidyr’s white robes were easy to spot among the assassins and besides who could only be Thallan Tassariӧn, one of Valanis’ last remaining generals.

  “Wait,” Nathaniel put his hand on Asher’s shoulder to stop him from retrieving his sword. “Am I the only one who doesn't want to die today? If we challenge them in open combat we all die, and Valanis will have his prize.”

  Nasta pocketed one of the apples he had retrieved overnight. “I am loathed to agree with a Graycoat, but in this instance Mr. Galfrey is correct. There’s a good chance, however, that the army will rest here before moving into King Rengar’s lands. This will give you the opportunity to find the right moment to strike and save your friend… or kill the elves.”

  “No,” Reyna said firmly, looking at Asher. “I want Alidyr and all of Valanis’ generals dead, but I’m not risking Faylen to see their end. We rescue her and leave for Velia. No Complications.”

  Asher was torn by the two opportunities, wondering if he could achieve both, but ultimately, he knew the only course open to them, especially in his current condition.

  Nathaniel turned to Nasta. “What do you mean, give us the opportunity? What are you doing, besides being the world’s worst lookout?”

  Nasta licked his lips. “Your path is not my own. This is where we part ways, again.” The assassin tilted his head to Asher with his last word.

  The ranger stepped in front of Nasta, though he couldn't say why. He didn't trust the old assassin and letting him leave felt like a naive decision on his part, but he also didn't want the man who had twisted his life so much to get away and die from old age. Nasta Nal-Aket deserved something far worse in his opinion. Still, he was frozen in place as his mind raged against itself to either step aside or strike the man down. It tore Asher up inside to know that the part of him that wanted to step aside was also the part of him that saw Nasta as a father.

  Reyna’s hand lightly gripped his wrist, and it was only then that Asher realised his knuckles had gone white and he unclenched his fist. Her touch soothed him, reminding him in some way that he had become more than the instinctual animal Nightfall had bred him to be.

  With a deep sigh, Asher stood aside. He wanted to leave the old man with some last words to think on, a threat preferably, but the ranger knew if he didn't stay very still until Nasta was out of sight, he was likely to lash out. The assassin slipped by with his staff and broad scimitar strapped to his waist, before disappearing into the shadows of the apartment. Reyna squeezed his wrist and let go so she could return to the railing and find Faylen again.

  “Hopefully we’ve seen the last of him,” Nathaniel said.

  That was a hope Asher had given up on a long time ago. “Now we get Faylen back.”

  Reyna and Nathaniel had obviously picked up on his resolute tone judging by their curious expressions. Asher knew what he had to do; just being around Nasta reminded him of the advantage he continued to forsake. Tucked away on the back of his belt was the strip of red cloth he had picked up outside Syla’s Gate, though he’d never discovered the identity of the young Arakesh. The touch of the fabric brought back so many memories, so many deaths. The red only served to remind him of the blood that would forever stain his hands.

  “Asher…” Nathaniel
looked at the cloth.

  “He has to,” Reyna said firmly.

  Asher met the elf’s eyes and found sorrow and regret there, but also a desperation that would have Faylen returned to her at all costs. Things weren't right between them yet, but the ranger knew that Reyna wouldn't wish him harm.

  “No, he doesn't,” Nathaniel countered. “We can find another way. Asher, you don't need to keep going back to it. You’re a ranger now, you can leave Nightfall behind.”

  “Neither of us can track them through the city like he can,” Reyna replied, her glassy eyes still fixed on Asher. “He has to.”

  “The princess is right,” Asher agreed. “We have to use all the advantages available to us. I’ll find where they rest and come back for you. We can form a plan when we know more. You two should check on the horses and stay hidden until I return.”

  The ranger wrapped the red blindfold around his head, concealing his eyes, and tied the knot to keep any and all light out. The world came alive in that familiar way, a way that had once made him feel invincible and allowed him to become the greatest predator. He could count on one hand how many times he had been forced to use it in the last fourteen years. Every time it had helped him to stay alive, but it never took that feeling way, the feeling of being a killer.

  Every sense expanded in the dark, until an image of his surroundings could be built in his mind, an image made from scents, sounds, taste and even the pressure changes against his skin. He could tell that four floors down the horses were becoming spooked. Asher took another moment to locate Nasta Nal-Aket, but the old assassin evaded his senses. He turned to the city and found one scent above it all that filled his nostrils.

  Blood.

  The Darkakin were attired in new armour that created a constant clatter, but the blood smeared across their bodies was days old, some even older than that. They were a marching army of death by any of his senses.

  “Wait,” Reyna said. “You are injured.” The princess made to reach out and heal some of the larger wounds on his body.