Relic of the God

by Philip C. Quaintrell

It wasn't much longer before Galandavax found a clearing big enough to fit both dragons, who naturally lay to form a protective circle around Gideon and Adriel. The elf used magic to pull roots from the ground, which Ilargo was more than happy to light with a dragon-like sneeze. It was cosy and warm, offering enough comfort to help the mage find sleep, but Adriel’s unease could not be ignored.

  Gideon stood up and joined the elf at the edge of their camp, where Galandavax’s head met Ilargo’s tail. “What are you looking at?” he asked, following Adriel’s starward gaze.

  “It’s what’s looking at us that bothers me…”

  The mage took in the expanse of stars above them, searching for any threats, though he had no idea what could harm them up there; they were with the only creatures who could be considered predators of the sky.

  “Dragons’ Reach offered more than just protection from the outside world,” Adriel continued. “As you saw by the lake, when dragons come together in significant numbers their combined magic begins to affect the environment. It also shields them from any who would use magic to observe them.”

  Adriel’s worries quickly became Gideon’s. “Atilan…” The mage looked back at the elf. “Do you think they can see us here?”

  “The extent of their power beyond this world is uncertain. I imagine they are drawn to wells of magic, such as Kaliban, but with so many dragons returning to the world, there will be a surge in the magical realm felt by all, even if they don't understand it.”

  Gideon was still feeling Ilargo’s conviction in his veins. “Let them look,” he said. “Their influence lies across The Adean, far from here. They are helpless to stop us.”

  Adriel turned to the mage. “You are the third generation of Dragorn, Gideon. The Dragon Riders were defeated. The elven Dragorn were defeated. Don't make our mistakes and underestimate your enemy. Dragons are powerful, as are you, but neither is invincible.”

  The elf walked back to the fire without another word, but Gideon could tell that there was more just under the surface.

  “You think I was wrong for revealing the truth.” The mage wasn't asking.

  Adriel crouched by the fire as if he hadn't heard anything. “I think you did what you felt was right, as so many Dragorn have done before you.”

  Gideon heard the words but he didn't believe them. “You’re saying, even though I think it’s right, it doesn't mean it’s the right thing to do. Some part of you must believe that this is the only thing we can do or you wouldn't be here.”

  Adriel appeared to chew over his response. “Do you think that the first Dragon Riders or even Elandril himself had a guidebook? No Gideon, I truly believe that you’re doing as any Dragorn should do; listening to your heart. That is why you shall walk this path alone… eventually.”

  “Wait…” Gideon was putting the elf’s cryptic reply together. “You’re not coming with me?”

  “I will accompany you to Mount Garganafan and even help to you find Kaliban. But when this is all over Galandavax and I will return to Dragons’ Reach.”

  “But… but you’re Dragorn!” Gideon did his best to keep the panic out of his voice. “You have to help me, you have to help all of Verda!”

  Adriel sighed. “I cannot help a world I don't understand. Both of our kin are mysteries to me now. Illian and Ayda will need a new kind of Dragorn, and you have proven so far that Gideon Thorn is that future.”

  Gideon didn't know what to say, but thankfully Ilargo was always there.

  We will find our own way, together, just as Elandril did and those before him.

  “Listen to that wisdom,” Adriel said, despite their conversation being private. “Ilargo has royal blood flowing through his veins; he will not steer you wrong.”

  He cannot hear us, Ilargo reassured. He is just intuitive…

  Gideon sat down on the soft grass and crossed his legs. The future suddenly felt like a mountain to the mage, a mountain he didn't want to climb without a guide. He simply wasn't equipped to lead a new generation of Dragorn.

  “I don't see how I can be anything if I don't complete my training…”

  Adriel offered a warm smile. “I will teach you what I can in our time together, but ultimately, it will be your actions that define you, that guide you to your place in the world.”

  “What if I need you?”

  “You will never need more than Ilargo or that blade on your hip,” Adriel replied, eyeing Mournblade’s red and gold hilt. “Which reminds me; you won't be needing that staff anymore, or the wand.”

  Gideon felt protective of both, though his hand rested on Abigail’s wand, holstered on his thigh. “I’m not giving up magic for a blade.”

  “I’m not asking you too.” Adriel retrieved a square of shortbread from his pouch and broke it into segments. “I’m saying you don't need them anymore.”

  The mage kept his expression of confusion. “I don't understand. Without the Demetrium core of either, I cannot shape magic.”

  Adriel handed half of the shortbread to Gideon. “Ilargo is your Demetrium core now. Dragons are the strongest conduit to the magical realm and you are a Dragorn. Magic flows through Ilargo and into you.” The elf gestured to the fire. “Test if for yourself.”

  Gideon bit his lip mulling it all over. Using magic without a wand or staff went against everything he had been taught at Korkanath, but then again, Adriel had been around before the school’s first bricks were laid. With one hand held out in front of the fire, Gideon thought of a single spell which would pull some of the flames into his palm. Quite wonderfully, the fire flickered and a single flame leaped into his hand and formed a ball of burning light.

  “Amazing…” The mage marvelled at the feat, before twisting his fingers to alter the spell and freeze the ball of fire. The light faded and in its place sat a cold, wet ball of ice.

  Do you see now, Gideon, Ilargo called. Together we have no limits. Or, in other words; without me you’re useless.

  Gideon couldn't help but smile as he met the dragon’s crystal, blue eyes. Thanks...

  “Today’s lesson is over. Get some rest,” Adriel bade. “We will reach Mount Garganafan by dusk tomorrow.” The elf stood up and made for Galandavax, where he fell asleep under his wing.

  You won't give them up, will you?

  Gideon looked down at the wand on his thigh. You already know what I’m going to say, don't you?

  Abigail always wanted you to do the right thing. Keeping her wand reminds you of that…

  She died doing the right thing. She shouldn't be forgotten.

  Ilargo’s head coiled round and rested beside Gideon. I can see her now, in your memories. Abigail Rose will not be forgotten. Through me, you can always see her, just as she was.

  Indeed, Gideon closed his eyes and saw her as perfectly as if she were standing in front of him, her copper ringlets draped over her shoulders. He missed her, missed their long talks into the night and the laughter that always followed. In fact, he just missed laughter in general. The world had become a very serious place in a very short space of time.

  Those times will be had again, Ilargo said. Once our task is complete.

  Gideon slid the wand back into its holster and changed the subject. I’m not ready to give either up yet. I’ve had that staff for a long time and it's served me well.

  At this point you’re just carrying around a piece of wood on your back, Ilargo said with some amusement.

  Gideon rolled his eyes and wished to change the subject again. Did you speak to Rainael about the Echoes of Fate? Adilandra’s point was valid concerning some of its fulfillment.

  I tried to delve into the memories I share with her, but anything about the prophecy was closed to me. It is the only thing she has never shared with me. My mother told me we were to learn about it together…

  Gideon frowned and looked at Adriel on the other side of the fire. Another Dragorn secret then… How many of those am I to uncover?

  Ilargo’s great maw stretched wide and his long tongue
licked the air with a giant yawn. None tonight I feel.

  With that, the green dragon dropped into a deep sleep that would take any human several hours to reach. Gideon smiled and stroked the side of Ilargo’s jaw, truly happy to have him as a companion for life, and what a long life they were to have. Thoughts of immortality gave Gideon a headache that was always sure to put him to sleep, and so the Dragorn leaned into Ilargo’s neck and joined him in slumber.

  II

  Part Two

  12

  Tidings of war

  The halls of Velia felt cold and hollow to Tai’garn. As an elf, he was more accustomed to life among the trees, but as an elder who sat on King Elym’s high council, he was also used to lavish quarters. In his eyes, King Rengar could do with a little more wood and lot less stone. Tai’garn blinked hard to focus his mind again, as his thoughts continued to wander during Lord Marshal Horvarth’s report to the king. It seemed to the elf that the leader of the Graycoats enjoyed ten words where two would suffice.

  Beside him, Ezeric and Nalmar appeared as exhausted as he felt. All three elves had remained awake during their journey south, from Darkwell. After battling Samandriel Zathya, one of Valanis’ generals, Tai’garn had feared reprisals on the road, believing that they three were the company’s greatest chance of making it safely to Velia. Tai’garn had respect for the Graycoats’ skills, but there were none among them who could even challenge Samandriel as he had.

  King Rengar was listening to Horvarth’s report, but his eyes were fixed on the elves. Tai’garn had quickly become accustomed to the attention they garnered from everyone around them, even the knights, though King Rengar’s gaze was almost predatory.

  Before another thought could pass through the elder’s head, an odour worse than all the humans combined invaded his nose. Judging by the expressions on Ezeric and Nalmar’s faces, he wasn't the only one to inhale the foul smell.

  “Sorry about that.” The rough voice and alcohol-soaked breath came from beside Tai’garn, where the disgraced knight, Kaleb Jordain, stood. “In hindsight, those beans were probably not the best idea…”

  Tai’garn sighed. “Humans…”

  Their hushed words caught the king’s eye and he silenced Lord Marshal Horvarth with a hand. “What say our elven guests of this disturbing matter?”

  Tai’garn let his hood fall over his back before standing before King Rengar. “It is as Lord Marshal Horvarth reports, Your Grace. It seems the kingdom of Namdhor in the north has taken up arms against your people, though I suspect the land of Orith is merely a puppet.”

  “A puppet?” Rengar echoed from his throne. “I can't imagine King Merkaris Tion being anyone’s puppet. Is this why you have arrived on our shores, Elder Tai’garn?”

  “In part, Your Grace. King Elym has received word that his daughter, Princess Reyna, is no longer within the borders of Alborn, your country. My king fears for the safety of the princess, and so he has sent us to ensure her return to Ayda.”

  King Rengar shuffled to the edge of his seat. “Are we not to continue with our talks?”

  Tai’garn felt a great sorrow overcome him. He wanted to tell the king to rally the armies of Illian and present King Elym with a deterrent that would see the war ended before it could begin. His place was to serve his king and his people, however, and in truth, Tai’garn couldn't say he knew Ezeric and Nalmar well enough to judge their actions should he warn man of the impending invasion.

  He offered Atilan, the king of the gods, a silent prayer for peace before replying, “There will be no more negotiations with King Elym until Princess Reyna is found and safely returned to Ayda, Your Grace.”

  “I see…” King Rengar’s words could barely be heard in the hall. “You said in part. What is the other reason for your presence?”

  Tai’garn called upon his long life of experience to find the right words. “It is our belief that darker forces are at work in Illian. It is possible that King Tion of Namdhor plans to invade your land on behalf of another, one who would see all of Verda under his control.”

  Murmurs and whispers broke out among the gathered Graycoats and Velian officials. Tai’garn couldn't tell if they believed him or not, but there sounded an edge of panic in their collective voice.

  “Of whom do you speak?” King Rengar asked.

  The elder hesitated before saying the name out loud. “Valanis.”

  King Rengar bowed his head in contemplation for a moment. “My elvish history is a little rusty, Elder Tai’garn. Wasn't Valanis some kind of villain from an old legend?”

  “I assure you, as one who has lived long enough to have witnessed his malice, Valanis is very real. He started the civil war among my people as your own were exploring the land beyond The Wild Moores. The Dark War ended with Valanis’ defeat in Elethiah, but we were deceived, Your Grace. Valanis has been free for some time. It was one of his Hand who attacked us in Darkwell, the same shade who commands King Tion’s forces.”

  King Rengar sat back on his throne. “You speak grave words indeed, Elder. If you are correct my kingdom is soon to be under siege by an elf.” Rengar glanced at the Lord Marshal. “The attack on West Fellion was reportedly led by an elf…” Tai’garn could see the king putting some of the pieces together. “Should King Elym not have sent more than a handful to help us root out this evil?”

  Tai’garn could feel Ezeric and Nalmar’s eyes on him. The elder knew the response to give that would work perfectly for the inevitable invasion, but he couldn't find the will to say it.

  In his hesitation, Ezeric replied, “King Elym will send the entire elven army to defend this realm, Your Grace. We can have word sent to him immediately.”

  King Rengar held an expression of suspicion, no doubt curious as to why Tai’garn had held his tongue. Another moment passed in which the elder knew he should have spoken up, but two thousand years of servitude was a hard thing to ignore.

  “We would be grateful for any alliance,” Rengar said, “though King Tion’s forces are smaller than my own. With aid from Lirian, we should beat back their numbers with few casualties.”

  A door to the side of the hall creaked open and a soldier appeared in a flowing blue cloak. Judging by his appearance and the confidence with which he approached the throne, he was a captain or higher. The man leaned into King Rengar’s ear and whispered while handing him two small strips of parchment. Tai’garn couldn't discern the words being spoken, but Rengar’s face was far more telling of their disturbing nature.

  The king waved the soldier away and took an extra second to re-read the missives. “Word from our people in The Arid Lands.” Rengar lifted the parchment up between his fingers, his expression horrified. “Karath is… gone.”

  The assembly erupted in conversation, while Tai’garn pictured the city on a map in his mind. Karath was the largest and capital city in the south, situated not far from Syla’s Gate. The elf couldn't imagine how an entire city could be gone.

  “Gone? How can this be?” Lord Marshal Horvarth asked.

  Rengar was still staring at the parchment. “I have another message from the governor of Galosha. Thousands of refugees from Karath and Calmardra have arrived seeking shelter. They are heading this way…”

  “But what has sacked an entire city?” Horvarth continued. “King Tion could not have split his forces.”

  King Rengar sounded as if he could barely believe his own words. “It doesn't say sacked, Lord Marshal. It says gone. Those fleeing The Arid Lands claim the Darkakin are responsible.”

  The hall erupted once more in an uproar. Tai’garn turned to Ezeric and Nalmar, who both appeared as distressed as the knights and officials sounded. The Darkakin had been exiled by their kin, shortly before the Dark War, when Tai’garn was only a child, still, the savages burned brightly in his oldest of memories.

  “I sense Valanis’ hand in this,” Nalmar said.

  “Agreed,” Tai’garn replied, “but how? How could he have found the savages and found a way past Syla�
�s Gate?”

  “Those are answers we should be gathering,” Ezeric whispered urgently.

  “Karath!” Kale Jordain exclaimed into their huddle. “That’s where Galfrey and the others were heading. You know what that means?”

  The elder nodded. “There’s a good chance Princess Reyna is among the refugees from Karath. She could be heading towards us.”

  “Well,” Kaleb burped, “I was thinking more about the coin I’m owed by Galfrey, but yes, I suppose what you said…” The haggard ranger took a swig from his skin and forgot his next words.

  “We stay,” Tai’garn looked directly at Ezeric, “for now.”

  “Muster my armies!” King Rengar was standing now, barking orders to his generals. “Bring everyone back to Velia until our enemies are clear to see. Have Barossh and Galosha retreat and alert the city watch to prepare for a siege immediately. Word must be sent to Queen Isabella of Lirian. Her forces will be needed if we are to face an army from the north and south. Lord Marshal Horvarth, can I count on your Graycoats in this dark hour?”

  Horvarth glanced at the sorry state of what was left of his order, but his response was confident. “We will fight for the realm.”

  King Rengar locked eyes with Tai’garn. “Then we prepare for war…”

  Half an ocean away, Elym of House Sevari, king of the elves, and Lord of Elandril surveyed the western horizon. Just beyond his sight was the fortress city of Velia, the crown of man’s world. For all of his concerns about the coming war, Elym struggled to focus on anything other than the safety of his daughter, Reyna. After the report from Tai’garn, the princess was trapped in a country already at war.

  “My Lord…” High Guardian Varӧ joined him at the bow. “You requested my presence.”

  Elym couldn't wrest his eyes from the horizon, his imagination run wrought with what horrors had been unleashed on Illian.

  Varӧ took a step closer and lowered his voice. “My Lord?