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

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “The wretch will suffer for the horrors he inflicted on you,” Reyna said with venom.

  Faylen offered the princess a calming smile. “Listening to his words is worse than any torture he can inflict, I assure you.”

  “What did he do to you?” Asher asked, his knuckles white from gripping the hilt of his sword.

  “It’s what he told me that should concern you,” Faylen corrected. “King Merkaris Tion has allied with Valanis. As we speak he marches the armies of the north on Velia.”

  Nathaniel could see the calamity in his mind. The north and the south would come down on Velia and the free people of Illian as a hammer on anvil… and then the elves would arrive from the east and set the world alight. Their efforts suddenly seemed so small in the grand scheme of what was to come.

  “King Rengar must be warned,” the Graycoat announced. “The armies of Velia cannot fend off the Darkakin and the North. Lirian and Grey Stone must offer aid, even the island of Dragorn has soldiers that could help turn the tide.”

  Asher shook his head. “Lirian’s army is too small to make any difference and Gray Stone will never come to Velia’s aid; too much bad blood between King Gregorn and Rengar. Dragorn can only offer thugs, there are no soldiers to speak of.”

  Reyna sighed. “We are on our own…”

  “We still have the most powerful weapon on the board,” Faylen said, her sharp eyes on the pouch hanging from Asher’s belt.

  A thick tension overcame the group. Nathaniel could see the shame creeping over Asher’s face but he had no comforting words to put him right. Nasta had said it quite succinctly; the gem wasn't meant to be wielded by any man.

  “I cannot use it,” the ranger stated flatly.

  “We will find a way…” the elf replied.

  Nathaniel could see that all hope was quickly leaving them. “We should focus on our next move,” he said. “I say we head north-east, as the crow flies. Forget Galosha and make for Barrosh where we can resupply before reaching Velia.”

  Asher nodded in agreement. “And leave The Selk Road behind? We’ll make a ranger of you yet, Graycoat.”

  The companions settled around the heated rocks and enjoyed being in each others company. They told again and again of their disbelief at being reunited against all the odds. There weren't many pleasant tales to tell of their separate journeys, but they entertained themselves with musings of what Doran son of Dorain would be doing at that very moment. Nathaniel was happy to hear Asher regale them with tales of his past jobs alongside the other rangers.

  More than once he caught the princess staring at him from across the makeshift fire. The knight couldn't read her expression, but the ranger’s words echoed in his mind, tormenting him. What did it matter of the years they had left? Love was a new concept in Nathaniel’s life and he couldn't call himself an expert, but surely love was a spark, a flame, an explosion of energy that couldn't be ignored?

  The gravity of their situation reminded Nathaniel that his musings about love were out of place. Every day could be their last in the current climate and that was just with the Darkakin on their heels. Soon they would be in the middle of a battle with enemies on three sides. Such dark thoughts kept sleep at bay, though just before he could doze off the ranger caught his attention.

  Nathaniel sat up to see Asher close to the burning rocks with his green cloak gathered about him. He held one hand over the rocks and with the other, he held Paldora’s gem, its crystal, black surface glistening in the orange light. The elves were sleeping side-by-side, draped in blankets, and unaware of the ranger’s actions. Nathaniel stayed very still, aware of the ranger’s senses, and watched.

  The strain on the ranger’s face was easily seen, even in the dim glow. His free hand moved with a fine tremor and his grip on the gem looked to be draining the blood from his fist. A large vein became prominent down his forehead and his jaw clenched tight. There was the faintest of flickers from the glowing stones but nothing… magical.

  Eventually, Asher sat back and took a deep breath before the inevitable sigh. Nathaniel wondered how many times the ranger had attempted to use the gem when they weren't looking. It was certainly worrying that the only weapon they had against Valanis couldn't be used, but the Graycoat worried more that Asher would indeed use it until it caused his own demise.

  “It’s no use,” Asher whispered, glancing at Nathaniel. “I can’t even perform simple spells.”

  It was little surprise that his observations hadn't gone unnoticed, so Nathaniel left his roll and came to sit beside his unlikely friend. The fresh burn on Asher’s palm, from where he had been holding the gem, was alarming, but the ranger quickly clenched his fist and hid it beneath his cloak.

  “Can you not cut off a shard, as you did before?” Nathaniel asked. “Make a new ring?”

  “It took me a long time to forge the original,” Asher replied quietly. “The gem doesn't cut easily. Besides, the advantage here is that we have the larger piece.”

  Nathaniel was tempted to reach out and grasp the gem, but he knew better. Having heard of the effects it had on someone as adept at magic as Faylen, the Graycoat could only imagine what it would do to him. “It is a cruel twist of fate that only you can wield it. Almost makes you feel as if the gods are against us.”

  “Faylen believes that a thousand years in the Amber Spell has bound it to me.” Asher finally put the gem back in the pouch on his belt, out of sight. “Perhaps, with time, an elf could learn to wield it.”

  Nathaniel held his hands over the hot stones to warm up his fingers. “I think time is something Valanis has already taken from us.” The Graycoat could see the torment on Asher’s face. “Then again, I am sat here talking to a man who was born over a thousand years ago. Not to mention all the things I’ve seen you do since we met. I’d say Valanis is doomed should he ever meet you.”

  Asher laughed silently to himself. “And I’d say Doran’s homemade brew has damaged your mind.”

  Nathaniel made a sour face. “That stuff was disgusting! I’m surprised dwarves can taste anything.”

  The two men kept their laughs to a low rumble to save disturbing the elves.

  “Get some rest,” Asher gestured to Nathaniel’s roll. “I don't want to stop riding tomorrow until we reach Barrosh.”

  “Sleep is hard to come by in these dark days,” Nathaniel replied. “Tell me a tale, ranger of the wilds. I would hear of how you met the son of Dorain. Jonus Glaide said it was quite the story.”

  Asher replied with a mischievous smile, “That bloody dwarf sold me to the barbarians of the Iron Valley… as the tribe’s new cook.”

  21

  The lamb before the wolves

  Doran hadn't stopped laughing since his tale began. The dwarf had offered the story at first light, with the red dawn reminding him of the first time he had met Asher, the ranger. Tauren had been half asleep on his horse when the first words left the ranger’s mouth, but Doran was quite the story-teller and knew just the right pitch and pace to draw his audience in. He was also very, very loud.

  Tauren had perked up about the time the dwarf mentioned the barbarians in the far north. The Iron Valley was new to the southerner, but he had certainly heard of the large men from the world of ice. If they were all as large and violent as Bale son of Hyil, then he was happy to never visit such a place. The sting of guilt struck him when he thought of that particular barbarian, who had died in The Arid Lands fighting for Tauren’s people. He offered up a prayer of forgiveness to Atilan, king of the gods, and a safe voyage to the afterlife for Bale.

  “... So then,” Doran continued, “after I’ve got him steaming drunk on my own special brew, the ranger passes out, and I mean flat out! No potions or training is gettin’ him out of this one. But like I said, we were both hunting the daddy of all Gobbers, big beastie it was, and the governor of Dunwich was only going to reward one of us. Stupid ranger said we could half it and work together!” The dwarf erupted in laughter again. “I agreed, but in truth,
I was always plannin’ on stiffin’ im’.”

  “You were going to betray him?” Tauren asked bewildered.

  “Well o’ course I was!” Doran replied. “You gotta’ remember, laddy, I was tryin’ to get as far away from Dhenaheim as possible at the time, and the money from the hunt was gonna’ help me on my journey south.”

  “Why were you trying to get away from Dhenaheim?” Tauren asked. “I thought that was the realm of the dwarves.”

  Doran waved the question away. “That’s a story for another time, lad. And besides, this story’s just about to get good!” His proclamation pulled in a few more listeners on their journey south and focused those already invested. “So there we were, on the tundras of the Iron Valley! White plains for as far as the eye can see and nothing but an icy wind to keep you company. Now I knew the local tribe nearby would have some knowledge about where to find this troublesome Gobber, and I also knew their cook had recently dropped dead from somethin’ or nothin’.” Again, the dwarf barrelled over his warhog in laughter. “So I got Asher blind drunk and dragged his arse across the tundra. I mighta’ said somethin’ about him being the best cook in all o’ Illian.”

  This had his audience laughing already, but Tauren couldn't see the funny side having met Asher. Surely the ranger would have killed every barbarian and even the dwarf before being duped. Asher’s abilities aside, The White Owl couldn't find it in him to laugh at any story when it was about selling one human being to another.

  “Ye should have seen his face when he woke up!” Doran continued. “They chained his ankles and put a ladle in his hands!” The dwarf was crying with tears at this point. “So I got the information about the Gobber and went me merry way, leaving him to cook for the entire tribe!”

  One of General Kail’s soldiers leaned over his horse and asked, “So what happened next, master dwarf? Did you kill the monster?”

  “How did Asher escape?” asked another.

  The laughter died away and the smile on Doran’s face slowly faded away. “The Gobber attacked the tribe the next night. Asher killed it with... the ladle.”

  There was a brief pause from the audience before they erupted in laughter of their own.

  “And where were you, Doran?” Glaide asked, clearly in possession of the answer.

  Doran cleared his throat. “I had been offered a bed for the night so I was still with the tribe, just indisposed.”

  “But where were you?” Glaide asked.

  The dwarf furrowed his brow. “I was relieving meself…” His answer had the listeners in more hysterics. “Bah! None of ye have ever tried takin’ a dump on a tundra! Bloody thing freezes…”

  Now that, Tauren found funny. The dwarf’s tales continued for some time and the young man found that they each made the son of Dorain appear all the more heroic.

  Looking north, there was barely any sign of the caravan that left Barrosh ahead of them. It wasn't until the sky took on its normal blue hue that the majesty of Velia came into view. The people of Barrosh were swarming around the main gate, in what appeared to be a tiny village sprawled out before the city. From this distance, however, they looked to be ants scurrying to reach the safety of their hill, and what a hill it was. Velia was a monument to human ingenuity and architecture.

  The city was larger than his home, Karath, and surrounded by a wall of grey stone and turrets. Four colossal statues decorated the defensive wall, each of a crowned man holding a sword that pointed to the ground, where it eventually blended back into the wall. Tauren assumed them to be old kings of Velia, but their overbearing height made them appear as ominous watchmen.

  The giant walls curved around until they met the waters of The Adean and a massive port which could be a city in its own right. Within Velia’s protective walls were buildings of all different designs, some elegant and towering with sharpened points that glistened in the light, and others with tiled roofs and squat shapes that were made from the same stone as the outer walls. The palace was clear to see, at the back of the city, with its white stone and pointed blue roofs. It was raised slightly above the rest of the city, offering its royalty a beautiful view of all of Alborn.

  “Breathtaking, isn't it?” Hadavad had quietly ridden up beside Tauren.

  “It’s not like the other towns in this land,” the southerner remarked.

  “Velia was once an elven city, though its original name has been lost to history. The wall and statues are new, along with some of the smaller buildings inside. Man never could build like the elves.” Hadavad sighed, but not at the view. The mage was struggling to braid her hair. “I’ve completely forgotten how to do this…”

  Tauren smiled and commanded his horse to get closer to Hadavad’s white mare. “Come here, I can do it.”

  “You know how to braid hair?”

  “The House of Owls took in many young girls and boys over the years,” Tauren explained. “Mother Madakii wouldn't let me train with Salim until I had done my chores and helped the other children. Braiding hair just became a part of life.”

  The mage leaned over and allowed Tauren to braid her hair in one solitary line down her back. He had almost finished when a Karathan soldier shouted over the hubbub of the caravan.

  “Riders from the main gate!”

  Riders was an understatement, Tauren thought. The people of Barrosh dispersed and something more akin to an army rode out of the main gates. The horses were adorned in armour and the warriors rode out as a river of red, their cloaks billowing out behind them. With their caravan arriving from the south, the riders from Velia curved around and formed a line, cutting them off from the city.

  General Kail gave the order to halt the caravan, an order that needed to be relayed down the line of thousands. It took some time for the riders of Velia to finally stop lining up, but when they did, Tauren could see that they would not be entering the city any time soon.

  “I don't suppose they’re here to welcome us, eh?” Doran commented.

  “I’m starting to get used to this kind of welcome,” Tauren replied with a disheartening tone.

  Glaide brought his horse out in front of the group. “They’re on a war footing, Tauren. Choose your words with great care.”

  “I will accompany you,” Hadavad said, retrieving her staff from the clasp on her back.

  “As will I,” General Kail announced. “A show of strength will deter them from walking all over us.”

  Doran laughed. “A show of strength? Unless ye hiding an army under that black cloak of ye’s, I don't think there’s going to be much of a show!”

  The general ignored the dwarf’s words and turned his horse to ride across the plain. The three set off at a steady pace so as not to come across as threatening, but Tauren was confident the Velian vanguard didn't feel in any way threatened. Matching their numbers, three of the vanguard parted from the line and rode out to meet them. The lead of their three was attired with a fine chest plate and giant wolf’s head emblazoned over the top. His red cloak was fastened to his armour with golden chains and his helmet was golden to match, setting him apart from the others.

  “I am General Falcor,” he said boldly.

  “Well met, General, I am Tauren Salimson -”.

  “Where is Emperor Faro of house Kalvanak?” General Falcor interrupted.

  Tauren clenched his jaw and considered his brother’s actions in his place. “The emperor is dead. The Arid Lands no longer recognises the Kalvanak bloodline. For the time, I speak on behalf of my people, until we can reclaim our home and build a new country. This is General Kail of the Karathan army, and this is Hadavad… my advisor.”

  “I see no army,” Falcor replied flatly. “I see a drain on my city’s resources. Word has reached us of what follows in your wake, Tauren Salimson. War is approaching from the south and we will be ready for it. Preparing for battle is all the harder, however, when a few thousand refugees arrive at your door with their hands out. Had you found these lands with an actual army under your command, you w
ould have been better welcomed…”

  Tauren didn't know what to say. He had never imagined Velia turning them away with the Darkakin on their heels, not after all they’d gone through. Their home had been devastated and savages were marching across the realm to claim everyone’s land. This was their last safe harbour.

  “We cannot be turned away,” Tauren argued. “If we head south the Darkakin will kill us on the road. At least let us continue north. Those of us who can fight will stay and defend Velia as if it were our own.”

  General Falcor puffed out his chest. “I didn't say you weren't welcome, only that you would have been better welcomed. King Rengar, in his great mercy, has granted you asylum. However…” The Velian’s face remained stern as ever. “You cannot enter the city proper. No Karathan is to step foot through the main gate. There are wells in the lower city, outside the walls, that your people can use and the land is yours to make camp. That is all.”

  “This is an insult!” General Kail spat. “You would leave us beyond the protection of the wall!”

  “You are not permitted to travel any further into our land. Your options are to stay here or turn back. I leave it to you.” General Falcor turned about and rode back to Velia without another word, trailing his bloated entourage as he went.

  Tauren felt all the hope exhale with his breath. He couldn’t turn his people back after marching them across the country. The White Owl felt his anger rising to the surface as it so easily did. He blamed Asher for this. The ranger had told him to take everyone north, to Velia, he said. There was no unity to be found here, only lamb for the slaughter. Velia would have the people of The Arid Lands give the Darkakin something to do when they arrived. General Falcor could then watch and learn how the savages fought, observe their tactics.