Adilandra swallowed the shock that threatened to overwhelm her and examined the cover. “It’s a grimoire. I have seen books like these before; the elders have similar ones in Elandril, but they don't appear as ancient as this. You see the cluster of glyphs in the bottom corner there?” The queen gestured to the pattern of runes that formed a horizontal figure of eight. “That’s the author’s signature.”
Galanӧr thumbed the indentation. “That’s the ancient symbol for Atilan…”
The sound of chains echoed down the stone corridor and filled the chamber with its harsh clamber.
“They’re here,” Adilandra said with her hand resting on the hilt of her scimitar.
“We need to get out, now.” Galanӧr was already drawing his blade and flexing his shoulders.
Adilandra dashed across the room, where a leather satchel sat atop one of the tables. The elf emptied it of the scrolls and loose parchment before stuffing Atilan’s grimoire inside.
With swords in hand, the elves made all haste to return to the bottom of the shaft. The green Crissalith illuminated the three platforms, filled to burst with Darkakin, touching down amid the piles of crystals.
“It’s raining.” Galanӧr remained hidden in the doorway with his palm out to feel the drops of water. “It must be Dolvosari. We need to get out before he destroys the entire mine.”
“Wait…” Adilandra could see the crowds of Darkakin running off the platform to seek shelter in the caves. “Now!”
The two elves made their mad dash for the platform as it began its journey back to the top. Their exceptional speed and strength allowed them to jump the extra distance to grip the edge of the rising platform. They pulled themselves up and crouched low in the corners, avoiding the gaze of any Darkakin running down the winding ramp. The platform’s progress was steady but the torrent of rain proved it was too slow; soon Dolvosari would have a storm of epic proportions brewing overhead.
The first lightning bolt was devastating. The flash struck only a second before the thunderclap reverberated down the shaft. The bolt ripped through two levels of the wooden ramp, sending many to their deaths far below as well as blowing the rock out, where it would surely kill any at the bottom. Seconds later, half of a wooden beam ricocheted off the sides of the wooden structures, killing more and completely severing the chains of the adjacent platform.
The Darkakin screams were momentarily silenced by the next bolt of white-hot fury. More of the shaft was torn to pieces, along with many of its terrified inhabitants. Adilandra held onto the railing when the platform began to shake and the chains were whipped about above them.
“We’re not going to make it!” Galanӧr shouted over the pelting rain.
As if to confirm the elf’s words, another lightning bolt shot through the mine, making a clean line to the bottom. The resulting explosion was almost deafening, but Adilandra could still hear the thousands of shattered crystals fly across the shaft and bury themselves into the walls. Looking up, the opening was much larger now, with cloud definition visible beyond the light. Another lightning bolt struck the side of the mine and sent their platform swaying. A broken beam bounced off the side of the platform, sending Galanӧr careening off the edge.
“NO!” Adilandra screamed, as she dived over the edge and caught his hand.
Galanӧr’s eyes looked past her and his expression fell into one of horror. “Climb!” he barked. The warrior-elf tore his hand free and fell into the mine, though his break-away had been executed perfectly. Galanӧr intercepted the hanging chain of the severed platform and swung with his momentum until he could begin his climb.
Adilandra rolled over to see the reason for the elf’s distress and decided to move. A chaotic mixture of people, chains and heavy, wooden beams were crashing down through the mine. With only a few seconds to move, the queen jumped up and gripped the platform’s pulley system. The end of a beam spun around and clipped the platform, tearing it free of the chains, leaving Adilandra’s legs to dangle over the ruin below.
“Climb!” Galanӧr shouted again.
The frequency of lightning strikes increased, with each bolt causing catastrophic damage. Entire sheets of rock were now breaking free from the walls and falling into the mine. The Darkakin hordes had reversed their direction and were rushing to reach the surface once again.
After an exhausting climb, the elves finally found the beam that stretched from edge-to-edge. As they reached solid ground, Rainael the emerald star dropped out of the sky and immediately bowed her head, allowing them to climb on. The force of her take-off nearly had them falling off, but the dragon changed her direction at the last second and circled the mine. They had the perfect view as the red dragon above unleashed his final attack.
The bolt of lightning was the largest yet, and it was followed by a succession of six more. The ground around the Crissalith mine cracked, imitating an earthquake until the whole mine collapsed in on itself with thousands of Darkakin being swept in with it. The outer edges of the city were on fire, closing Davosai’s inhabitants in.
The scale of the ruin was new to Adilandra, who had personally witnessed the Dark War between her own people. The dragons had razed the city to the ground in a matter of hours…
The queen gripped the edges of the ancient grimoire through the leather satchel and rested back into Galanӧr’s chest, letting her head lean on his shoulder. Seeing the Darkakin crushed under the dragons brought Adilandra a sense of relief, but she was yet to determine whether that made her wicked.
15
branded
Faylen had barely been aware of the journey across the desert. It had been too long since her lips had touched water or the taste of food had found her tongue. Riding atop the cart had been jarring, leaving her wrists and ankles burning with the sting of the rope. They had entered a city but the elf knew not where, nor the time of day. Drifting in and out of consciousness had been her only reprieve from the stink and constant raucous of the Darkakin.
The elf opened her eyes to find she was no longer strapped to the cart but strung up inside an opulent room. Faylen's toes could brush the soft rugs beneath her, but her wrists were still bound and firmly attached to a chain that reached the ceiling. Her instincts were to pull on the restraints and test their strength, but exhaustion had long set in. The idea of anything but passing out felt like too much.
The room offered no clue to her whereabouts other than the obvious decor, which suggested they were still in The Arid Lands. The low chairs and plethora of rugs combined with the interior pillars were reminiscent of Karath, though the capital must surely be in ruins by now. They were either in Calmardra or Tregaron…
The small bath at the end of the room exploded with life when Alidyr Yalathanil breached its calm surface. His long black hair ran over his back as if it were made from oil, and as he stepped out his chiseled physique spoke of centuries of honing his body into the perfect killer. It was his mind, however, that Faylen feared the most. From the shadows, a single Arakesh appeared with a towel for her master. The elf hadn't even seen the assassin in the room, but she didn't have the strength to berate herself.
Alidyr took the offered towel and wrapped it around his waist. "You wake at last. I feared you lost."
Faylen's voice was croaky, but she managed, "Where are we… snake?"
"It's a little late in the day for name calling isn't it?" Alidyr came to stand in front of her. "We both needed each other to get out of the pit." The general lifted Faylen's head by the chin and inspected her face. "Give her water."
Alidyr disappeared from sight while the same Arakesh brought her a waterskin. Faylen wanted to spit and curse the assassin, but the few drops of water leaking from the end of the skin had her opening her lips, ready to take her fill. The water was surprisingly cold and as soothing as any balm. The elf drank so much she inevitably brought some of it back before returning to sip on the liquid. It regenerated her just enough to allow some fury back into her spirit.
"You will
never win, Alidyr!" she shouted hoarsely.
"Not back to this again…" Alidyr came back into sight with his white robes and short-sword hanging at the hip. "How can you not see it, child?" The elf dismissed the assassin into the shadows and roughly grabbed Faylen's face. "I am sided with the very beings who created the ground under our feet. As should you be. You're so blinded by hope that you can't see the odds stacked against you."
Faylen struggled fruitlessly to get away from Alidyr's hands, but his grip could not be denied. "You're not even worth my spit!"
Alidyr sighed. "Worth? What do you know of being worthy? Our kind was once worthy of the gods’ attention, so much so that Atilan himself chose an elf to see his return to Verda. But the Sevari bloodline thought they knew better." Alidyr laughed to himself. "Better! Better than the herald of the gods! They were arrogant. Warmongering. They chose to fight Valanis instead of helping him. Our kin was so pathetic that they lost their own faith in the process." The general let go of Faylen's face and stepped back. "When my master sees the gods made flesh, we will see who is worthy…"
Faylen waited a beat before replying, "I'm sorry, I stopped listening part way through. Could you repeat that last bit?"
Alidyr growled and snapped his fingers around Faylen's jaw. "Before the end, Faylen, you will serve the gods."
The head of the Hand let go of her face and vanished into the back half of the room again. Faylen could hear him collecting tools and what sounded like clay jars. It was somehow more terrifying when the master of lies didn't speak. Without warning, a warm hand ran up her bare back, lifting her loose tunic. The soft fingers caressed her skin, weaving between the muscles.
"You keep yourself in good shape…" Alidyr commented in her ear.
"I'll fight you." Faylen tried to back her words with a quiet rage, hoping that the general couldn't detect the fear in her tone.
"Fear not, Faylen Haldӧr. The urges of our kind died in me long ago. The only thing that lives inside of me are the desires of my master. Valanis wants Paldora's gem, and you will help me get it..."
Faylen could only scream at the searing heat and sharp pain that stabbed into the back of her left shoulder. The sudden jolt of agony had her biting into her lip and tasting blood. The pain wasn't enough to rob her of thought, but simply enough to keep her in perpetual suffering. It was a long night.
16
The enemy of my enemy…
It had taken several minutes to filter out the hordes of Darkakin below, but once Asher found Faylen’s screams, he couldn't hear anything else. The Nightseye elixir allowed his senses to pierce the stone of the adjacent building and discern the individuals on the third floor. Two elves, one male, one female, and an assassin. The ranger knew he should be concerned with the whereabouts of Thallan, but the sounds Faylen was making clawed at his attention. It took everything he had left to remain on the rooftop and simply listen.
Asher remained crouched on the lip of the roof, his green cloak gathered about him. He could only find one assassin inside the building, as well as Alidyr and Faylen. Where were the rest of the Arakesh? Where was Thallan Tassariӧn? It was tempting to infiltrate the lavish manor right now, dispatching the lone assassin and ultimately facing Alidyr in combat. But he would likely lose against the elf. It would cost him his life and that of Faylen’s.
It seemed he would be forever a slave to his training in Nightfall, and despite his feelings towards Nasta Nal-Aket, he would always hear his old mentor’s voice in his mind.
That thing between your ears is more powerful than any weapon made in a forge, Nasta had said. Use it. Make your emotions serve you not command you. When you have perfect control over your mind you will have perfect control over your body. This is the balance all Arakesh must achieve…
The lack of assassins troubled him, but the expletive discourse in the streets below vied for the ranger’s attention. Asher didn't need to look over the edge, as his eyes were still concealed behind the red cloth, but instead, he tilted his head to the left. Four Darkakin had broken off from the raids and in-fighting to enjoy a private moment with their prize; a young man by the sound of his heartbeat. The ranger could smell the fear coming from the man and it reminded him of his younger years when he had been the predator.
The savages dragged the poor man down the alley, beating him as they did. Again, Asher was torn to take action. He needed to gather as much information about the chamber holding Faylen and the patrols inside, but that man was about to become victim to some of the worst violations a human could suffer. There was a time when Asher would have walked away from this, even in his early career as a ranger, but once again he found himself struggling all the more to ignore the plight of those around him. It was moments such as this that had the ranger wondering whether Nathaniel and the others had become a strength or a weakness.
Another scream escaped the young man’s lips and Asher sprung into action. With the stealth of a spider, he scaled down the wall and loomed over his oblivious prey. His superiority was exhilarating, a rush that the Nightseye elixir had always produced in the Arakesh. A quick check down the alley told Asher that they were still too close to the streets and that any swordplay would potentially alert the horde. Reyna’s spell, however, had brought some life back into the ranger’s bones. The ranger squeezed his thigh, amazed at the healing power of elves.
Asher landed without a sound behind the group of Darkakin. He rose slowly and cracked his knuckles. There was no doubt in the old assassin’s mind that these four men were about to die by his hand; it was a surety that had come with decades of experience… with decades of killing people.
A quick foot to the back of the knee lowered the first savage to Asher’s chest height, where the ranger easily reached out and snapped the man’s neck. The second Darkakin became aware immediately of the new threat, but it did him no good. An open palm shot out and caught the man in the throat, giving him something more urgent to think about while Asher focused on the remaining two. With his presence announced, the two savages dropped their victim and retrieved their shiny swords, newly forged in Karath.
Never rely on your sword, Asher, Nasta had lectured all those years ago. A man with a weapon in his hand believes he is invincible against an unarmed opponent. That belief makes him reckless, even more so if he is accompanied by others. This is to be exploited. Your enemies will be dead before they realise that you are the weapon.
The closest Darkakin lashed out with an exaggerated downward strike. With Asher’s senses so attuned, the savage might as well have been moving through treacle. A simple sidestep ensured that the blade would never find flesh, but the ranger’s strong hand locked the Darkakin’s wrist in a vice. The extended arm was easily pushed into the way of the second Darkakin’s strike, a blow powerful enough to slice through armour, muscle and bone, severing the limb entirely. The loose appendage made for the perfect blunt instrument with which to use against the last Darkakin. One swing beat the savage back into the alley wall, where Asher finished the man with a single punch to the face. The Darkakin’s head bounced off the wall and left a bloody stain that trailed to the ground.
“You can have this back.” Asher threw the severed arm at the savage from which it had been cleaved. Completely in shock, the Darkakin caught his arm and fell to the ground with wide eyes. By the time the ranger had helped the young man up, the armless Darkakin was dead from blood loss.
“Thank… thank you,” the young man stuttered.
Asher intended to finish off the choking Darkakin, but his extra senses detected the attention they had garnered at the end of the alley. A group of armour-clad savages was staring at the bloody scene with disbelief, though the ranger knew from experience that such a state of mind never lasted long.
“Run! Find somewhere to hide and don't come out until they’ve left the city.” Asher waited for the young man to disappear down the opposite end of the alley before making his own escape. The ranger deliberately chose a path that would have them chase hi
m away from the fleeing man.
His senses were acute enough to allow easy navigation around the maze of streets, but the size of the Darkakin horde made it much harder to pick a path that wouldn't lead him into a battle he couldn't hope to win. More than once, he had no choice but to cross paths with a wandering Darkakin, a meeting that proved fatal for the other man. Thankfully, the new armour was cumbersome and very loud, slowing his pursuers down as well as giving away their position. Unfortunately, it also alerted those around them to a disturbance.
With fewer alleys available, and a growing number of Darkakin on his tail, Asher decided to climb. Halfway up the building, he caught a scent that justified his decision, and so he called to the group of savages beneath him, baiting them. Their ascension was much slower but certainly faster than the men of Illian; it appeared these Darkakin were far more agile than their cousins.
On the flat roof, the ranger made no attempt to draw his sword or run away, but instead, he dropped to one knee and enjoyed the sound of two bowstrings being pulled taut and then released. Asher’s senses picked up Nathaniel’s arrow as it flew overhead, so much so, that the ranger was sure he could reach out and grab it mid-flight, but Reyna’s arrow was beyond him in every way. Where Nathaniel’s brought down one, the princess’ cut through two. Four more arrows were fired in quick succession and the rooftop fell back into silence.
“There are no more,” Asher said, aware of the mindless mob below them.
“That’s a shame,” Nathaniel replied. “I’ve never killed Darkakin before. It’s rather satisfying.”
“There’s plenty more fighting to come,” Asher assured him. “Why are you out here?”
“We were forced to abandon the building,” Nathaniel explained. “The Darkakin found the horses…”
Asher knew the animals were either to be mounts or food for the savages. He was suddenly grateful that Hector was still missing and not condemned to such a fate.
Relic of the Gods: (Echoes of Fate Book 3) Page 14