Relic of the God

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “This is still the right course,” Hadavad said in a calming voice. Tauren almost suspected magic in her tone, as every word from her mouth calmed him down.

  “How can you say that?” General Kail asked.

  “Because there is nowhere else to be,” Hadavad replied softly.

  The sun was setting before the caravan had finished unloading outside the main gates. It was unsettling to be under the watchful eyes of the looming kings of old, and Tauren had always hated having his back to a wall. Still, it gave his people a real chance to rest after travelling so far with so very few stops. He could see the exhaustion on their faces and that of the animals who had been brought with them. With fields as far as the eye could see, there would be no chance of the Darkakin sneaking up on them now though.

  “What are you thinking?” Glaide asked, sitting on top of a discarded barrel.

  Tauren turned from his gaze across the burnt-orange horizon to look at the ranger. Behind them were tents of all sizes being erected and scattered at the base of Velia’s walls. Small fires were already burning and General Kail had ordered his men to set up a perimeter guard. There was little trust between the two nations.

  “What am I thinking?” Tauren repeated the question. “I’m thinking that if the Darkakin march over that hill,” he gestured to the south, the direction in which they had also arrived, “the Velian army will be so distracted that we might be able to escape to the north. Try and save as many as we can…”

  “I’m afraid the north can offer you only death.” The new voice came from the shadows of the nearest tent, where a figure stood hidden within robes and a large hood. Both Tauren and Glaide stood up with their hands reaching for a blade, but the figure raised a hand. “Please, I mean you no ill will.”

  Tauren still pulled on the hidden short-sword, sitting upside down on his back, only to find the hilt oddly stiff and the blade refusing to come free. Looking at Glaide, the ranger was experiencing the same issue with his own sword.

  The shadowy figure stepped into the dying light of the sun, revealing a youthful face and elegant features. Flowing, dark hair ran free from the hood and covered his chest, but there was a quality to the man that Tauren recognised, though he was certain they had never met.

  “He speaks the truth,” Hadavad arrived as if from nowhere and Tauren wondered if his skills were slipping. “There is a hum of magic about you, sir.”

  The man met Hadavad’s eyes before lifting his hood and revealing that he was anything but a man. The elf stood very still for a moment and observed their reactions.

  “I am not the first elf you have met,” he finally said.

  “No,” Tauren replied, still not at ease with the sudden arrival.

  “You have met Princes Reyna?” the elf asked.

  Hadavad answered, “Yes, and Faylen Haldӧr.”

  “They are not the only elves we have met,” Tauren was quick to say. “There were two others who went by other names. They were not so kind.”

  The elf lifted his chin, taking in Tauren’s words very carefully. “You have come across the Hand of Valanis. The fact that you have lived to tell of it is a marvel. You must be great warriors…”

  “Who are you?” Tauren would have asked the question with a blade in hand if he could pull it free.

  “I am Tai’garn, an elder on the council of King Elym.” The elf announced his title with a tone of importance, but it meant nothing to The White Owl.

  “And why are you sneaking around my camp?”

  Tai’garn raised an eyebrow. “No one is permitted to leave the city, especially elven guests. I am here to find Princess Reyna and see her safely returned to Ayda. I see now that she is not among you…” The elf looked to the camp, beyond the three, with a grim expression.

  “They left us days ago,” Glaide said. “After the Darkakin broke through. Theirs was a grave mission, more important than any of ours.”

  “Mission?” Tai’garn inquired. “Where were they going?”

  Glaide and Tauren exchanged questioning looks, wondering just how much they could trust this elf.

  “He can be trusted,” Hadavad promised. “There is nothing darkly about him.”

  Tauren took a breath. “They were going to Nightfall, the home of the Arakesh.”

  “Why would they go there?” Tai’garn asked with great concern.

  “To retrieve Paldora’s gem,” Glaide answered. “It’s the only weapon we have against -”

  “Valanis…” Tai’garn finished, his gaze distant now. The elf’s regal composure disappeared and he sat on Glaide’s barrel, cupping his jaw. “This changes everything.”

  “We have no way of knowing if they succeeded,” Glaide explained. “If they survived Nightfall they’re a few days behind us. The plan was to all meet here.”

  It was impossible to know what Tai’garn was thinking beyond grave concern. Tauren wanted to offer him some words of hope but the world was quickly running dry of it.

  “How did the Darkakin break through Syla’s Gate?” The elf asked absently.

  “Paldora’s star,” Hadavad said. “It pierced daylight’s sky and struck the land south of the gate. The shock of it tore the gates from their hinges.”

  “It was Valanis,” Tauren confirmed. “We all saw him pull it from the sky.”

  Tai’garn closed his eyes and stroked his forehead. “The Echoes of Fate cannot be denied…”

  “What was that?” Tauren asked.

  “Nothing of concern,” the elf replied, waving his hand away. “I must take my leave immediately and head south.”

  “That would be foolish,” Glaide warned. “The Darkakin are ten thousand strong at least and you’ll never find the princess. They’re with a friend of mine and he’s guaranteed not to use the roads. You could pass each other by and never know it.”

  Tai’garn had no reply but to simply nod his head and make to leave.

  “Wait,” Tauren called. “You said the north can offer only death?”

  The elf paused before turning back to answer. “Valanis now commands the armies of King Merkaris Tion. The legions of Namdhor march south as the Darkakin march north.”

  “Can we not go west, to Lirian? My people will die if we stay here.”

  Tai’garn looked to the west, though the trees of The Evermoore were far from sight. “You will find no refuge in Felgarn. They have agreed to supply forces to aid Velia. Fate, it seems, has chosen this very spot. This is where the world collides…”

  22

  Echoes of the past

  The catacombs of Mount Garganafan were dizzyingly vast and disorientingly dark. Gideon used his staff to light the way while Adriel commanded a glowing orb to follow them from above. The stark light produced a constant movement of shadows across the walls, always working to trick the mage’s mind into thinking the worst. The elf had reminded him several times that they were alone inside the mountain, but it did little to settle Gideon’s nerves. The feeling of being watched had followed him for too long now.

  I am still with you, Ilargo’s words echoed in his mind.

  I wish you were actually here with me. I don't like being so far away from you.

  Through Ilargo, Gideon could feel the breeze against the dragon’s scales and the grass under his claws. It helped to take his mind off the tons of rock that surrounded him.

  I could not go anywhere without the sky above my head.

  Gideon felt the shiver that ran through Ilargo run down his own spine. I can't say I’m too happy about, either.

  Every tunnel they turned down appeared the same to the young Dragorn. The air became stale and far colder the deeper they explored. Gideon pulled his red, leather jacket about him and blew into his hands to keep them warm. Usually, the warmth from his staff could keep his fingers from freezing, but the chill was biting to the bone.

  “How long have we been walking now?” His voice echoed off the walls.

  “Most of the day,” Adriel replied. “The journey into the heart
of the mountain is long. It took me many days to navigate my way through the first time.”

  That was not what Gideon wanted to hear. “You remember the way, don't you?”

  Adriel smiled. “My memory is very good, like that of my kin, but I need not always rely on it. A dragon never forgets a sight, sound or taste.” The elf put a finger to his temple. “Galandavax is showing me the way. He shares my memories and remembers the route I took.”

  Talk of sharing memories brought Gideon back to the Echoes of Fate. It was a piece of the puzzle he was yet to understand and all the more disturbing that Rainael the emerald star refused to share her memories with Ilargo. They continued walking through the dark for some time, allowing Gideon to think of a way to bring it up. Getting answers out of Adriel without him turning them into a lesson or a riddle was hard work.

  “Speak or don't speak,” Adriel said spontaneously.

  “What?”

  “You humans,” Adriel explained with a smile in the corner of his mouth, “your face speaks more than your mouth.”

  Gideon rolled his eyes. “I forget… you see everything.”

  Adriel paused at a junction in the labyrinth, before taking the tunnel on the left. “Indeed I do, Mr. Thorn. So refrain from rolling your eyes at me.”

  Gideon swallowed his response and decided to just come out with it. “What are you not telling me about the Echoes of Fate?”

  Adriel didn't even slow down. “What do you know of it?”

  This is going to be harder than I thought…

  Keep pushing him, Ilargo said. He has answers.

  “Until I met Adilandra I hadn't even heard of it. Now it seems like a hard thing to wrap my head around, knowing what I do about the gods.”

  Adriel held up his hand to silence the Dragorn. The elf tilted his head one way, then the next. Gideon couldn't be sure what he was listening for, but it was apparently to their right.

  “The Echoes of Fate were uttered aloud by Nalana Sevari a thousand years ago. They were heard by her brother, King Elym, and a handful of others. They were her last words.” Adriel stopped again and crouched down, where his hand brushed against the cold ground. Gideon aimed his staff low and saw that a small stream was running through the tunnel, entering and disappearing again through a slither in the jagged walls.

  “How did she die?” Gideon asked, all the more curious as to how another Dragorn could perish.

  “After the battle of Elethiah, when the Dark War ended, Nalana searched The Wild Moores for a small boy, an Outlander. She had given him a very precious gift to hide. Unfortunately, the boy couldn't be found and the Outlanders attacked.” Adriel navigated a small climb up to another tunnel.

  “Why do I still feel like you’re holding back?” Gideon pushed.

  “Some secrets are shared via our bond with the dragons, such as the truth about the gods and The Veil. Other secrets can only be told. The truth of the prophecy was only ever known to a small handful of Dragorn.”

  Gideon considered the number of Dragorn walking on Verda’s earth. “There isn't even a handful of us left, Adriel…”

  “Indeed,” the elf replied with a dark tone. “Nalana Sevari came across something the dragons believed to have been wiped out during the First War, with Atilan’s people. Tovun, her dragon, was in council with Rainael and the others at the time, deciding who should replace Garganafan as the leader. All of Nalana’s memories were shared with those on the council in Tovun’s dying moments. We all bore witness to the darkness that dwelled in The Wild Moores…” Adriel stopped again to check the way.

  “Tovun and Nalana died apart then?” Gideon couldn't think of death easily with his young age, but the idea of leaving the world and Ilargo not being at his side was distressing.

  “Yes. Tovun died of Nalana’s wounds. But in searching for the boy, she came across a cave hidden in the heart of the forest. As you know, the Outlanders are the descendants of the first people, forced into hiding by the dragons. It seemed they took some of their old religions with them.”

  “Religions? You mean the gods had gods?” Gideon couldn't imagine anyone as egotistical as Atilan worshipping a deity.

  “Every culture has gods, Gideon. The first people worshipped only one god, however, a god of strength with little care for those who could not defend themselves. They called him Kaliban.”

  “Kaliban? You mean the fortress in Vengora? Where the pools of Naius are?”

  “Named after his beloved god,” Adriel confirmed. “Though whether Atilan truly worshipped Kaliban has never been answered. The Dragon Riders of the time believed that he only appeared to have faith for the sake of his people.”

  “What do you think?” Gideon asked.

  Adriel sighed. “I think he believed himself a god and that there was no room in his world for another.”

  “So how does this old religion play any part in the Echoes of Fate?” Gideon couldn't see how a prophecy said aloud by a Dragorn had anything to do with a religion from thousands of years before she was born.

  Adriel stopped walking now and turned to face Gideon. “In the time of Atilan, the highest priests of Kaliban were known as The Echoes. They claimed to see the future, among other things. They were a twisted sect delving into dark magic. They even believed Kaliban gave them the power to resurrect the dead, but only the strong. Every prophecy they inscribed was marked with a black hand, their seal.”

  Gideon didn't like the grave expression on the elf’s usually stoic face. “What was in that cave, Adriel?”

  The ancient Dragorn blinked slowly. “The remnants of dark magic. The High priests continued to worship Kaliban in The Wild Moores, spewing out their prophecies. Nalana found them. There was a bloody fight but the magic of the prophecy imprinted on her mind. When she found her brother it was all she could say.”

  Gideon was trying to place all the broken pieces of history together. “So the Echoes of Fate is a product of dark magic, not a message from the gods.”

  Adriel sat on an outcropping of rock under the stark light of his orb. “If only it were that simple. There is no magic, light or dark, that can tell the future, Gideon. What is to come will always be unknown to us, even the dragons.”

  “I don't understand.” Gideon was really tired of that continued fact.

  Adriel licked his lips, considering his words. “If the prophecy comes true, it is proof that The Echoes worship a real God, Kaliban. If that is true, then we are all in the shadow of a malevolent being who only understands strength…” The elf looked up at Gideon. “Does that sound like a world you want to live in?”

  “I cannot believe that. I refuse to!” Gideon did his best to stop from pacing.

  “As do I,” Adriel agreed. “I believe that we look for the answers so hard we make the prophecy real.”

  “We cannot have been made by an evil god,” Gideon continued. “We aren't just playthings!”

  “I did not say Kaliban was Verda’s creator, only a god. The origins and meaning of Kaliban have been debated by Dragorn for centuries. I don't think we’re going to discover anything new in this tunnel. Focus on what we do know, Gideon. Atilan is very real and he is a threat. The Veil is ours and the fortress of Kaliban will be found. Together we will end this pantheon once and for all.”

  Gideon raised his head. “You’ve changed your tune.”

  Adriel looked from Gideon to the dark tunnel ahead. “We have come this far. I have to believe in something…”

  The elf stood up from his perch and bade Gideon follow him, promising that they were close now. Gideon trailed behind, his thoughts a mess. He could feel Ilargo sifting through it all as well, trying to make sense of what they knew. The people of Illian worshipped a set of gods he knew to be false and the oldest religion in the world might just prove to be real, a religion of dark magic. The young Dragorn was suddenly filled with a great need to know more, to understand The Echoes and even seek them out if he must.

  One day, Ilargo said. When all of Verda isn't in
the balance.

  Gideon took a breath in an attempt to let it all go for now. The dragon was right, Adriel too. He needed to focus on the immediate threat, not some old religion that may or may not prove to be real.

  Any thought of prophecies was immediately dispelled from his mind when they entered a new cavern. It was immensely larger than any of the tunnels or caves they had passed through, and its ceiling was coated with purple crystals. Rough columns, thick and slim, connected the ground to the crystalline roof, with stalagmites dotted around the damp floor. It was a natural beauty hidden away in the heart of Mount Garganafan.

  Adriel blew into his hands and birthed three more orbs of pure light. Gideon fired a couple from the end of his staff and watched them explore the cavern. Puddles of cold water collected here and there and the sound of a small stream could be heard from somewhere inside. The Dragorn walked a little further in to see that the ground rose up in layers on the right side of the cavern. Adriel waved his hand and one of the orbs followed his direction to rest over the top of the raised ground. Gideon watched as the shadows were banished, revealing the cavern’s greatest treasure.

  “The Veil…”

  23

  Mirror image

  Galanӧr couldn't decide if it was wrong to look upon the destruction wrought by dragons and feel it was beautiful. Reducing Davosai to a smouldering pit was quite the spectacle, and one they were lucky to have survived, but sitting on the outskirts of Gravosai now and watching the last city of the Darkakin burn, like a campfire fit for the gods, was something else. The ash rose high into the air, a black column of death, carrying the remains of so many into the breeze.

  Most of the dragons flew about the city, dropping in and out with their breath of fury. The screams could no longer be heard over the raging fires, but the crumbling walls and falling towers still reached the elf’s ears on the safety of their ledge. Rainael had left them far from the city this time, determined to keep them out of harm’s way. They couldn't communicate with the dragons as Gideon did, but Galanӧr had the impression that the emerald star wasn't happy with their little adventure into the Crissalith pit.