“Asher,” Reyna said again. “You need rest.”
The ranger could see that every one of Rengar’s knights wanted to pull their sword free and defend their king’s honour. There was an angry part of Asher that wanted them to. He just needed to fight, it was the only thing that helped him to relax anymore.
“The Graycoats?” Nathaniel asked, quickly changing the subject.
Rengar held his steely gaze with Asher, refusing to relent.
“Don't worry, boy.” Kaleb Jordain broke the tension, sitting with his back to the tree, his presence unnoticed until now. “A great many of our brothers and sisters made it safely to Velia under my watchful eye.” The ranger burped and swigged another mouthful of ale. “You owe me some coin I think…”
King Rengar made little effort to hide his sour expression. “Lord Marshal Horvarth and his knights are helping to fortify my city.”
“How many remain?” Nathaniel asked.
“Not enough.”
At least Rengar understood that, Asher thought. Had the king of Velia been in possession of any sense, he would be searching for ways to get his people safely out of the city without the Darkakin finding out.
The king looked down at Faylen with an expression of bewilderment. “I have plenty of rooms for Lady Haldӧr if you prefer…”
“Faylen will return to us in time,” Tai’garn assured; easily the best the thing Asher had heard in days. “An elf’s place is among nature, not halls of stone.”
The elder’s flat response robbed the king of a quick reply, leaving him to purse his lips and nod like a fool. “I will leave you to your kin,” he finally replied. “I must get back to planning our offensive strategy.” Rengar glanced at the rangers and Reyna. “You must all be exhausted. Should you want them, rooms will be made available.” The king walked away with a lasting scowl at Asher.
Had the ranger not been so tired, he would have offered the king’s back a smirking reply. Instead, he looked to Reyna, who had the same face of apprehension. They faced enemies from all sides and no one knew ally from foe.
“You need to rest,” Reyna placed a gentle hand on his chest. “You’re picking fights with the man who commands an army of thousands. How long has it been since you slept?”
The Darkakin’s chanting and their beating drums hammered the ranger’s senses, but the elf’s hand was indeed calming.
“Perhaps,” Tai’garn said, watching the red cloaks disappear into the palace, “we should talk first. Yours is a journey I would hear…”
Alidyr kept the dirty rags tight about him, hiding his pointed ears and angelic features. With traces of mud smeared across his cheeks, the ancient elf was certain he blended into the rabble that called themselves man. For days, he had travelled among the refugees from Galosha, even passing through Barrosh, where he knew for a fact that the ranger and the elves were hiding. It was a gamble on his behalf to stay with the caravan, rather than peel away and search Barrosh for the gem, but it was a town he wasn't familiar with and searching every building would take time. The Darkakin weren't far behind, and the elf knew his prey would move on, to Velia.
Now he was on the inside…
The gates of Velia had been closed with the arrival of the savages from the south. The refugees from The Arid Lands had made it impossible, however, to observe every person entering through the gates. The few thousand Karathans and Calmardras flooded the streets and mingled with those from Galosha and Barrosh, creating havoc and chaos at every turn. Keeping himself to himself had forced the elf to hide away in the dirtiest alleys or on secluded rooftops.
By the time he had reached the gates, having pushed his way through the mob, there was no sign of Asher or the princess. Had they reached Velia in time? His whole gamble was based upon them staying ahead of the Darkakin and seeking shelter inside the city. Any attempt to possess Faylen again had failed, bringing with it a level of frustration the elf found hard to control. Refraining from killing any human stragglers who wandered across his path had become the focus of his energy.
Alidyr had been on his guard since he spotted the elder who fought against Samandriel at Darkewell. The elder was accompanied by two other elves, warriors each. Alidyr didn't doubt his ability to best all three in any given contest, but fighting an elder would be messy and noisy. Two things he had taught countless Arakesh to avoid over the millennium.
The crushing weight of his exile had the elf leaning against a cold wall, his damp rags wrapped around his head. Had he made so many mistakes? For all his power and control, those opposed to him could not be defeated.
Alidyr banished the thoughts and clenched his fist. There was no place for that. Doubt would eat away at his mind and his master demanded strength. Valanis had granted him but a slither of Naius’ power, a gift he would not have been awarded had the herald of the gods not deemed him fit.
“Make way!” The cries came from a group of Velian soldiers, who between them carried several wooden beams. The thick logs were fitted into place with one end against the gates and the other ends slotted into grooves carved into the ground. It was an extra layer of defence that wouldn't last.
“Fools…” he uttered to himself.
The elf took to the streets again, his will to find the ranger renewed. Paldora’s gem would change the face of this war, he thought. The Darkakin, the Northmen, even the elves from Ayda would be surplus to requirement if Valanis could use Naius’ magic to its full potential. His master could remake the world with that kind of power. Alidyr just had to find it…
Asher felt oddly vulnerable under the scrutiny of the elder. Tai’garn had listened to Reyna intently, taking in every detail of their time together since first meeting on the banks of The Unmar, but the elf continued to glance from the princess to the pouch on Asher’s belt. The other two elves, crouched over Faylen, looked up at certain points during Reyna’s tale with incredulous expressions. Hearing it back, there were more than a few details that the ranger found hard to believe, and he had lived through it.
“... That’s how we got here,” Reyna said, coming to the end of their long journey, “though where Alidyr is now we have no idea.”
“He’s probably still with the Darkakin and Thallan,” Nathaniel offered.
“I would very much like to meet him in battle,” Tauren said, his gaze distant, his thoughts no doubt lingering on his brother and father.
“No, you wouldn't,” Asher replied, silencing the companions.
The opportunity to fight Alidyr had presented itself many times now, but every time they confronted each other, fate had them part with their lives. The ranger shifted the weight of Alidyr’s short-sword on his back and wondered if he would ever have the chance to give it back.
“You wield the gem, Ranger?” Tai’garn asked.
Asher glanced at Reyna, aware that the princess had not long explained their predicament inside the pit. “Wield is the wrong word,” he replied. “I can hold it.”
“May I?” The elder held out his hand expectantly.
Asher had wondered whether Tai’garn might fare better, but seeing his hand held out before him left the ranger with an uneasy feeling. The idea of handing Paldora’s gem over to anyone felt wrong. Still, withholding a powerful relic he couldn't use seemed pointless, especially when wielding such a weapon could turn the tide. Touching the gem’s smooth surface was no different to touching any crystal or rock, it was just cool in his hand.
Tai’garn reached for the gem, but instead of taking it, the elder cupped Asher’s open hand in his own. The elf’s palm was warm on the back of his hand, the heat radiating through the ranger’s fingerless gloves. The hairs on his arm stood on end and his muscles tingled under his skin. Tai’garn’s eyes were closed and his jaw clenched, though the purpose of this was unknown to Asher. Eventually, the elder opened his eyes and folded the ranger’s fingers over the gem, careful not to touch it.
“Your time in the Amber Spell has bound you and the gem,” Tai’garn explained. “Wher
e once it might have yielded to any, now it knows only you.”
“What about Valanis?” Hadavad posed. “Could he wield it?”
“Perhaps we could use that against him...” Reyna’s level of energy would never cease to surprise Asher.
Tai’garn held up his hand. “The pools of Naius, though a mystery in themselves, have changed Valanis. The magic that flows through him is strong; that has never been in question. I suspect he could use the gem, as he always wished, to control that flow of magic. I certainly wouldn’t hand it over to him in the hope that its bond with Asher has the power to strike a mortal wound.”
Nathaniel sighed. “We have no other weapon with which to strike.”
“How was he defeated so long ago?” Glaide asked, swiping Kaleb Jordain’s ale from his hand and throwing it away.
“Through sacrifice,” Tai’garn replied.
Asher felt the elder’s eyes on him, but the ranger focused on the gem in his hand wondering how much of himself would he have to give to use the power locked inside the black crystal. He was tempted to try and conjure a simple fire spell right there and then, but the fatigue already settling into his bones warned him against such a foolish test. The drain would have him flat on his back and unable to keep watch over Faylen.
“In the last days of The Dark War,” Reyna said, “the elders of the time combined their magic with that of Garganafan, the king of the dragons. Together, they were able to trap Valanis inside the Amber spell, but it cost them all their lives.”
“Can he not be trapped again?” Tauren inquired.
“Not without a dragon,” the princess replied with a dour tone.
Doran, in a typically dwarven manner, tapped Tai’garn’s leg. “Ye haven't got one of those hidin’ under them robes, have ye?” The elder’s expression, or lack thereof, spoke more than any words.
“At this point,” Nathaniel said, “I’m not sure it matters how we beat Valanis.” The knight tilted his head to the chanting of the Darkakin. “There is a more immediate threat.”
It should have troubled the ranger to hear their dire priorities, but fighting the Darkakin and the soldiers of Namdhor was something he could actually do.
“Why have they yet to attack?” Tauren asked, his hands resting on the daggers strapped to his belt.
Kaleb Jordain stumbled to his feet while his glazed eyes scanned the ground for his stolen ale. “The Darkakin are sav -” the ranger hiccuped mid-sentence, “- avages aren't they? Cannibals! They want us to know fear before they attack. Makes us taste better…”
Hadavad rolled her eyes. “I preferred him with the ale stuck in his mouth.”
“They attack from a position of strength.” Nathaniel turned his back on the drunken ranger. “They don't have to do anything in theory. They could even starve us out.” The knight paced across the lawn and looked out over the Darkakin. “But they won't do that. Valanis didn't march an army of savages across the realm to have them sit outside and wait.”
“What would you do?” Asher asked, already certain of Nathaniel’s response.
“I would have them wait,” the knight replied, “but not to starve us out. I would wait until King Merkaris and his army arrive, take stock of my resources and men, and then attack.”
Asher agreed but it was Reyna who spoke. “Then we should all find some rest while the Velians keep watch. We will all be needed before this war is over.”
The ranger had no intention of closing his eyes until Faylen opened hers, but he wasn't about let the opportunity to sit down pass him by. Asher hoped that by sitting among the elves he would find some peace that might overcome the anger bubbling under the surface. He knew, however, that proper rest would be the only thing to soothe him and grant some measure of control.
That was when Ned Fennick walked out onto the balcony.
Asher clocked the stocky Graycoat immediately, striding side-by-side with Lord Marshal Horvarth, his commander. The ranger hadn't seen either of them since the battle at West Fellion when the Arakesh attacked in force. The scar lining Horvarth’s face reminded Asher that the Lord Marshal had been standing over the gates when Adellum’s bow rained destruction down upon them.
Ned Fennick was another matter…
The Graycoat’s second-in-command had been his personal torturer while being held a prisoner in West Fellion. The ranger had never found the opportunity to repay the knight in kind. As much as he wanted to kill the man who had burnt him, cut his flesh and battered him into oblivion, there was no way Nathaniel would let it happen. Still, he was curious to see how much damage he could inflict before the younger man pulled him off.
Horvarth made straight for Princess Reyna. “When word reached me that you had been seen after West Fellion,” the Lord Marshal glanced at Kaleb Jordain, “I didn't believe it. You all gave so much and helped many of my knights stay alive that night…”
Any further compliments were withheld when Asher stood up, crossed the garden and planted his fist into Ned Fennick’s face. The impact hurt the ranger’s knuckles and split some old cuts, but it had been worth it to see the knight’s expression turn so rapidly from shock to pain before he finally landed on the grass. Unfortunately, the big man didn't get back up as quickly as Asher had hoped, robbing him of the opportunity to inflict more damage. The ranger expected Horvarth to unsheathe his sword or at least push him away from standing over the man but, instead,, the Lord Marshal bowed his head and closed his eyes. Curiously, Nathaniel hadn't moved a muscle in Fennick’s defence.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” Fennick used one hand to help himself up while the other covered his mouth. The knight reached for his sword with vengeance in his eyes.
The Lord Marshal half-turned to face his second-in-command. “Lift your sword, Fennick, and I’ll let you fight him…”
Asher remained very still, hoping that Fennick didn't understand Horvarth’s true meaning. He presented himself as an unarmed target to the knight, but his eyes baited the bigger man, daring him to attack. If the Graycoat lifted his sword, Asher couldn't be sure that he wouldn't kill the man right here in the gardens of Velia’s palace.
Fennick looked from Asher to Horvarth, weighing everything up. “This dog needs putting down!”
“Fennick!” Horvarth barked. “Go and see to our placement on the wall. Now.”
Ned Fennick wiped the blood from his mouth and spat a loose tooth onto the ground. “As you command.” His departing look hadn't been too dissimilar from Rengar’s.
Doran laughed. “Ye aren’t making any friends here, are ye, laddy?”
Lord Marshal Horvarth straightened his famous hide coat. “The Graycoats owe you more than we can ever give you, Ranger. My knights speak highly of your actions at West Fellion.”
Asher wasn't really listening. He was watching the back of Ned Fennick walk away. The Arakesh in him wanted to find the Graycoat in the dark of night and fling him over the wall for the Darkakin to dine on. It was those wicked thoughts that sobered him, reminding him that he was more than that now. Gone was the man of action and reaction. Now there were those he cared for…
“I see you no longer wear our coat,” Horvarth said to Nathaniel, who had yet to get up from the stone bench.
Nathaniel stole a glance at Reyna before replying, “I have made my choice.”
“Well…” Horvarth licked his lips. “Either way, I would be glad to have your bow on the wall. Your skills should not go to waste.”
“I am grateful for his skills, Lord Marshal,” Reyna cut in. “They have saved my life more than once.”
“Such are the skills of all who have passed through West Fellion, My Lady.” Horvarth bowed his head. “I leave for the wall. Get some rest, it’s going to be a long day and an even longer night.”
After the Lord Marshal had left, Asher turned to Nathaniel with a questioning raised eyebrow.
“Don't look at me,” Nathaniel replied casually. “I was hoping you’d kill him…”
Asher smiled. It felt good to laugh.
31
A matter of faith
The king of elves sat under the shelter of the canopy, erected over the middle of his ship, and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. For days he had listened to the generals and the High Guardian debate on the best course of action. Abandon the invasion, attack from another side, let the Darkakin and the Velians kill each other first, ally with King Rengar to defeat Valanis… the list of options went on. Abandoning the invasion after forty years of planning was not an option for Elym. It would make him look weak and unfit to rule; the only thing he had ever been sure of was that he was neither of these.
Sitting on his makeshift throne, Elym’s hand curled around the prophecy on his waist. He knew the words could not be true, for there were no gods to give such a foretelling, but the ancient runes spoke of an alliance between two shores and the victory it might offer.
“My Lord…” High Guardian Varӧ drew the king back to the table covered in maps and surrounded by elven generals and elders.
Elym picked up on the last thing he had heard them squabbling about. “There will be no alliance with man,” he announced. “For too long have they worshipped gods that do not exist and squandered our land as if it were theirs to spoil by divine right. I declared that Illian would be ours again and so it shall. You all fear their numbers but you forget our strengths! We have magic on our side! Their walls will crumble under our will and the Velians will either bend the knee or perish. We will rain fury down on the Darkakin as we did so long ago. I have listened to the panic in your voices for days and I will have no more of it. If there are any who object I am sure the Mer-folk of The Adean will gladly take you back to Ayda…”
The generals looked to one another for support, with many trying to catch Varӧ’s eye, but the High Guardian continued to lean against the table, fixed on the maps. After an uncomfortable silence, Elym dismissed them to ready their warriors. Varӧ nodded his head at the soldiers standing at their posts, either side of the tent, and the flaps of fabric were released to conceal them both inside.
Relic of the Gods: (Echoes of Fate Book 3) Page 26