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

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “It’s hard to take your eyes away, isn't it?” Adilandra came to stand beside him, Atilan’s grimoire tucked under her arm. The queen had been absent for most of the attack on Gravosai, having been deep in meditation.

  “I have never seen destruction on such a scale as this,” he replied. “For years we have planned war against man, but even in my wildest imaginings I could not have seen this.” Galanӧr narrowed his eyes and saw Emenar the golden one drop three Darkakin from high above the city. Their inevitable fate was concealed by the growing cloud of ash.

  “Their beauty is mirrored by their power to destroy.” Adilandra’s auburn hair blew in the warm gust of wind that ran over the ledge. Even after so many days without washing, the elven queen had a scent that pulled Galanӧr in.

  “I still fear their efforts are wasted here,” he said. “Illian is where the war is. We should be hunting the Darkakin army down before they invade.”

  “Man isn't as helpless as you think,” Adilandra replied in her melodic tone. “You forget that they once bested the dragons. They can hold off the Darkakin until we reach their shores. Our real concern should still be a conflict between our two people. Illian will heal after a war with Valanis and the Darkakin, should it survive at all, but a war between man and elf may have no end. It could be the ruin of us both.” The queen glanced at Galanӧr. “You’re just restless because you haven't had use of your blades since we left Davosai.”

  Galanӧr hated to think that Adilandra was right, but he could feel that itch in his muscles, that need born of centuries of conditioning under his father’s hand. All he wanted to do was give that part of his life up, but he wondered how true that really was. The elf realised that it mattered little in the end; there was still a very good chance that he wouldn't survive the war. As soon as he found himself in battle again, Galanӧr knew he would dive in as he always did. Placing himself in front of ten-thousand Darkakin felt like a battle in which he would surely find his end.

  Galanӧr held out his hands. “Well after the stunt you had us pull in Davosai we’re exiled to the stands it seems.”

  “You would rather be in there?” the queen asked, gesturing to the inferno.

  Galanӧr had to concede to his queen’s point. If he didn't die in burning agony the smoke would suffocate him inside the city walls. The dragons continued their attack on Gravosai and the warrior had to wonder how many of the Darkakin could still be alive.

  “Have you found Princess Reyna?” he asked, happy to be distracted from such morbid thoughts.

  “No,” the queen replied. “Ӧlli has been separated from them. Give it time. I enchanted that owl with more spells than you would find in an elder’s library. He will find her…”

  “I hope so,” Galanӧr replied. “What of Atilan’s grimoire?”

  “It’s written in the ancient language…” Adilandra looked down at the thick book and her tone dropped. “The language of the gods.”

  Rather than have his queen dwell on such revelations, Galanӧr asked, “What does it say? Anything useful?”

  “It details Atilan’s creation of Crissalith, but it also mentions another gem, something he sounds very smug about.”

  “That doesn't sound good,” Galanӧr commented.

  Adilandra opened the first few pages and flicked to a sketch of a hand adorned with a single ring and blue crystal. “He doesn't appear to have named this creation, but he only made a few for his most trusted allies. Some of the text is impossible to translate, but I believe this gem is designed to protect the wearer from the effects of Crissalith.”

  “That would be a powerful tool for a mage,” Galanӧr opined. “If he carried Crissallith on his person, everyone around him would be cut off from magic except for him.”

  “There’s a lot more,” Adilandra said, thumbing the pages, “though I fear the truths it may reveal.”

  Distant screams reached their ears, pulling them from their discussion. Though there was little left of the western gate, a trail of Darkakin fled with all haste into the desert. There must have been a few hundred of the savages, many women and children. Galanӧr looked around but he couldn't see anywhere that could be called refuge.

  It didn't matter.

  A moment later, the western gate and the surrounding walls exploded outwards. A roar that would halt any man in his tracks carried across the desert and the hulking, black bulk of Malliath charged over the land. The dragon’s attack was vicious, coming from a place of pure hatred. His great maw swept up two of the Darkakin and crunched them into smaller pieces, some of which he swallowed. Claws as big as horses dug into the ground and propelled the dragon into the trail of humans. Dozens were crushed under his girth or flung into the air by his wings.

  Galanӧr wanted to look away but he couldn't. It was like watching a force of nature, a sight to behold that might never be seen again. When Malliath had journeyed as far as he was willing, the dragon simply lowered his head and exhaled. The jet of fire raced across the desert and engulfed every last Darkakin who sought to escape. The sound of the fire ended the screams in an instant, leaving only charred bodies and scorched ground.

  The elves had no words to describe how they felt. Galanӧr feared that his queen had enjoyed watching them burn, still haunted as she was. Thankfully, they sat in silence after that and just watched the city of Gravosai crumble into the dirt. One-by-one, the dragons peeled away, leaving the graveyard to burn. Some glided around the blue sky, while others rested on surrounding mountains, picking at unseen food.

  A shadow flew overhead and Rainael the emerald star landed gracefully on the plateau beside them. Her green scales were dulled with ash and soot, but it still wasn't enough to rob her of the magnificence she exhibited. The blood around her mouth and between her teeth, however, was a distraction. There was no way of knowing exactly what the queen of dragons was thinking, but her reptilian head swivelled back towards the city as an ear-splitting roar broke the silence. Amid the destruction of Gravosai, Malliath’s head rose above the ruins.

  His call was as much a mystery to Galanӧr as Rainael’s silence, but the green dragon appeared ill at ease upon hearing Malliath’s cry. Her wings twitched and the elf noticed the rest of the dragons take note of the voiceless one.

  “What’s happening?” he asked.

  Adilandra stood up to join him, her expression as quizzical as his own. “I do not know.”

  Another ear-piercing roar echoed across the desert before Malliath climbed out of the rubble to stand above it all. He roared again and again. Galanӧr thought he could hear pain in the dragon’s cry. Not physical, but deeper, something that had been trapped within Malliath for a thousand years. Galanӧr knew a bottomless pit of anger when he saw it. The dragon was still full of rage with nothing to do with it. His mighty roar ceased as suddenly as it began and the black wyrm took off into the sky.

  Galanӧr took his cue from Rainael and the other dragons, who didn't come across as alarmed. Instead, they simply watched Malliath fly away, over the mountains until even the sound of his wings could no longer be heard.

  “He’s leaving…” Adilandra whispered.

  “Leaving?”

  Rainael finally turned back to them, but without a Dragorn all they could do was look at each other.

  “He doesn't belong with them,” Adilandra said, her eyes never leaving Rainael’s. Since the dragon’s head remained very still, Galanӧr took it as the queen agreeing with the statement.

  “Where is he going?”

  “He is a dragon,” Adilandra said simply. “He can go anywhere he likes. But something tells me this isn't the last the world will ever see of Malliath the voiceless.”

  The warrior took a last look at the black dragon, who was soon to disappear entirely from sight. Malliath’s reason for leaving didn't seem so foreign to the elf…

  24

  Atarae’s curse

  Asher jumped down from his horse, happy to have anything other than hard, desert ground under his feet. Despite t
he familiar mud underfoot, the empty streets of Barrosh were unsettling. It didn't require the skills of a ranger to see what had happened here, and in truth, Asher was happy to see the people of Alborn had fled.

  “Does every town and city abandon their homes before we arrive?” Nathaniel asked, hopping off his own horse and leaving Reyna to continue trotting along.

  Asher bent down and picked up a child’s toy, trodden into the dirt. He wondered for a moment if these people would ever see their homes again.

  “We must rest here,” Reyna said, looking from Asher to Faylen.

  “Agreed.” The ranger could see how exhausted the older elf was after their day of riding across the plains. It was a hard ride for anyone, but in her battered state, Faylen was feeling everything so much more than them.

  “If I remember correctly,” Nathaniel said, his eyes scanning the streets, “there’s a tavern around this corner. The Honey Bee, I think. I’m sure we can find beds in there.”

  “Beds?” Reyna echoed. “I had forgotten such a thing.”

  Asher was sure he could hear just a touch of that melodic tone the princess had been missing. Every minute she had back with Faylen was returning Reyna to the elf they had met on the shores of the Unmar. It was her hope that kept Asher from despair.

  A brief shadow crossed the ranger’s face and he looked to the sky, his hands instinctively reaching for the folded bow on his back. He was glad of his reserve, however, when a white owl glided out of the sky and landed on a nearby post.

  “Ӧlli!” Reyna exclaimed. The owl flew to her outstretched arm and rested on her leather bracer.

  Nathaniel raised his eyebrow. “How does that owl keep finding you?” he asked incredulously.

  “He must have caught up with us after we escaped the pit,” the princess replied, her attention entirely on the owl.

  “It’s odd is what it is,” Asher commented, though he could do nothing about the smile on his face. The animal’s return did make him think of Hector again and the ranger hoped that wherever he was, the horse would be well looked after.

  “We should get off the streets,” Faylen warned, her voice still croaky.

  Asher agreed with the elf and gestured for Nathaniel to show them the way. The Graycoat kicked the door to the Honey Bee open with an apology to the absent owner. Reyna helped Faylen up the stairs to find suitable rooms while Asher hid the horses away down a nearby alley, tying them to a post with some water-buckets.

  “I'll search the area while there’s still some light,” Nathaniel said, retrieving his bow and nocking an arrow.

  “Be careful,” Reyna called from the stairs.

  Asher could tell by her gaze that she meant it. The ranger wanted to go with the knight, but he knew Reyna would use magic to heal Faylen, making them both vulnerable for a time.

  “And you.” Nathaniel’s tone was serious. “At least wait to use magic until we have made a decent meal. You’ll need your strength.”

  The princess examined Faylen’s tired face, struggling with the logic of Nathaniel’s words. Asher decided to keep quiet and let the exchange remain between the two; he still wasn't sure how appreciated his opinions were by the elf. In the end, Reyna nodded in agreement and continued to take Faylen to the next floor.

  “There’s a Graycoat sector house to the east of the city,” Nathaniel explained. “They’re always well stocked,” he added with a mischievous smile.

  “Barrosh isn't like Calmardra,” Asher said, “but that doesn't mean there aren't brigands waiting in the shadows…”

  Nathaniel raised his nocked bow. “That’s what this is for.”

  After the knight left, Asher set up a makeshift barricade out of tables and chairs, setting them up in a semi-circle around the door. Nathaniel would still be able to get inside, but should anyone else try to attack them, the barricade would slow them down. The ranger sat on a chair with his back to the bar and another chair tucked under his feet. It wasn't as comfy as the beds above his head, but it felt better than sitting in a saddle.

  The sun finally found its rest beneath the horizon and Barrosh fell under the light of the moon. Asher had drawn his silvyr short-sword, debating whether to go out and search for Nathaniel. The unique metal sparkled in moonlight, exaggerating the runes engraved along the middle of the blade.

  “Has he not returned yet?” Reyna whispered on her way down the stairs.

  “He left not long before dusk,” Asher replied, convincing himself as much as anyone. “We should give him some more time.”

  The princess handed the ranger a blanket. “I know you’re used to just a cloak, but the nights are getting colder.”

  “Thank you.” Asher took the blanket, seeing the gesture for what it was.

  An awkward silence settled over the room. The ranger could feel new emotions in the company of his friends, but he still had no idea what to say in situations such as this.

  “Faylen is like a mother to me…” Reyna said into the gloom. “I’ve already lost my real mother and Faylen has always been there for me. Without her, I’m just not sure…”

  “I understand,” Asher whispered back. “You’ve spent so long with her by your side you’re not sure who you are without her.”

  “Yes.” Reyna’s reply was firm.

  The ranger looked at the short-sword in his hands. “We all have something that tethers us to ourselves. Something we fear to let go of.”

  Reyna leaned closer. “You don't need a sword in your hand to know who you are, Asher. There’s more to this world than fighting, you just have to let us show you.”

  “And you don't need Faylen,” Asher replied. “Or your title, or even a cause. I have seen you on and off the battlefield, Reyna. You are capable, sure of yourself. You make the right choices without someone looking over your shoulder. You’re Reyna Sevari before anything else. If Faylen hadn't survived the pit, you would still be Reyna Sevari…”

  Despite the gloom, Asher could still see the tears welling in Reyna’s green eyes. He wanted to comfort her but he didn't know how. Instead, Reyna dropped into his chest and hugged with a tight squeeze, taking him entirely by surprise.

  “I’m sorry,” Reyna said. “I blamed you. I shouldn't have done that.”

  Asher didn't know what to say. The ranger couldn't think of another person who had ever apologised to him, so instead, he placed an arm around her shoulder and hugged the princess. The moment was ruined when the floorboards above their head creaked and a light sprinkling of dust rained down.

  “Faylen must have awoken.” Reyna offered Asher a warm smile before getting up and retreating to the rooms above.

  The ranger couldn't quite describe the way he felt after Reyna left. He knew he hadn't wanted the embrace to end and the princess’ words elated him. It felt good to know that there was no tension between them. He only hoped that she listened to his advice and knew it to be true. The ranger couldn't say the same for Reyna’s advice. He had been fighting for too many years...

  It wasn't long before the creaky stairs announced another visitor. Asher sat up in surprise when he saw Faylen walking towards him, absent of Reyna.

  “You should be resting,” he said. “Where’s Reyna?”

  “It’s her turn to rest,” Faylen waved the question away. “Where’s the knight?”

  Something about the elf put the ranger on edge. “He hasn't returned yet. I was just about to -”

  Faylen cut Asher off with a dramatic swing of her leg, which had the elf suddenly sitting on his lap as if he were a horse. If the ranger had been uncomfortable embracing Reyna, this was a whole new realm of unknown. He had been with women before over the years, but he couldn't say he really knew any of them or spent as much time with any of them. This felt too forward for Faylen, but Asher knew of elven libido and went with it for now, except he had no idea what to do with his hands.

  “I know you must have thought about it by now,” Faylen purred in his ear, her hands cupping his stubbly face.

  “Fay
len…”

  She shushed him with a finger to his lips. Her eyes connected with his and wouldn't let go, pulling him in. Asher went from hoping that Nathaniel would return any minute to hoping he wouldn't. It still didn't feel right, but Faylen’s warm hands slid down his chest as her lips locked with his own. In the moment, Asher cupped his hands around her back and pulled her in.

  That was when he felt it, the fingers investigating the pouch on his belt. The technique was masterful and would easily rob any other person blind, but Asher was not easily fooled. The ranger pulled away and snapped his hand around Faylen’s slender wrist, stopping her from snatching Paldora’s gem.

  The look on Faylen’s face was not her own and her eyes darted to the hilt poking over Asher’s shoulder. “That’s mine.”

  The realisation of who was really sitting on his lap must have presented itself as shock, because Faylen’s mouth curled into a wicked smile. The ranger immediately stood up and threw the elf as far as he could, only to watch her turn the momentum into a backward flip. Faylen remained crouched on the floor like a cat ready to strike.

  Asher pulled free his double-handed broadsword. “Alidyr!”

  “We could have done this the easy way, Ranger. I suppose I'll just take the gem and the blade off your corpse.”

  Asher was frozen in place. Had Alidyr actually been standing before him, he had no doubt that his sword would be swinging, only it wasn't Alidyr he would hit...

  “What have you done to Reyna?” he asked.

  “She won't be helping you,” Alidyr replied coolly.

  Asher could hear his heart thumping in his ears, drowning out the rain against the windows. There was nothing from his life to draw upon for this, no training to fall back on. He had to subdue an elf, without killing her, while making certain he didn't cause any lasting damage. There was also the concern for Reyna, who may well be bleeding to death upstairs.