Empire of Dirt: (Echoes of Fate: Book 2)

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  The monsters weren’t far behind, having eaten and mauled all the guards and mages by the entrance. Creatures that crawled, slithered, rolled and flew descended on the gardens and the main keep. The arrows and spells soon found new targets as Valanis made for the main doors.

  The heavy black doors that barred his way were covered in powerful wards designed to keep them shut. It would take hours to undo them all, and Valanis had no intention of being on the island for that long. The dark elf inspected the door and its framework closely, sensing the other spells cast over it that couldn’t be seen by the eye. Indeed the doors would remain closed to him, but that would not stop him entering the building and vaults within.

  The herald of the gods extended both of his hands and used destructive magic to eat into the stonework around the doorframe. The ordinary stone cracked and split, slave to the earthquake that erupted from within the walls. The stone was quickly reduced to crumbling rubble that ran down the doors like a waterfall. Valanis dropped his arms and stood aside before the double doors fell towards him. A cloud of dust was kicked into the air when the heavy metal slammed into the ground, inches from his feet.

  Valanis confidently walked into the dimly lit foyer, ready for whatever they threw at him next. Instead of another monster or spell, an old man, by human standards, was standing between him and the next set of doors. Judging by his fine clothes and arrogant posture, Valanis assumed this to be the bank’s overseer. The dark elf extended his magical aura, to feel out any hidden spells, and found the man to be standing on a barely-visible circle of ancient glyphs. It was no doubt some form of shielding magic or the pathetic human wouldn’t be standing before him.

  “You are not a customer of this establishment. What do you want?” the haughty man asked plainly.

  “I have been asked that question by hundreds over the years,” Valanis mused, “but no one ever seems to grasp the truth.” The dark elf slowly approached the human, a shark circling its prey.

  “And what is the truth?”

  Valanis stopped inches from the edge of the circle. “I’ve never wanted anything.” The elf extended his hand to the man’s throat and pushed through the now-visible barrier. The shield fizzed and sparked under his immense pressure, but his dominance was inevitable. With his gloved hand around the human’s throat, he pulled him close. “I am the herald of the gods, nothing more.” Valanis flicked his wrist and broke the man’s neck as if he were no more than a bird.

  Valanis strode through the lavish corridors, enjoying his every step. It felt exhilarating to be free of the pools and able to unleash his power, however diminished it was without the whole gem. After slaying a few more monsters and disabling a dozen more traps, both magical and mechanical, Valanis threw the last human body aside and finally entered the vaults.

  Their method of transporting money and goods was commendable for their meager knowledge of magic. Giant alcoves, stored high with coins and jewels, lined the caverns beneath the main keep, with the names of different banks and cities written on signs above the entrances. Behind the bars, inside the alcoves, were a series of chests the staff would use to ‘transport’ the coin from Stowhold to the specific branch. After placing the coin in the chest, it could then be accessed by a similarly enchanted chest located in the individual branches. It was perfect for security reasons, allowing the transport of coin without delay or chance of being robbed in transit.

  Valanis had no interest in coin or jewels, however.

  The elf descended deeper into the caverns, relying mostly on his elven eyes to help him navigate the dim surroundings. The sound of water dripping in the distance was lost in the snarl of a large monster. A fearsome guard was a good sign as far as Valanis was concerned, and the snarl was quickly followed by ground-shaking footsteps as a form began to take shape in the gloom.

  “Who that then?” The deep gravelly voice of a cave troll preceded its giant girth.

  Valanis looked upon the simple creature and sighed. The cave troll was at least seven times his height and width, and carried with it a tree-like club. A thick manacle and heavy chain was fixed to his other wrist and disappeared off into the darkness, behind his mighty form. Most of its body looked to be made from rock with a soft belly and chest, covered in moles and scars. Its small head was testament to its intelligence, though Valanis had always thought it a miracle that their species had mastered language at all.

  The herald of the gods raised his arm and dropped it with dramatic effect, bringing down one of the sharp stalactites from the cave ceiling. The spear of rock plunged into the troll’s head and didn’t stop until the bulk of its length was buried in the monster’s gut. Valanis was already walking past the creature when it fell over, shaking the cave and the coins therein.

  Without warning, the elf’s left hand spasmed and retracted into itself, creating a ball of solid muscle. The reaction threatened to creep up his arm and claim his entire body, throwing him into a seizure right there and then. Valanis dropped to his knee, feeling his energy waning and the power of Paldora’s gem leaving him. With his right hand, the dark elf tore off his mask and threw aside his hood, illuminating the cave with his golden pallor.

  It has been tainted…

  Paldora’s seductive voice was sweet in his ear, but her words left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. The Goddess felt so close he could actually feel her breath on his ear.

  “Paldora… give me strength,” Valanis cried.

  I gave you a gift from my heavens. It is not my fault you allowed it to slip through your grasp, herald. The gem now belongs to another…

  Valanis snapped his head to attention, his eyes wide. “The ranger.”

  A thousand years entwined with a boy, leaving you naught but a shell. It no longer favours you, it seems. Perhaps we should have entrusted another with your task.Valanis clamped his jaw shut and fought through the pain emanating from his left arm. He couldn’t help the groans and grunts that escaped his lips.

  “I live only to see you returned to these lands…” The tears in his eyes glistened in the light of his skin.

  Then serve. Use the magic of Naius and find it. Find The Veil…

  With that, he felt Paldora’s ethereal presence disappear as if she were no more than fog in the breeze.

  Valanis called on the shard, set into the ring, and used it to funnel the power of Naius, preventing the limitless well of magic from consuming him. It was another minute before he could stand again and retrieve his mask and conceal his supernatural appearance.

  With no more time to lose, the herald of the gods continued through the cave tunnels until he found the hidden vaults, deep underneath Stowhold. The circular door to the vaults was made of pure silvyr. The rare metal must have been sourced from the dwarves centuries ago and specially crafted by the legendary blacksmiths for a handsome fee.

  Valanis placed the flat of his hand on the door and knew it to be thicker than his chest. This door could keep an army of mountain giants out. He hadn’t come this far to be stopped by something as simple as a door, however. Valanis pressed his hand into the cool metal and exerted his indomitable will upon it. The effect was something close to the eruption of a volcano, causing the silvyr to glow, turning from red to orange, spreading in waves out from his hand. The door melted around his hand and Valanis walked through the gap, unharmed.

  He entered the personal vaults of the six kingdoms of man. Valanis could feel the gods’ anticipation rising at the thought of retrieving the oldest of all relics. The Veil would be his.

  14

  Thieves In The Night

  It took Galanör most of the day to traverse the oasis within Dragons’ Reach, but the lush canopy and long branches offered much needed shelter from the desert sun. The elf was starting to wonder if he would ever grow accustomed to the endless heat, as Adriel had. With the older elf in mind, Galanör looked around to ensure he wasn’t being followed. Every so often a shadow would sweep across the grass when a dragon flew overhead. Their eyes we
re that of a hunter’s and the best in the land, forcing Galanör to seek cover whenever his keen ears heard the beating of wings.

  He hadn’t been told that he couldn’t walk through this part of the land, but he knew Adriel wouldn’t want him near Malliath. There was a good chance that anything on two legs would upset the great dragon after being held against his will by humans for a thousand years.

  That thought only led Galanör to feel better about what he was going to do. After they had rescued or discovered the fate of Adilandra, the elf could watch Malliath the voiceless fly away, truly free for the first time since the Dragon War. Of course, all of that was dependent on Malliath agreeing to take him to Malaysai and the two of them leaving Dragons’ Reach without being stopped.

  That task didn’t seem so impossible when Galanör found the clearing in which Malliath resided. Seeing him so close to other dragons only served to show off his incredible size, with Malliath’s bulk dwarfing many around him. His black scales sparkled under the direct sunlight while he lay in the middle of the giant clearing. The open space was littered with fallen trees and stumps, with tough roots protruding from the ground. It seemed it had become a daily battle for the other dragons to contain Malliath’s destructive rage. That was exactly what Galanör wanted to unleash on the Darkakin.

  Three large dragons glided overhead in slow circles, there to ensure Malliath was intercepted if he took off. Between Galanör and Malliath were four more dragons, three of which were just larger than Ilargo, while the one furthest away appeared to be around the same size as Galandavax. Again, the thought made Galanör look around for any sign of the ebony dragon and his rider. That was when he heard it, the soft crunch of moss under-foot, somewhere behind him.

  Galanör dashed behind a tall bush and slipped behind a tree, keeping one eye on the dragons. The elf waited a moment, listening. A small bush rustled on the other side of his tree before a twig snapped. It was then that Galanör realised it couldn’t be Adriel; the elf would have been far stealthier in his approach. That only left one other.

  “What are you doing here?” Galanör hissed at a startled Gideon.

  “What are you doing here?” The mage looked at the elf with accusing eyes.

  “You followed me?” Galanör grabbed the mage by the arm and pulled him further into the forest, away from the sensitive hearing of dragons.

  “You can’t mean to do what I think, surely?” Gideon pulled free his arm and turned on the elf. “Didn’t you learn anything at Korkanath?”

  Indeed, Galanör remembered the events well and would never forget them. Aside from the fact that he freed the angriest dragon who ever lived and failed to communicate with Malliath, many innocent lives had been taken that day. The faces of the young students who had been slayed under his command would forever haunt the elf. He had taken lives before, but delivering children to the Mer-folk and putting his blade into the young mages of Korkanath had been too much. Galanör now walked a different path, his duty replaced with a sense of honour he was still trying to understand.

  “I remember…” Galanör replied, also aware that Gideon’s closest friend, Abigail Rose had died that same day. Though he hadn’t wielded the magic that killed the girl, the elf still felt responsible.

  “You won’t get two words out before Malliath reduces you to cinders, and that’s if you get to him.” Gideon looked up as if he could see the dragons above the canopy.

  “I have to try, Gideon!” Galanör clamped his jaw shut and searched the area for any dragons that may have heard his hushed outburst. “I have to try…” he repeated in softer tones. “Adilandra isn’t just the queen, she’s the only one who could convince the dragons, and maybe even Adriel, that action is needed. When King Elym attacks Illian, Adilandra will be the only one who can rightfully stand against him. Imagine her influence if she had dragons standing beside her. Just their presence alone could avert war.”

  “We can’t force them to get involved in our wars,” Gideon replied.

  “There wouldn’t be a war if they acted,” Galanör could feel his temper rising.

  “The Darkakin are marching into Illian as we speak, your people will set sail for the Shining Coast soon and the alliance between the six kingdoms has ever been on a knife’s edge; there will be a war, Galanör. You and I both know it will be the biggest war Verda has ever seen, and even the dragons cannot prevent all that bloodshed.” Gideon stood defiant before the elf.

  Galanör was taken aback by mage’s wisdom. For a human, and a young one at that, Gideon was looking at the world with the eyes of an old elf. It was the type of wisdom Galanör should have been using with four centuries on the mage.

  The elf dropped his head in defeat and sat on a nearby rock, flicking his cloak over the top as he did. He was starting to sound like Adilandra. Her hope had apparently rubbed off on him, or perhaps he had taken it on himself as the price for leaving her behind? Galanör knew not, but he did know that there was no way Adilandra would be left to rot in Malaysai.

  “Regardless of what happens after, I am going to rescue her.” Galanör stood up again, his resolve returning. “And I need Malliath to do it.” The elf swept his cloak about him and walked away to continue observing the dragons.

  Gideon walked off into the forest with conflicting thoughts. He agreed that rescuing Adilandra was of the utmost importance, but using a mentally unstable dragon to do it was beyond risky. Malliath was as likely to kill Galanör and Adilandra before flying away again, and who knew what would be left of Malaysai when he was done. Of course there was Adriel to consider. The ancient elf certainly wasn’t the dragons’ keeper, but he was Dragorn, and that title alone offered him more respect than he had been given by Galanör.

  Frustrated, Gideon took no care of his path and continued into the oasis. Should he tell Adriel of Galanör’s plan? His thoughts were tumultuous as he considered the danger Galanör was walking into. If he didn’t act there was a very good chance the elf wouldn’t survive to see the next dawn, not to mention the danger he would be in should Malliath actually take him to Malaysai. Should he then help Galanör? Could they pull off such a dangerous plan if they instead worked together? All the while Adilandra’s life was in the balance, if she was indeed alive.

  Without intending to, Gideon had wandered into the small clearing where Mournblade rested. Any tempestuous thoughts were forgotten as he gazed at the exquisite blade. How of all places had he ended up here? Dragons’ Reach was massive in size and yet he had found himself standing before the sword once more.

  Excitement and anticipation suddenly filled his mind, the feelings coming from nowhere, and it took the mage a moment realise they weren’t his emotions. Gideon turned around to see a familiar green dragon staring at him. Ilargo was certainly getting better at sneaking. The dragon’s feelings began to build and Gideon could feel them threatening to overwhelm his senses. The mage stumbled backwards as the world grew eerily silent and a buzz filled his ears. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, as if desperate to part from his body.

  Take the sword…

  Those three words put Gideon on his knees and brought tears to his eyes. Ilargo’s excitement reached a crescendo, completely overwhelming Gideon, until the edges of his vision blurred and became dark. It was too much for the young mage, who quickly passed out under the shadow of Mournblade.

  Gideon…

  That same voice filled his mind once more, calling him from the ether of his deep sleep. This time the voice wasn’t so deafening, but instead had the lighter tone of a teenage boy.

  Gideon…

  “Gideon?” A new, deeper voice brought Gideon from his slumber.

  The mage felt the cool grass under his face as the world returned. Adriel was crouching by his head with a concerned expression marring his elegant features. Ilargo was lurching over both of them with his long, green neck craning to see past the elf. The mage was finally able to stand with some help from Adriel.

  “What happened?” Gideon
asked, looking for the sun in the sky to discern the passing of time.

  “Ilargo takes the blame,” Adriel replied with a smile. “He explained his error in sharing too much emotion with you. I think he was interested to see how much a human could handle.” Adriel cocked his eyebrow at the young dragon.

  Gideon looked into Ilargo’s blue eyes and lost himself for a minute. He instinctively knew that the dragon didn’t want Gideon to divulge the extent of what they had shared. Now that Gideon thought about it, he wasn’t exactly sure what they had shared. Had he heard actual words from the dragon? It was an impossible thought since he wasn’t an elf or a Dragorn.

  “Let’s get you something to eat.” Adriel guided the confused mage away from Mournblade.

  The sun had set by the time Gideon’s thoughts returned to Galanör and his secret schemes. The mage had instead spent most of the afternoon going over the events surrounding Ilargo. Though he was desperate to get to the bottom of the mystery, Gideon began to fear for Galanör’s life again. On the other side of the small lake, that fed from the central waterfall, Adriel sat against the heaving side of Galandavax, sleeping under the starlight. Ilargo lay close by, casually watching Gideon, but the dragon had yet to share any more emotions.

  Gideon slowly stood up and replaced his shortened staff in its sheath, across back. Adriel remained sleeping and Galandavax never stirred, as the mage crept into the woods beyond the shore. Ilargo watched him disappear but made no attempt to follow him.

  Then Gideon thought he was far enough away from elven and dragon ears, he bolted through the trees. It would take most of the night to reach the clearing where Malliath was being guarded, but he would be damned if he let the foolish elf get himself killed.