Relic of the God

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  The two elves lay there for a long moment, panting into the dark. The lair of the famous Arakesh was pitch black, but Faylen’s heightened sense of hearing could tell that the beast in the pit was keeping its distance. The monsters of the labyrinth had probably learned long ago not to wander into Nightfall.

  The sound of a blade being sheathed to her left brought Faylen back to the conundrum of Alidyr. He was weak, weaker than she had ever seen him. Their pact had been temporary and mutually beneficial, but now they were free and one of the most evil beings in Verda was vulnerable. Faylen gritted her teeth with the effort required to stand up; the pain in her ankle was flowing up her leg in waves. Calling on her sixth sense, the one that connected all elves to the magical realm, Faylen could feel that she had just enough in her to finish Alidyr off.

  The head of the Hand groaned to her left and she heard him trying to lift himself up against a wall or a pillar. Faylen could smell the blood in the air, but she had no idea anymore whether it was hers or Alidyr’s. Rising to her full height, the elf knew she was only going to get one shot at killing the wretch. She couldn't miss.

  With one hand, the only one she could fully extend, Faylen conjured a ball of molten fire hot enough to melt stone. The spell flew from her hand, lighting up the dark as it shot across the chamber. Faylen’s stomach dropped when the ball of fire impacted against a pillar and did no more than reduce it to slag. Alidyr was gone.

  The elf turned every way in the dark, but the glow from the molten stone wasn't nearly enough to pierce the shadows of Nightfall. Faylen whispered a spell into her palm and released the orb of light into the abyss above her. The chamber came to life, creating stark shadows in every corner. The pit was behind her and the chamber was two-tiered with a set of steps that led up to the Cradle, the throne room of Nightfall’s Father. She hobbled about, trying to see into the darkest parts of the room, searching frantically for Alidyr’s white robes.

  “Did you really think it would be that easy?” Alidyr’s voice came from everywhere.

  Faylen’s heart rate increased dramatically, but she refused to give into her fear. “Come out and face me!”

  Alidyr’s laugh sounded distant, but his words were a whisper in Faylen’s ear. “I already am.”

  Faylen swivelled on the spot with as much speed and grace as her ankle would allow, but Alidyr was ready for her. He caught her closed fist mid-air and followed up with a solid palm to Faylen’s chest, sending her sprawling across the floor. Her recovery was slow, with Alidyr already standing over her when she got to her knees. With one hand, he picked her up by the throat and tossed her aside, until she slammed into a pillar. Faylen’s head bounced off the stone and struggled to correct her sight.

  Crawling away, Faylen looked back at Alidyr under the glow of the white light. There was no limp or sign of any pain from his limbs as he strode across the chamber. His robes were tattered and coated in blood and his hands and face were still lined with cuts and bruises, but they didn't appear to bother the elf.

  “I thank you for your assistance in the pit,” Alidyr commented casually. “I could never have escaped were it not for your help.” The menacing elf crouched over Faylen’s body and stroked the hair from her face. “Don't blame yourself; you couldn't have known the power available to me. Valanis gifted me long ago with just a slither of Naius’ magic. I am not an elf as you are.”

  Faylen wanted to lash out and hurt him in any way she could, but her body had reached its limits. She settled for spitting in his face.

  Alidyr smiled and wiped the spit away. “Good. You still have some spirit in you. I can use that…” A single punch to the face sent her into a world of black.

  It was pain that brought Faylen Haldӧr back to reality. Though she didn't remember being dropped, the pain in her knees suggested just that. Her eyes hurt too under the light of a flaming torch, held over her head. The elf’s sense was suddenly overloaded with the feel of sand under knees, the taste of blood in her mouth, the smell of horses, and the sounds of talking. It took several hard blinks to bring the world into focus.

  “This is your prize?” The voice came from atop the closest horse. “Where is the gem, brother?”

  Any sense of hope that Faylen might have mustered was taken from her. Under the starry, night sky, the elf could see that the voice belonged to Thallan Tassariӧn, the sword of Valanis. Garbed in his usual armour of black and gold, his dark cloak and hood consumed him like a wraith. A single black cloth concealed his mouth and nose, revealing only his golden eyes and pale complexion. Beside him were a dozen Arakesh on horseback, each wearing their red blindfolds with twin-swords on their back.

  Alidyr stood over Faylen with a strong hand gripping her collar. A glance over her shoulder informed Faylen that they were on the edge of the gorge, above the entrance to Nightfall. There was pain in her wrists too, quickly explained by the fact that her hands were secured behind her back, though she couldn't see what bound them.

  “The ranger has it,” Alidyr replied coolly.

  “The ranger?” Thallan echoed with an amused tone. “It seems you have met your match in this one; he continuously gets the better of you.”

  “The gods will see it put in my path again.” Alidyr tightened his grip on Faylen’s collar. “I have help now…”

  Faylen looked up at the elf with glassy eyes, unsure of his meaning. She wanted to struggle and make some kind of protest, but every part of her body was in pain and exhausted.

  “I leave the gem’s retrieval to you,” Thallan said. “Our master has given me the task of taking Illian.”

  “Indeed,” Alidyr replied wearily. “You march on Calmardra?”

  “Only by way of reaching Velia. Valanis wishes a show of force before taking the other kingdoms. Besides, the beast needs feeding…”

  Faylen followed Thallan’s glance over his shoulder and looked on in horror. Thousands of Darkakin marched through the desert, illuminated by just as many torches. Between them were the hulking forms of giant cave trolls, chained around the neck and forced into pushing machines of war. The outer edges of the army were patrolled by Darkakin astride lizards as big as any horse.

  “You’ve actually got them marching in lines. Well done, brother.” Alidyr hoisted Faylen from the ground and kept her standing with one hand.

  “Yes,” Thallan replied, “though they weren't overly fond of the new armour the Karathans had made for them.”

  Alidyr walked over to the closest horse, dragging Faylen, and with a look had the Arakesh dismounting for him. “When they face the armies of Illian they will understand the need for armour, just as you will make your new pets understand that my prisoner here is not to be touched.”

  “That’s easier said than done with these savages,” Thallan replied.

  “Arakesh!” Alidyr pulled Faylen onto the horse. “Should anyone touch this elf in a displeasing fashion, you are to remove their head.”

  As one, the assassins beat the dark armour over their chest. Thallan appeared somewhat uncomfortable after the display of loyalty, though Faylen guessed that to be Alidyr’s true goal.

  “What use is she?” Thallan asked.

  Alidyr replied cryptically, “You have your task, brother, and I mine.”

  Faylen blinked the tears from her eyes and tried to swallow the regret that consumed her.

  She should have killed them both when she had the chance...

  9

  family

  Despite the late hour, Princess Reyna stood in the middle of what should have been a busy street, but Calmardra was a ghost city now. The elf felt it was a suitable mirror for herself. Losing Faylen was all she could think about, with her mind running through the events of her death over and over again. There must have been something she could have done to save her, anything! Reyna looked at the green cloak of Asher, who walked ahead of the group, and knew someone who should have done something.

  “We should get off the streets,” the ranger commented, leading his horse
by the reins.

  “It looks like most have fled,” Nathaniel said, inspecting an empty bakery.

  The ranger bent down and examined an abandoned cuddly toy. “It’s those who remained that bother me...”

  Reyna’s keen ears heard rushing footsteps passing through the alleys and hushed whispers breaching the open windows above. Like Karath, Calmardra was primarily three and four-story buildings with towering temples and shrines dotted between. The city itself, however, was encompassed inside a wall that stood no chance of repelling Valanis or the Darkakin.

  “Can you hear them too?” Nasta Nal-Aket asked quietly, if somewhat amused. He stroked his horse’s mane, keeping the animal content and quiet.

  Reyna felt she needed to wash every time the Father of Nightfall spoke to her. “We’re being surrounded,” the elf announced to the others.

  Asher pulled free the silvyr short-sword from his back. “The city has turned wild.”

  The princess left her own blade where it was, but the grip on her magical bow tightened. “We need to find shelter.” Her words were aimed at Nathaniel.

  “And somewhere with a vantage point,” he replied, with his own bow in hand.

  Nasta casually picked up a tall stick leaning against the bakery wall. “Might I suggest somewhere with a southern view?”

  Reyna would never say it, but she agreed with the old assassin; they would need to keep a close eye on the horizon for any sign of the Darkakin approaching.

  Asher scanned the shadowed windows while rotating his left shoulder with visible pain. “We can find somewhere on -”

  Reyna had already nocked an arrow when the three thugs sprung from the abandoned tavern, beside Nasta. The heavy-set men charged at the old assassin with clubs and knives, screaming in an attempt to sound fierce. Their efforts were wasted. Reyna held onto her arrow and instead watched as Nasta dispatched the thugs with his new stick. The wood cracked against their skulls and dislocated joints in a flurry of techniques that showed off the older man’s flexibility.

  It was only a few seconds before the men were unconscious in the middle of the street.

  Nasta cocked his head to the side. “There are more coming…”

  “This way,” Asher growled, but Reyna could tell he was pushing through the physical pain.

  The four hurried through the darkened streets, each checking the various buildings for shelter or foe. Leading the horses slowed them down in the narrow streets, but their hooves constantly echoed off the walls, giving their position away. Reyna aimed her bow down every passage and alley as they flitted by them, covering their backs. The following footsteps gradually grew distant, with Asher using the echoes to confuse the thugs and lead them on a merry chase, which had the fools going back on themselves.

  “In here,” Nasta hissed, tapping his stick against a broken door. “The whole building is empty.”

  Reyna looked up at the four-story block, but her senses were not nearly heightened enough to make a statement such as Nasta’s. In her eyes, it appeared just as ominous as any other building devoid of light. Being an elf, however, allowed the princess to move through the building without a sound, her feet ever light on the floorboards. Asher and Nasta moved like wraiths in the night, sinking in and out of the shadows as they journeyed to the top floor. Nathaniel was not so graced; his every step was offensive to Reyna’s sensitive ears.

  Each floor was somebody’s home, including the dwelling at the bottom, where they had left the horses. It was cramped, but at least they were safe and warm, providing no one decided to investigate that particular building. By the time they reached the top floor it was clear to see that the whole block had already been ransacked.

  The rooms at the top were equally abandoned and dishevelled. The family had clearly left their home in a rush, gathering whatever supplies they could carry before fleeing. Clothes, tools and even a child’s toys were strewn across the modest living space. Asher immediately opened the door onto the balcony and took in their environment. Indeed, they had a good view of the southern horizon, which was draped in stars. Nathaniel quickly inspected the adjoining rooms for any threats, but just as Nasta had said, the building was empty.

  “We can rest here,” Nathaniel said. “We’ll gather supplies and leave at dawn.”

  “I don't think the locals are going to be much help,” Reyna opined.

  “I will go,” Nasta said, surprising them all.

  Nathaniel frowned. “Why don't I like you helping us?”

  Nasta turned from the door and made for the balcony instead. “Who said I was helping you, Graycoat?” The old assassin ignored Asher on the balcony and deftly jumped to the next building, disappearing into the shadows again.

  “I really don't like him…” Nathaniel added.

  Asher stood in the entrance to the balcony. “Find something to barricade the door. I’ll keep watch from out here.”

  Reyna could feel the ranger’s eyes on her, but she refused to look at him. A part of her wanted to mend things with Asher, but her elven temper would rather she beat him to a pulp. The princess kept her gaze low and waited for him to retreat to the balcony again.

  Nathaniel barricaded the door with a set of drawers and a stool before settling down opposite Reyna. The two sat on rugs and cushions on the floor in an uncomfortable silence. It was clear to the elf that Nathaniel had something to say, that he had wanted to talk to her for some time in fact, but Reyna deliberately refrained from starting any conversation.

  Since Faylen had died there seemed little point in pursuing anything with the knight. Her mentor’s death was yet more proof that none of them might survive Valanis’ plans for Illian. Not to mention the sting of death. Elves simply weren't born with the coping mechanisms of losing a loved one, and she loved Faylen more than any other, perhaps even her mother.

  The silence continued, but the room grew colder as the desert air brought its nightly chill.

  “Here,” Nathaniel picked up a thick blanket and draped it over shoulders, “keep warm.”

  “Thank you.” Reyna’s smile never reached her eyes.

  Nathaniel was sat beside her now. She enjoyed the warmth of his presence and the press of his body against hers, but all other urges were dampened by grief.

  “Can you still see it?” he asked after some time.

  “See what?” Reyna turned to him, but never met his eyes.

  “That life we dared to dream of, after all of this.”

  Reyna blinked hard to keep her tears to herself. “You mean the life of an elven princess and a mortal knight?” Faylen’s loss had robbed her of all hope. “I fear it shall remain a dream…”

  Nathaniel hesitated. “Reyna…” The knight looked down at the floor between his legs. “I thought I lost you at Syla’s Gate. When I couldn't find you in the chaos I feared the worst, but that fear brought clarity. The world is against us aye, but we’ve defied the odds so far haven't we? What I do know is… I love -”

  “Don’t.” Reyna’s tone ended the knight’s proclamation. “You speak of defying the odds but there is an overwhelming chance we won't live to see the end of Valanis. Besides… immortals and mortals were never meant to walk hand-in-hand. You know it as well as I.”

  “You don't believe that,” Nathaniel countered. “I know you don't.”

  “It’s all I have to offer.”

  Nathaniel remained very quiet, but Reyna could tell his breathing had quickened. The knight removed the dirty bandages from his hands and casually inspected the blood-crusted knuckles. As he clenched his fists the cuts opened up and produced fresh blood, though he cared little. Despite the numbness that had overtaken her, Reyna couldn't stand to see him injured.

  The elf brushed off her blanket and took his hands in hers. “Stay still.”

  “No, wait,” Nathaniel protested. “You must save your energy.”

  “Stay still,” she instructed.

  Reyna poured out her magic like water from a spring and guided it to wash over Nathaniel�
�s hands. The blood clotted instantly and the broken skin began to knit back together, leaving only the stain of dried blood behind.

  “Thank you,” Nathaniel said, meeting her eyes for a painful moment. “You are gifted with healing hands.”

  “I was taught by the best…” Again, tears threatened to overwhelm her, but Reyna refused to give in.

  Another moment of awkward silence sat between the two, as the princess gathered the blanket around her once more.

  “You can't keep blaming him.” Though clearly scorned, Nathaniel changed the subject, looking through the window where Asher sat huddled in the corner of the balcony.

  Reyna had a wicked retort on the end of her tongue but the words couldn't take shape. “He took us down there and he couldn't get us out...”

  “We followed him down there,” Nathaniel corrected. “He didn't even want to go.”

  “He said he could use Paldora’s gem to get us out. If he had, Faylen would be…” Reyna had to stop before the tears won out.

  “Asher nearly died trying to use the gem, Reyna. We both saw it. It’s too powerful to be wielded by a man.”

  “He can touch it, can't he? That’s more than the rest of us. He should…” Reyna gritted her teeth, fighting the rage that fought its way to the surface.

  “You’re grieving and angry,” Nathaniel persisted. “We all are, even Asher.”

  “What would he have to grieve? You have to love something to miss it.”

  Nathaniel stood up and made for the cot by the wall. “I don't know. I think he’s been grieving his whole life.”

  Reyna’s head popped up. “About what?”

  Nathaniel settled into the cot. “For what could have been…”

  The knight fell asleep with practiced ease, leaving Reyna to ponder upon his words. She had no doubt that the ranger’s life had been a hard one; that was easy to see on his face alone. The elf in no way envied him, being taken in by murderous assassins and before that a life in The Wild Moores as an Outlander. The opportunity to find a wife and start a family had been taken from Asher, and with it any semblance of normality.