Rise of the Nightkings

by Levi Samuel

  “You know, I thought they looked a bit like you.” The watchman laughed off the joke and gave an awkward salute. “Be well, my friend.”

  “You as well.” Tylor sauntered through the gate, joining Inyalia on the other side. Reaching into the liner of his cloak, he removed a long-stemmed pipe and a leather pouch. Opening it, a musky scent waft into the air. Tylor grabbed a pinch of the shredded leaf and carefully stuffed it into the bowl. Tucking his supplies away, he scraped a short firestick along the top rim of the pipe. It flared to life. No sooner than the flame erupted, it inverted and shot into the bowl. The crackle of burning leaves echoed in the silent morning. Tylor took a long draw before blowing a thick cloud of smoke overhead. “Shall we?” He gestured to the trail heading south.

  Inyalia broke her halt and began down the path. It seemed odd she’d been sent so far north, just to backtrack. It was going to be a long day if she spent it on already traveled dirt. But maybe they’d alter course at some point. Maybe there was a road she missed. She hoped so anyway. Being a ranger meant everything to her. But thus far, none of it lived up to her expectations.

  Inyalia walked aimlessly. She had no direction. Her mentor hadn’t said a word. His only input came in the form of cherry scented tobacco drifting past her. She was surprised his pipe still burned. It felt like hours had passed, yet he continued to puff.

  The sun crested the mountain peaks, showering the area in golden rays of light. Inyalia froze, seeing the road split. There was something about it she couldn’t place. She knew she’d never seen it. Prior to the horrors of the previous night, she’d never been here to see it. Yet, somehow, she knew it belonged. Moreover, it called to her.

  Glancing around, she couldn’t remember anything about this area. None of the landmarks stood out. But then again, her attention was otherwise occupied during her previous trek. Standing at the intersection, Inyalia turned to face Tylor. “South or East?”

  “You choose.”

  “But—I—Aren’t you supposed to—I thought you had a place you wanted me to go?” She was already growing tired of these games. And apparently this was just the beginning. Was it the same for everyone? Or was she getting the special treatment, Traevon had whispered about? Either way, she was sick of it. But, if they were intent on playing these little games, perhaps she could beat them. She was good at games after all. She just had to learn the rules. And so far, rule number one was do whatever you want. They’ll work around it.

  “I do. But I’m not the one leading us. You are. Pick a direction. We’ll make do with the results.” Exhaling another cloud of smoke, Tylor’s lips curled into a brief smile, which he quickly suppressed.

  Sighing, Inyalia stared down both paths. The rays of light were becoming less intense, spreading to other areas. Somehow, she knew she had to choose quickly. Something told her she’d never have this chance again. A decision made, Inyalia stepped onto the mountain road.

  They marched, quietly trailing the subtle incline. What had been mostly dirt was rapidly yielding to stone. Inyalia had no idea where she was going, but she could see the trail. It was faint, winding its way across the bluffs, but it was ever present.

  The climb hadn’t been difficult, but already they were quite a way up the mountain. Inyalia glanced back, watching Tylor. He seemed content, not a care in the world. For him, it was just another day. How could he be so nonchalant? More importantly, how was this training her for anything? She’d already wasted the better part of a day on this walk, and she’d learned nothing new. At least nothing that would turn her into a ranger. And so far, it’d been simple games rather than tests. She hoped it would become a little more traditional once they reached wherever she was supposed to be leading them. Nothing would be more disappointing than having her dream turn out to be a big game of night watch or guard duty. If she wanted that, she could have joined the city guard, or even the Army. At least they traveled places from time to time. Rangers rarely ventured beyond Trendensil. Homeland defense was their first and last duty.

  Hours crept by, unannounced by lingering shadow. What had started as a narrow trail was now a wide road, worn from travel. It was too small for a wagon, but a horse could navigate without much difficulty. Unfortunately, she didn’t have one. And even if she did, it’s hooves wouldn’t last long against the grating surface. Not to mention the weather.

  The wind was picking up, the temperature falling with it. Inyalia pulled her cloak around her, clipping it shut. She could feel the cold, but it wasn’t bothering her as she’d grown to expect. Still, there was no sense in taking unnecessary risks.

  Snowflakes drifted casually to the earth, spreading a thin layer over the hardened surface. The landscape below was losing definition in the foggy haze. It was a beautiful sight to witness, though Inyalia was having trouble enjoying it. Her muscles were beginning to ache. She wanted to rest. And of course, Tylor’s continuous lack of input was beginning to wear her patience. Despite her growing exhaustion, she’d decided she would keep moving. At least until he said otherwise. Perhaps that was the point of this game, to see how long she’d go.

  Shaking the thoughts from her mind, Inyalia watched the puffy clouds. They seemed just out of reach, though she knew it was a trick of the remaining light. They’d breeched the stratus hours ago. They’d seemed just as far away then as they were now. It was like walking through a fog. It surrounded you, obscuring all vision, but never got close enough to touch.

  As if walking through a wall, the misty clouds disappeared in a final solid layer. Heavy snowfall took its place, raining from the endless sky above. Already, a thick accumulation had gathered on the rocky steeps.

  Stepping over a mount, Inyalia’s boot slipped against the frozen rocks. Pain shot through her left hand, catching a jagged stone. She hissed, digging her heels into a shallow crevice. Cursing beneath her breath, Inyalia climbed to her feet, ensuring they would hold. She dusted the clinging powder from her and looked up, only to find Tylor standing back, patiently waiting. He didn’t say a word, nor show the slightest sign of concern. A rage ignited within her. How was he her mentor? He didn’t seem to care about anything. And worse, now she’d hurt herself.

  Pulling the glove to the side, Inyalia inspected the wound. It was deep, but not so much that it wouldn’t heal properly. Would it hinder her draw? She had yet to even fire her bow. But the time would surely come. Certainly these trials would have to test her skills—eventually. But now, poor footing during a seemingly pointless trek had risked her performance. Sighing her frustrations, Inyalia covered the wound. It would need to be cleaned, but not here. Nightfall was a few hours out. Provided they stopped, she could clean it properly then.

  The starless sky encased everything that wasn’t glowing white from reflected moonlight. The opposite spectrum of colors made it difficult to see anything. Squinting into the distance, Inyalia could faintly make out the outlined peaks extending miles overhead. The road twisted and curved, narrowing rapidly. Approaching a steep canyon between the rocky slopes, it shrank to little more than a goat path.

  Continuing forward, the wind ceased suddenly. The frozen tundra became a comfortable chill as the snow-covered path faded to slush. Just as quickly, dry rock returned.

  Inyalia searched her surroundings as best she could. She was still half blind, but her eyes were beginning to adjust. It made no sense. They were still in the open. The mountain walls towered around them, but it shouldn’t have been enough to block out the cold, let alone the drift. Where was this pocket of warmth coming from? Loosening the clasp of her cloak, Inyalia opened it to allow ventilation. There was no sense in allowing herself to sweat. That would prove dangerous if they entered the cold again.

  Tylor’s voice boomed through the narrow pass, shaking the walls around them.

  The volume made Inyalia jump. She hadn’t expected him to speak in the first place, let alone for it to be so loud.

  “We’ll camp just ahead.” Without warning, Tylor skirted around as if she hadn’t been
there at all. And just as quickly, he disappeared around one of the large rocks.

  Searching the narrow canyon, Inyalia couldn’t believe he’d vanished like that. Moreover, how did he pass so easily? There was hardly enough room for one person to stand without restriction. Passing her should have been impossible. But the worst part, the part she was kicking herself over. She didn’t see how he’d managed it. That was the type of stuff she desperately wanted to learn.

  Inyalia paused, studying the cramped passage. There was no room to hide. And the stone Tylor had passed was simply that, a stone. There was no crevice, divot, or passage. And yet, he was nowhere to be seen. Inyalia inched forward, thoroughly exploring every shadow she could find. She had to locate him. It wasn’t a matter of survival. It was a matter of pride. If she could find him, if she could prove herself, perhaps he’d drop these silly games and teach her. That’s really all this was. The Rangers Corps, masters of fun and games. Hide and seek shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

  Passing the stone once again, Inyalia noticed a slight change in temperature. It was subtle, little more than a breath upon the back of her neck. But there was no mistaking it. She turned, facing the wall. There was no shadow there. But the slight breeze remained. Gritting her teeth, hoping she wasn’t being watched, Inyalia extended her hand and touched the surface of the rock.

  To her surprise, her gloved fingers didn’t make contact. Instead, they went inside the stone. No! That wasn’t right. It was a hole they entered. That’s all it could be. Inyalia stood there, watching. She could still see her hand. That meant it wasn’t some kind of illusion. But her eyes said there was nothing there. Pressing a little further, she could see her shadow. That answered her questions. There was a tunnel here, set in the face of the rock. But the coloration was so pristine that it was nearly invisible. How did Tylor find it? How did he know it was here?

  Stepping into the strange passage, Inyalia smiled at the cleverness of it all. Once inside, her perceptions shifted. She could now see the walls, though they were difficult to observe. Every step was a challenge. She couldn’t rely on her eyes. Already, she’d tripped and fallen, having miscalculated the distance to the floor. With difficulty, she reached the end. It turned into another corridor and traveled a short distance. An ancient tarp hung down the wall, covering what appeared to be a carved doorway. Inyalia lifted the flap and stepped through, finding herself in a rather large room.

  Tylor knelt beside the firepit, blowing softly into a pile of smoldering tinder. A pillar of white light beamed through the ceiling above him. Curved polished plates caught the light, distributing it to every corner of the chamber. Stone furniture rested throughout the hovel, and a series of smaller rooms connected along the back wall.

  Adjusting the kindling, Tylor turned his attention to the young elf. “Glad you could join me. Toss your cloak on one of those hooks. You won’t be needing it here.” Before she could speak, he’d returned his focus to the pit.

  Inyalia glanced around the unnatural room. It had the feel of a cavern, but the straight walls and carved décor delivered an atmosphere only found at home. Inspecting the wall near the door, she was taken back by the expert craftsmanship. She hadn’t noticed from a distance, but it was more than a simple hook. A series of pockets were built into the wall, providing the perfect place for armor, weapons, gear, or anything else. And with a cloak in place, it was all hidden from view. Inyalia counted eight hooks, eight rooms, excluding the main chamber, and eight chairs. This had to be some kind of barracks. The question was, who built it? Elves were known for woodwork, nature and art. Discounting the furniture, this clearly qualified. But this was not the work of elves.

  Inyalia quickly removed her armor, stashing it away in one of the pockets. She was surprised to find her bow and quiver fit perfectly. Tossing her cloak on the hook, it draped over the gear. She grabbed her pack and turned her attention to Tylor. “What is this place? And why was it so hard to find? Is it magic?”

  Tylor chuckled at the barrage of questions. “No, it’s not magic. There was once a race called dwarves. I don’t know much about them. They were long before my time. But they were once friend to the elves. Masterful stone carvers and miners, they built their home inside the mountain itself. Some claim they built entire empires beneath the rock, impossible to find by anyone who wasn’t a dwarf. We are in but one outpost. There are hundreds of them littering this mountain, though you’d never find them unless you knew where to look.” Giving a final slow and steady breath to the crackling tinder, a small flame erupted. Tylor carefully fed it, watching the fire spread to the larger pieces. Content it was self-sustaining, he piled some larger logs around the outer edge.

  “I’ve never heard of dwarves. Where are they now?” Inyalia took a seat in one of the chairs, surprised that it was not only light, but comfortable. She carefully removed her gloves, inspecting the wound in her hand. It was purple and swollen. Using her free hand, she dug into her pack, searching for anything to clean the wound.

  “I’m not sure. Some say they died of plague. Others claim they went mad and sealed themselves inside the mountain. Even the elders seem clueless as to their fate.” Reaching into his pack, Tylor removed two iron rods, a skillet, a pot, and a small leather sack. Placing the rods over the flame, he laid the cookware so it would rest evenly. Pouring his waterskin into the pot, Tylor grabbed the sack and emptied its contents. A few carrots, an onion, and a large potato fell out, followed by a wrapped bundle. Drawing his knife, he chopped the vegetables into pieces. One by one, he raked them into the skillet. They sizzled as they hit the pan. Unwrapping the bundle, two thick cuts of meat soaked the inner layer of cloth.

  “Do you need some help?” Inyalia asked, realizing she’d sat there watching him work the whole time. She’d grown accustomed to her mother doing everything. Now that she was in the world, she needed to do things for herself.

  “No, I’m okay, thank you. Besides, you need to tend that.” Tylor gestured to her hand. “Can’t have it getting infected.” The water-filled pot was just beginning to boil. He grabbed the handle and swiftly set it on the table beside her. “Use this to clean the wound. Once it’s all bandaged up, you can help me breakdown what’s left of the firewood. I need a hand-full of shavings. Two fist worth of slivers, nothing thicker than your pinky finger. And the rest I want quartered and halved.”

  “Where was that concern when we were out in the cold?” Inyalia asked as a half-joke.

  “Trying to keep warm.” Tylor laughed. “Besides, what would making a fuss about it have done? You kept it covered. That prevented blood loss. And there was no easy way to bandage it then. I knew you were okay when you picked yourself up. Didn’t see any reason to coddle you.”

  Inyalia paused a moment, thinking over his words. He wasn’t wrong, though she was still irritated by them. “It’s just—It would have been nice to know you cared.”

  “Why? I’m not your father. I’m not your friend. I’m barely your mentor. It’s my duty to teach you how to survive on your own. Aside from that, it shouldn’t matter to you what I do or say.” Sensing this wasn’t going to be the end of it, Tylor turned away from her. Laying the meat into the skillet, among the vegetables, the scent filled the air, promising flavor and a full belly.

  Inyalia watched him a long moment, studying his demeanor. There was more she wanted to say. There always was. But he was clearly finished talking. Internalizing her thoughts, Inyalia dipped a rag into the boiling water and began wiping away the crusty blood.

  Inspecting the cleaned wound, Inyalia was pleased it wasn’t as deep as she’d believed. All things considered, it was relatively minor. The skin had torn at an angle, making it wide, but shallow. That would save her when it came time for nimble fingers. Though it was going to hurt for a few days. Methodically, she wrapped a cloth bandage around her hand. After the third attempt, she tied it off, unhappy with the end result. It didn’t seem to matter how thin she tried to keep it, the layered wrap was bulky and cumberso
me. Knowing it wouldn’t get much better, she put away her things. Reaching into Tylor’s pack, she removed the bundle of chopped wood.

  “While you’re in there, will you hand me the round canister from the side pouch?” Tylor stirred the vegetables with his knife.

  Laying the bundle on the table, Inyalia located the pocket he’d referred to. The canister was a tight fit, protruding from the top of the pocket. Carefully, she pulled it free, inspecting its odd shape. It was cylindrical, with one end slightly larger than the other. The smaller end had a spiraling notched carved into it. Uncertain as to its purpose, Inyalia handed it over.

  Tylor held it over the skillet and twisted the notched end. It came apart, revealing a similar pattern beneath. Pea sized holes had been drilled into the metal device. Quickly, he turned it to the side and shook gently, sprinkling bits of ground spice onto the food. Content with the even layer he’d distributed, he twisted the cap back into place and handed it to her.

  Inyalia took the canister and repeated his actions. She stared into the ported end, sniffing the contents. Exotic flavors filled her nostrils, making her sneeze. Quickly recapping it, she stuffed it back into the pocket.

  Tylor chuckled at her reaction. “It’s called a shaker. I got it from a trader in Risolde. It keeps my spices from getting damp. Not to mention the time I save by grinding them each time I cook. Though it’s easy to use too much spice before you get used to it.”

  “Interesting.” Unsure how to follow, Inyalia returned to her chair. Scooting closer to the table, she drew her dagger and untied the bundle of wood. Grabbing one of the top pieces, she went to work shaving the bark away. This was the kind of thing she’d expected to learn. And as much as she hated to admit it, Tylor had saved her from hardship twice over today. Had she made this trip alone, there was no telling how long she’d go without cooked food, or a warm bed. Her tent could provide shelter, but it could only do so much against the cold. Even now that it didn’t bother her as much, a few hours in the snow were still a few hours in the snow. Trees were few and far between this high up, and she didn’t know the first thing about hunting wildlife in the mountains. His foresight had ensured them warmth for rest, cleaning, and cooking. And the fact that he’d brought fresh food meant they were going to have a decent meal. That was good. The charcoal they’d consumed for breakfast didn’t last long. Inyalia hadn’t considered either option when supplies were plentiful. She had the basics, rations and a blanket. But wood and real food had been the last things on her mind. Though that was going to change the first chance she got. Stocking a few nights worth of each was the least she could do.