Rise of the Nightkings

by Levi Samuel

  It didn’t take long for dinner to finish. Tylor laid a slab of meat into a wooden bowl and piled vegetables around it. Handing it to Inyalia, he pulled a chair for himself, grabbed his own bowl, and dug in.

  Clearing away the wood shavings, Inyalia’s attention was locked on the food. She stabbed one of the pieces of potato and took a bite. It was sweet, with a subtle lingering heat. The fat from the steak had soaked into the outer layer, leaving it firm and crispy with a tender core. If every meal he made was as good as this, perhaps this whole training thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  Brilliant light filled the room, burning into Inyalia’s closed lids. Shielding her face, she sat up slowly, taking in her surroundings. It took a moment to remember where she was. Her back and legs were stiff from the past two days of heavy walking. That meant it was going to be a rough day, at least until her muscles loosened up. Crawling out of bed, Inyalia pulled her boots on, abandoning the buckles. She glanced into the main chamber, surprised by how quiet it was. Tylor was nowhere to be seen. Quickly running fingers through her long brown hair, Inyalia twisted the tangled mess into a single roll and pinned it in place. It was sloppy, but it would work until she could properly maintain it.

  She made her way into the main chamber, stealing a glance into the room Tylor had taken. His bed was empty, save for the thin mattress that had been there when they arrived. Searching the wall where their armor and cloaks were hung, a fear grew inside her. Tylor’s gear was missing. Had he abandoned her? Was she all alone at the top of the mountain? How was she supposed to proceed without someone to guide her?

  Suddenly, she remembered he hadn’t been her guide. But rather, she his. This was another test. If she could find the way on her own, she’d pass. Defiance in her soul, Inyalia quickly dressed and prepared to leave. She slung her pack over her shoulder and marched toward the entrance. It was amazing how much of the sunlight was filtered by the overhanging rocks. No wonder she hadn’t seen it the night before. Though the gap in the stone was barely visible even now. And she knew where it was.

  Glancing into the sky, squinting against its blinding might, Inyalia felt closer to the heavens than ever before. She wasn’t quite to the peak, in fact, she was at the last crevice between a pair of them, but even at this height, the world below seemed so small. There wasn’t much to be seen through the cloud cover, but where it remained sprawled hundreds of miles into places she’d never imagined.

  It took a moment to gather her bearings. Each stone looked the same, and she hadn’t actively studied it the night before. But there were only two possible options. If she chose the wrong direction, surely their tracks would remain from the night before. Picking a direction, she made her way along the stone path. It took only a few minutes to reach the wall of wind. Pulling the cloak around her, Inyalia stepped into the open. Slush and partially melted snow awaited. There were no boot tracks or signs of any kind. Aside from water droplets and the occasional ice crystal, it was relatively undisturbed. She expected as much where the snow fell in full force. But here on the edge, something should have remained. Provided this was the way they’d come. With no signs, this had to be her destination. But where were Tylor’s tracks? If he’d come this way, why would he leave no evidence?

  “It’s a test!” Inyalia stated aloud. Taking a knee, she inspected the snow closer, searching for anything out of the ordinary. She could see where the drift had fallen naturally. It was smooth and wavy, despite the melted portions. Those had turned to ice. But there was another type here as well, impossible to see without close examination. Hundreds of thin bristles had swept the snow over, smoothing out any discrepancies. It reminded her of a broom or horsehair brush. Someone had intentionally covered their tracks here.

  Smiling her success, Inyalia stepped into the snow. She followed the trail around the southern peak, staring out over the vast landscape below. The clouds were patchy here, leaving much to be seen. It was one of the most beautiful sights she’d ever beheld. In no time, she came to a set of partially covered tracks. These hadn’t been tampered with. Judging by the size and depth, they belonged to an elf about Tylor’s size. How many people on the mountain could that description match? Inyalia turned her attention to the wind and snowfall. It wasn’t harsh, but it was steady. If she had to guess, he was about two hours ahead of her.

  Inyalia made her way along the twisting path, following the contours of the massive range. She wasn’t sure if she was on a road any longer. Whatever road had brought her to the peak seemed to end just past the canyon. The sun was nearing midmorning. With no cloud cover, it provided more than enough heat to keep her comfortable, but it was melting the footprints faster than she desired. It’d stopped falling a few minutes prior, and the accumulation was thinning. It wouldn’t be long before she’d be out of it completely, Tylor’s tracks gone along with it. She wasn’t sure how she’d be able to follow them once the path returned to stone. And she didn’t think he’d be so careless as to leave anything behind. Unless he wanted her to track him. If so, he’d do exactly that.

  The weather was beginning to feel warmer. The bright rays of sun melted what was left of the snow, drying the ground almost as quickly. What had been a brisk hike through winter was rapidly becoming a slow march into spring. Beads of sweat were beginning to form on her brow. Unclasping her cloak and throwing it open, Inyalia brought it up to wipe her forehead, obscuring her sight for the briefest moment. Before the thick canvas could fall to its original position, the young elf noticed a drastic change. She was still on the mountainside, but the stone was now padded by grass and dirt. The rocky pathway planed out, displaying a grove of luscious greens and browns. Thick and wonderful tree trunks sprouted from the earth all around her, though these were not the trees she was familiar with. The straight, tapered trunks of those back home were nowhere to be seen. Instead, these grew wild. Their bark was lighter in tone, almost peach in color. It was smooth, rather than rough and jagged. Each one was curved in a wide variety of ways, as if gravity had little say in their design. It was a peaceful sight, serene even. Birds flew overhead, landing where they desired. A pair of squirrels chased each other around one of the twisted trunks, barking and playing. And there, between two of the blossoming tree tops, Inyalia could see what appeared to be architecture.

  She made her way through the grove, absorbing her surroundings. For the first time since leaving home, she felt the joys of her childhood. There was no need to be cautious. No need to be armed. She was safe in this wonderous place. Safe from threat and enemy alike. In a trance-like state, Inyalia sauntered through the garden of perfectly manicured trees. They were beautiful in every way, kempt, yet wild and free. The soft grass grew in thick patches but remained evenly heighted just below the ankle. After the rigidity of stone she’d walked the past few days, it was a welcome reprieve.

  The buildings in the distance were unlike any she’d seen before. They were open and inviting, much like Dragon Sanctum. But these were square in shape. Even their roof tops were a series of squares, small at the top, growing wider with each pass. They were shingled in smooth, curved plates, colored like the peach tree bark. Each corner was capped and rounded in the most ornate fashion, preventing wind damage or water build up. The walls themselves were minimal, appearing to serve as wind block and little else. Inyalia couldn’t help but feel their thin appearance was misleading. These were constructed in a way she’d never seen, foreign and harmonious. But there was a strength to them as well.

  From this height, she was able to see the full extent of the mountain settlement. It felt like a village, but seeing it in its full glory, it was more like a small city that had been split into several smaller sized sections. The mountain had been carved out, leaving numerous shelves staggering below. The city rested upon these shelves, in essence being taller than it was wide. Some of the lower tiers had buildings that protruded two or three shelves above, but those appeared few and far between. Most of them were single story structures that had little an
t-sized people trailing in and out. Though there was a single structure that extended from the lowest levels and into the heavens above. From the mountain, a river poured, spilling its essence from one tier to the next. Inyalia knew it was the backbone of the entire settlement.

  “Welcome to Caelum.” Tylor’s voice echoed behind her.

  Inyalia spun, glaring her frustrations at the wild elf. “Why’d you leave me? How’d you know I’d find this place on my own? You’re the worst trainer ever!”

  Tylor chuckled at her outburst. “Calm yourself. I was never further than earshot. Besides, you would have found this place, with or without me. Or you wouldn’t have. Not everyone does. But I had a feeling about you. It seems I was correct.” He spread his arms wide, as if cradling the mystical city before them. “Caelum is a sanctuary for those in search of enlightenment. That’s why you had to find it on your own. I could have spent cycles looking for it and never come close. And once your training is complete, you’ll never find it again either.” Turning to face the young elf, his tone became stern. “Now to address your assessment of my methods—We’ll, you’re entitled to that opinion. It matters little to me. Though I will urge you to listen and do as I say. You may not like it. You may not agree. But every decision I make is made for a reason. Eventually, you’ll begin to understand why things are done this way.”

  Chapter VI

  Birds of Prey

  Pain shot through her ribs. Inyalia winced, locking her arm around the connecting weapon. It was a wooden short blade, blunted and capped to prevent breaking skin, but still heavy enough to crush bone. The weapon was nearly identical to its lethal counterpart in every way. It made the transition from training to live-steal nearly unnoticeable. She was just happy she was wearing armor. It didn’t do much to prevent bruising, but it dispersed the blows enough to minimize lingering damage.

  Twisting her torso to keep the blade locked, Inyalia brought her fist around, catching her attacker in the side of the head.

  The elven girl, a few cycles Inyalia’s senior, staggered back, holding her ear. Realizing almost instantly that she’d abandoned her sword, she drew a dagger from her waist. Like the sword, it was also wooden and capped. Taking a defensive stance, she waited for Inyalia to approach.

  Inyalia wrapped her fist around the leather grip. It was snug, a near perfect fit, but she didn’t like it. Inspecting the polished surface, Inyalia questioned if she’d made the right decision. These sparring matches were supposed to be a method of training. But all too often they became a gladiator pit where feuds were settled. To the victor went the bragging rights.

  Thus far, prior to today, Inyalia had entered the pit twice. The first time was merely for show. She’d lost the instant she stepped in. A blunted arrow caught her in the side of the head and left her unconscious for nearly a week. The second time had nothing to do with her. Tylor had gotten into an argument with one of the other mentors. To settle the dispute, they set their perspective recruits upon one another. Inyalia was pleased to have won that fight, though not without her fair share of pain. She’d cracked three ribs and broken a finger. To this day she still wasn’t sure it was worth it.

  Today was different. Today she was here for her own reasons. Since arriving, her surname had done her no favors. In fact, having the Ranger-General for a father did nothing but put a target on her back. Everyone wanted to test their mettle, or at the very least, knock her to the dirt.

  Her combatant was the worst of these people. Lorena would go out of her way to torment her. She’d trip her while they were waiting in line. And while Inyalia had no physical proof, she knew Lorena had been the one responsible for dropping her pants when they left herbalism class. Those were just a few of a laundry list of inconveniences she’d suffered at the bully’s amusement. Unfortunately, she had no proof.

  Lorena was a mage in training. That meant they didn’t even have to be in the same room for strange and mysterious things to happen. But each time misfortune struck, Lorena was always there, giggling with her friends.

  That would end today. Inyalia issued a challenge of combat in the pit. It was the simplest solution to what had become a major problem. But she had to win. Things would only get worse if she didn’t. And to complicate things further, there were conditions. Their perspective mentors agreed that each had to fight at a disadvantage. For Lorena, that meant no magic. And for Inyalia, no bow.

  Inyalia extended the sword she’d stolen away. She’d trained with them, as Tylor had insisted, but it was uncomfortable. With her bow unavailable, she preferred hand to hand. Which was what she’d chosen for this fight. Lorena on the other hand, hadn’t been so foolish. She’d chosen a short blade and dagger combination, which had already left a series of whelps along Inyalia’s legs, arms, and ribs. But she’d managed to disarm her opponent. That was going to be the cherry on top, provided she won.

  Charging, Inyalia feigned left and darted right. She swung the short blade, releasing it just as it reached its full extension. It flew from her hand, straight toward her opponent.

  Lorena sliced with the dagger, knocking the loose sword away. She hadn’t expected it to flip when the blades connected. Heading toward her face, Lorena ducked, only to find Inyalia ready for her.

  Fist balled, Inyalia punched as hard as she could. Her knuckles impacted the mage’s left cheek, knocking her back a few steps. Denying time, she rushed to close the gap. She had to disarm the dagger before her opponent remembered to use it. Locking her about the waist, Inyalia pinned the limbs as best she could. The mage was a few inches taller, but her angle should have compensated. Hoping her feet were off the ground, Inyalia twisted and fell.

  Lorena slammed into the loose dirt. Her head swam and her arms were pinned. She still hadn’t recovered from the last hit. Defenseless, she retreated inside herself, allowing a plan to form.

  Straddling the mage, Inyalia sat up. Now was the time to apply what Tylor had taught her. She rolled her shoulder, letting her fists fly. A resounding pop echoed from the solid blow. One, two, three times she connected.

  Lorena’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, leaving nothing but the white pupils visible. Summoning the power within her, she let loose a blast of energy. The air hardened and exploded out, wrapping around her assailant and launching her back.

  Inyalia shielded her face as best she could. She didn’t have time for anything else. The dirt, churned as it was, offered little cushion as it caught her. Everything hurt. She wanted to lay there and let it pass, but the fight wasn’t over. Grunting her frustrations, she rolled to her stomach and pushed herself to her knees. It took a moment to regain her bearings. She spotted Lorena not far, still on the ground. Inyalia threw her arms into the air. “We said no magic!” Fuming, she searched the crowd of spectators, looking for anyone willing to call foul play.

  Nobody said a word. Lorena was guilty of dishonorable combat. And nothing was going to be done about it. The ranger-in-training was on her own.

  Gritting her teeth, Inyalia got to her feet and marched toward the mage. She had to be prepared. Lorena had cheated. She’d resorted to magic. And that meant she was willing to use it again.

  Exhausted, Lorena rolled, picking herself up. The would-be ranger would be upon her any moment. Raising her hands, she pulled at the energies around her, gathering them into a compact orb. Shaping it to her will, she launched it with a forceful thrust.

  Inyalia saw the ball of energy flying toward her with remarkable speed. It was aimed mid-chest. She had to act now or it would be too late. Tumbling, she tucked her head and hit the dirt. The momentum carried, springing her to her feet at a full sprint.

  The ranger was nearly upon her. Rushing herself, Lorena summoned another bolt, pulling any energies that would obey. It was risky, but so was letting the ranger too close. Time for games was over. One way or another, it ended here.

  Dropping her shoulder, Inyalia put all her weight into the strike. She impacted as the second blast detonated. The energy embraced her
, stopping time for the briefest moment. Her weight inverted, unaffected by gravity. She was flying backward, unable to stop herself. Her body tingled. Her hair stood on edge. And before she could make sense of it all, she slammed into the ground. Lying still, hoping to catch her breath, Inyalia struggled to move. She felt sticky. With each movement static popped, echoing in her ears. It was difficult, but Inyalia pulled herself up. Stunned, unsure what had happened, she glanced around.

  Chunks of mud and dirt littered the ground. A shallow crater rested where Lorena had been, but the mage was not present. Inyalia spotted her nearly twenty foot from the impact site. Lorena was sprawled out, laying at the edge of the pit. Her feet were elevated, dangling over the grass. Blood flowed from her nose and ears, but her chest moved. She was still alive, though if she were conscious, she’d probably wish she weren’t.

  One of the elves stepped into the pit, speaking loud enough for all to hear. “Last one standing, and winner by honorable combat is Inyalia Highlor!”

  A few of the spectating mages, including her friends, rushed to Lorena. From their expressions, it seemed the spell did more damage to her than it had Inyalia.

  Many others flocked around the champion, offering praise and congratulations.