Now Dragorn was a vast city and overpopulated with humans. The city stank of their kind. The scent was carried in the warm breeze that drifted off The Adean; there was no escaping it.
Looking over the lip of the rooftop, Valanis observed the square grounds that protected the Trigorns. A ten-foot wall encompassed the mansion and its gardens and pools. The house itself was far grander than the other mansions that filled the neighbourhood. This particular vantage granted Valanis a view over the wall, where a multitude of guards patrolled the grounds. They were a mix of warriors and mages. Some wielded spears, axes and swords, while others walked around with staffs or wands holstered on their hip.
FIND IT!
The voice of Atilan, the king of the gods, was impossible to ignore. The powerful voice rang throughout his mind, reminding the dark elf that he had their strength and blessing. Valanis took one last look at the mansion, before stepping off the top of the building. The ground cracked under his feet as his muscles filled with the strength of Krayt, the god of war. The peasants and drunks in the street jumped and scuttled into the nearest alley to escape his horrifying image. The black cloak, which hung loose from his waist down, flapped around his great strides.
The wide, heavy doors to the Trigorn compound were at the end of the street, where three guards stood sentry; Valanis’ approaching presence demanded their attention. Even though they had no idea who he was, it was clear from their expressions that they understood the threat he posed. They formed into an arrowhead position, the leader wielding a hooked spear, ready to strike.
Valanis struck first.
The dark elf whipped his hand out and sent a concussive wave so powerful, it took all three men through the heavy door, splintering it into a thousand pieces. The dead guards flew into the grounds amid the splinters and wrought iron. The thunder-clap would certainly alert the rest of the Trigorns soldiers, but it didn’t matter now.
ENJOY IT...
The god of war’s voice was always the sweetest. Valanis marched into the grounds and made for the main entrance to the mansion. A bell was rung and guards began to appear from everywhere, some even pouring out of the buildings surrounding the compound. Their numbers would do them no good. The first to attack him were the mages; both stood before him with their staffs held high, but their spells were for naught. Valanis held up his hand and used a shield of pure blue energy to absorb the first magical attack. The second spell he merely cast aside with the wave of a hand. The spell rebounded into the gardens and exploded, killing three approaching swordsmen. With fire and ice he killed them both, skewering one with an icicle and the other a flaming ball of fire.
As he ascended the steps of the veranda, a guard lashed out with a sword, his aim perfect for slicing Valanis’ head in two. The dark elf caught the sword in one gloved hand and froze the steel until the blade shattered. The man looked from his broken sword to the menacing mask that looked back at him. Valanis punched his arm out and cast an explosive spell that sent the guard flying off the veranda and through the trellis. His sharp, elven ears heard all the bones in his body break.
A fireball blew the mansion doors off their hinges and broke the protective spells that lined the framework. Another mage appeared from the hallway to his left and fired off a spell from his wand. Valanis simply shifted his shoulders and evaded the magical attack, which continued past the dark elf and into an emerging axe-man. The axe-man burst apart like a sack filled with too much wine. The explosive blood splatter blinded the guard following Valanis into the house, who was then picked up by the dark elf and used as a shield against the next spell. An icicle shot through the man’s chest and threatened to impale them both.
Valanis smiled under his mask as he unleashed a staccato of purple lightning from his palm. The destructive magic streaked through the hallway until it engulfed the mage, killing him in seconds.
The herald of the gods killed indiscriminately as he made his way up to the master bedroom. The expensive decorations and ornaments that lined the halls and walls were covered in blood or destroyed all together. A small fire had been started in the lavish foyer, where a burning corpse had set the material of a sofa to flames. The men shouted from all around the compound as confusion and chaos took over. They didn’t know who was attacking them or how many there were.
Valanis was deep inside the mansion now, using his magical sense to find the traps set by the Trigorns’ mages. It was the complexity of these traps that ultimately guided him to the master bedroom.
The cluster of guards standing outside the room were among the biggest Valanis had seen. Even their swords and hammers appeared to be heavier than the average human. The dark elf smiled behind his mask. He decided he would kill them with his bare hands and give his magic a rest for the moment. The group charged and roared, hoping to simply stampede Valanis to death, as his elven form was far slighter than theirs.
A side-step and a shift in his shoulders allowed Valanis to dodge the first two swings, putting him right in the middle of the group. With godly strength, Valanis kicked the man to his left, sending him straight through the nearest window and out into the night. Blades and fists came at him then from every angle with fierce abandon. Valanis lashed out with every limb, each more deadly than any weapon of steel, and broke bones, burst organs and laid waste to the Trigorn soldiers.
The enchantments around the door to the master bedroom practically sang of their secrets to Valanis. He could tell that the spell was designed to repel and incinerate any who tried to enter without permission. The dark elf waved his hand across the doorframe and used the power of Naius, the god of magic, to wipe the enchantments from existence, reducing most of the wooden frame to dust. After that it was merely a flick of the finger to blow open the doors, eliciting a small yelp from the woman inside.
Valanis stalked across the sumptuous room, taking note of the naked, young olive-skinned man, clinging to the headboard for his life. The tattoo on his arm suggested he wasn’t the head of the Trigorn family, but rather a lover for hire. That led Valanis to examine the naked woman beside him, her knuckles white from holding onto the bed sheets. The dark elf estimated her age to be around forty, but human ages were just as hard to judge as elven in his eyes. She didn’t look as terrified as the man, but her fear was undeniable. Her skin was in perfect condition, with clean, perfumed black hair and expensive jewellery around her neck and adorning her fingers. This was the head of the Trigorn family.
“What do you want?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
FIND IT!
“The treasures your ancestors plundered from these isles...” Valanis enjoyed the effect his altered voice had on the woman. “I would see all that you have and any records of the ones you sold or gave away.”
“That… that was a thousand years ago,” the woman replied, desperately trying to gain some composure in the face of the one who had slaughtered her private army.
Valanis whipped his arm out and snapped the naked man’s neck with telekinesis. His body jerked and slumped off the side of the bed, startling the Trigorn woman.
“The… the vaults are shared between the four houses.” The woman didn’t even look at her dead lover. “It’s lo… located in the central district, fronted as a brothel. Any of the artefacts or treasures that remain are kept underground. But the security there is tenfold what you encountered here.” The Trigorn woman was trying to ignite a little fire in her belly. “You should just walk away from this now, and I will forget your trespasses this day.”
At that moment, five more guards came rushing into the room with their weapons raised. Valanis swivelled around and unleashed a torrent of fire that engulfed them all, burning them until they resembled the bark of a tree. Through it all the woman screamed and retreated further into her bed.
Valanis slowly turned back to her. “Fear not, you will never forget this day...”
There were more screams to come.
II
Part Two
10
&
nbsp; Mournblade
Gideon strolled through the oasis of Dragons’ Reach, enjoying the sights and scented smells of the trees. He wished Abigail could have seen this. She would have been more excited than he was to have found the home of the dragons, not to mention actually living among them. The mage’s hand naturally drifted to the wand on his hip... her wand. Gideon wanted to scream and shout and cry at her loss, to hit the world for taking her from him. But now, surrounded by so much beauty and mystery, he realised it was his duty to live for her.
The sound of melodic singing brought him from his reverie and steered him to the left. Through the trees and past a cluster of boulders that formed a small hillock, Gideon came across yet another magnificent sight since his arrival in the giant crater. Adriel, the last of the Dragorn, was singing to a tree, which continued to grow in front of the mage’s very eyes. Its roots dug deep into the ground, as the trunk expanded and stretched high into the canopy above. Branches extended from the bark and sprouted lush, green leaves.
Then Adriel finally stopped singing, the tree stood silent, its leaves gently blowing in the breeze. The elf placed his palm against the bark and smiled warmly at his work.
“How did you do that?”
Adriel smiled all the more, but made no notion to face the mage as he continued to check over the new roots. Gideon walked over and placed a tentative hand over the bark as if it were some illusion.
“The elves have always sung to the trees,” Adriel explained. “Tis’ a gift we are born with, as the woodland folk, though I fear my people have abandoned those ways in favour of... war. Galanör could do as I just did, if he wished, but he was trained to take life, not grant it.”
Gideon looked past the new tree, to the broken stumps and fallen logs that littered the forest ground. This had been the spot where Malliath was brought down by the other dragons a couple of nights ago. Adriel was truly the caretaker of Dragons’ Reach, healing the trees and plants that suffered under the foot of such large creatures. Again, as the elf moved about, the grass and flowers, even some of the low-hanging branches, subtly moved towards him, as if pulled in by some unseen force. The forest loved Adriel just as much as he loved the forest.
“Where’s Galandavax?” Gideon asked, changing the subject from Galanör.
“Keeping a close eye on Malliath.” Adriel looked to the north.
Gideon didn’t doubt that the elf knew exactly where his oldest friend was. “I feel ashamed for my part in his captivity...” Gideon had tried not to dwell on it, but living among the dragons made it impossible.
“It was not you who placed those enchantments upon his scales.” Adriel bade Gideon to follow him, as they left the scene of devastation and headed deeper into the Reach. “You cannot take the blame for your ancestors failings anymore than you can take the credit for their achievements.”
“I don’t think Malliath sees it that way,” Gideon replied solemnly.
“He requires time, something dragons have in abundance.” Adriel smiled, trying to alleviate Gideon’s guilt. “He will find all that he needs here, in time.”
“What about what the world needs?” Gideon asked pointedly. “The world needs dragons now more than ever, especially the Dragorn. If peace is to be had it will require one such as yourself to broker it between our people.”
“Your approach is far more diplomatic than that of Galanör, I shall give you that.” Adriel continued through the trees and made a sudden left.
“Perhaps asking you to fight the Darkakin is too much,” Gideon went on, “but you could certainly help to prevent a war between the elves and man. Their alliance will be needed to repel the Darkakin.”
Adriel remained silent and showed the mage into a small clearing, with a single smooth rock in the centre. It wasn’t particularly big, coming up to Gideon’s waist, but the rock itself was not what caught the mage’s attention. Buried halfway into the stone was an exquisite elven scimitar, almost majestic in its appearance, as the light of the sun pierced the canopy and reflected off the blade and the hilt. Gideon was drawn to it. He had never fought with a sword before, always favouring his staff and magic, but something about this blade felt...
Before he knew it, Gideon was standing right in front of it with his arm outstretched towards the hilt. The mage caught himself and looked to Adriel for answers, who could only look back at Gideon with a curious expression.
“I don’t understand.” Gideon pulled his hand back, almost afraid to touch the ornate sword.
“Before your kind left The Wild Moores and the Dark War savaged Illian’s lands, the Dragorn were a peacekeeping force to be reckoned with. Elandril, the first of my order, was the greatest warrior. The greatest of all elf kind. He fell in one of the oldest wars in elven history.”
Gideon’s attention was fully arrested by Adriel’s history lesson. He knew that Elandril was also the name of the new elven city in northern Ayda, but he knew nothing of its namesake or any ancient wars beyond the fabled Dark War.
“How did he die?” the mage asked.
“Against the Orc...” Adriel replied bitterly.
“Orc? I’ve never heard of them.”
“And you never will. Elandril united the elves and the dwarves and drove the foul beasts south of Syla’s Gate, into the Undying Mountains, where their numbers dwindled until death finally claimed them. But his sword, Mournblade, has been passed down through the order, as a reminder of what war begets. The Dragorn turned from the way of the sword and offered wisdom in its place.” Adriel turned to the magnificent blade. “We carried them as a symbol rather than a weapon, but I lost mine in the final days of the Dragon War.”
Gideon looked back at the blade, realising that if Adriel had lost his own sword then this one must have belonged to Elandril!
“I was able to retrieve Elandril’s sword before we fled the Lifeless Isles. I placed it in the stone and had Galandavax breathe a special enchantment over it. Only when the Dragorn are truly needed again can Mournblade be pulled free.” Adriel reached out and gripped the red hilt that glistened with minute crystals and golden script. With strength that Gideon knew was quite considerable, Adriel tried to heave the blade free of the stone. It didn’t budge. “You see; our time has passed, Gideon.”
As with all humans, Gideon felt the need to touch the ancient blade, as if that physical connection would cement its existence in his mind. The mage went for the hilt but stopped short when he heard a snapping twig behind them. Ilargo, in all his emerald magnificence, was standing in the clearing, having used his hunting skills to follow them silently. The dragon stared at Gideon and tilted his head.
“It seems you have an admirer...” Adriel said with his typical smile. “Ilargo has never met a human that didn’t want to kill him before. You are something of a spectacle to him.”
“I’m a spectacle to him?” Gideon asked incredulously. “There is no greater spectacle than him.” The mage was truly taken with their kind.
“Indeed, we are of the same mind in that regard.” Adriel walked over to Ilargo and affectionately rubbed the scales on his neck. The green dragon continued to observe Gideon, as if he were the only thing in the clearing.
The mage was suddenly overcome with Ilargo’s emotions when the dragon attempted to communicate with him. Gideon felt the need to know Ilargo as much as the dragon apparently wanted to know him. Was this the dragon’s way of asking him to be friends?
An echo resounded in Gideon’s mind, as if he could hear someone calling to him from far away. The feeling of anticipation filled the mage to the point of bursting, until Adriel stepped between him and Ilargo.
“Is everything alright, Gideon?” the elf asked, concerned with Gideon’s distant expression.
The connection between man and dragon was severed, leaving Gideon to his own emotions. It left the mage a little disorientated and confused. He had no idea why Ilargo was feeling so expectant or why he had decided to communicate it, but Gideon quickly found himself craving that connection
again. Communing with a dragon made him feel whole in a way he had never experienced.
“I’m fine,” Gideon replied. “It just takes some getting used to.”
Adriel laughed softly. “Over a thousand years have passed, but I still remember the first time a dragon decided to speak to me. It can be overwhelming in the beginning. After Galandavax chose me, and I embraced the ways of the Dragorn, I found it much easier sharing actual words than raw emotions all the time.”
Gideon still couldn’t believe that Adriel, and hundreds of Dragorn before him, could actually speak to dragons in the same way they were now speaking.
Ilargo shrugged his mighty wings and turned to leave, glancing at Gideon for a moment before he took off into the sky. The mage watched him fly into the ocean of blue and join his mother, Rainael the emerald star.
In the heart of Dragons’ Reach, Galanör climbed to the top of the highest floating boulders with the grace and speed typical of his kind, today he needed the vantage point to find his prey. From atop the boulder he could see the entire expanse of Dragons’ Reach in every direction. It was the most beautiful prison he had ever seen, but a prison all the same. The elf needed to get out of the crater and save Adilandra, and every second he spent in paradise was a second she spent in hell.
The elven warrior was already annoyed with himself for losing the diviner. For two days he had searched the small lake and the cave hidden behind the waterfall. It was only as the sun set the day before that he found the shards crunched into the cave floor. There wasn’t much that could withstand the weight of Malliath. He found himself craving more information after his few words with Faylen, and now he was completely in the dark. Everything outside of Dragons’ Reach was a mystery.
Empire of Dirt: (Echoes of Fate: Book 2) Page 12