Relic of the God

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “You know they can still hear us out there,” Elym said, his head resting in the palm of his hand.

  “We’re making a mistake,” Varӧ said with pleading eyes.

  “You mean I am making a mistake,” Elym corrected.

  “This was never the plan,” Varӧ continued. “We were supposed to have longer, we were -”

  Elym interrupted. “We were supposed to have dragons and a larger fleet and more warriors. I know this, Varӧ. But Valanis is taking back control of Illian again and my daughter is in the middle of it.”

  Varӧ lifted his head and Elym could tell his old friend was about to say something he didn't want to hear.

  “When did you start caring?” he asked.

  “We are friends, Varӧ, but remember who you’re talking to,” the king warned.

  The High Guardian took a deep breath. “After Adilandra left, I thought you would unravel and so you have. I knew you would put on a front, as any king would if his queen disagreed so publicly and left, but your heart hardened towards Reyna. I watched as you pushed her further away, something I didn't think possible. When did you start caring again?”

  “You will address my wife as Queen Adilandra and my daughter as Princess Reyna. Keep speaking in this manner and you will never be addressed as High Guardian again.”

  Varӧ didn't stop. “I was there for your wedding. I was there for Reyna’s birth. I listened to you preach for centuries about the gods and I agreed they shouldn't be worshipped if they were even real at all. I stood by and agreed with this invasion, I still do. Where many might believe you are king enough on your own, I see your need for Adilandra, even Reyna.”

  Elym had heard enough. The king was off his throne and across the tent in a single bound with his hand around Varӧ’s throat. Veins bulged against the High Guardian’s throat and forehead and his hands clasped onto Elym’s in a struggle. The king’s eyes welled with tears when he realised Varӧ could easily break free of his hold.

  Elym released him. “You are loyal, Varӧ. You have forever been at my side.” The king walked away, his fingers tracing the edge of the table. “I want my wife and daughter back, yes, but finding Reyna is not the only reason I press on. Valanis has risen again. I remember The Dark War and I would not have it come about again. Dragons or no dragons… six-thousand elves or ten-thousand elves… it matters not with Valanis on the board. He must be stopped before he gets any stronger.”

  Varӧ rubbed his throat. “If Valanis is the reason we make all haste then an alliance with man makes all the more sense. We could defeat him together, find Reyna and even retreat to Ayda and plan again. We have the advantage of immortality.”

  “NO!” Elym slammed the scroll down on the table. “There will be no alliance! We make our own fate! We are superior! We will take Illian, destroy Valanis, and bring my daughter home. Not because the gods ordained it, but because-I-say-so!”

  A silence fell between them. Elym could hear the warriors outside the tent shuffling around and he wondered how long it would be before the entire army knew of his outburst.

  “I have to know,” Varӧ said, his gaze locked onto the scroll. “I have to know what drives my king to madness. You carry it with you everywhere. I can see you leaning on it as if the words inscribed upon it offer you support. What can these words do that your High Guardian cannot?”

  Elym looked at his oldest of friends and sighed. “For so long, I have kept this hidden from everyone, even my wife.” The words didn't come easily to the king. “You never met my sister, Nalana. You would have liked her; she was fierce like you, but caring like Adilandra. She turned down the throne to be a Dragorn when I was a child. She inspired many and rose as a hero during The Dark War, alongside Lady Syla.”

  “I have heard of Lady Nalana,” Varӧ said, “but never from you.”

  “You know her dying words were those of the Echoes of Fate. But what no one knows is where these words came from. Before our self-exile to Ayda, many believed it was from the gods, a lie I should not have fostered. It took me years to come to terms with the truth, longer still to convince our kin that there could be no gods, at least none who would allow man to wipe out the dragons…”

  “What truth did you learn?” Varӧ asked, his eyes lingering on the folded scroll.

  Elym rolled the human skin out and weighed the corners down with goblets. It was clear to see the three verses of the prophecy, written in blood, and the black handprint at the bottom. Varӧ’s eyes scanned every inch of the scroll, taking in the detail beside his king.

  “What is this?”

  “I found this in a cave, deep in the heart of The Wild Moores, after Nalana died. It was a dwelling of the Outlanders, primitive humans who enjoyed writing on walls,” the king pinched the edge of the scroll, “or even their own flesh. What Nalana was doing there I will never know. The Dragorn refused to answer any questions. What I do know is that Nalana read this in the moments before her death. That’s all the Echoes of Fate ever were; the words of an elf whose life was ebbing away. She could have said anything, but that was the last thing her mind had seen and it was all she could recall in her final moments.”

  Varӧ ran his finger over the scroll, apparently mesmerised. “Why did you never show this to me? To anyone? This could have helped to persuade many from worshipping Atilan.”

  “I didn't want to tarnish her memory,” Elym replied, desperate to forget her dying features, features that were similar to Reyna’s. “The humans provided enough death and violence to convince any that the gods had abandoned us. Questioning their existence came much later, centuries in fact. It wasn't even a seed I planted; it was born of time without the gods in our life.”

  “This…” Varӧ’s finger stopped on the second verse. “This is why you won't have an alliance with man. Because the prophecy says we will.”

  “I can do nothing that will grant these words an ounce of truth. It would undo all that I have worked for, everything that we have become. Elves are stronger than they’ve ever been because they believe in themselves, not the gods.”

  Varӧ stood back from the scroll. “Forget all of this,” he said. “What matters is what we know. We don't have the numbers.”

  Elym raised his hand to silence any further debate. “I will not hear it,” the king replied. “When the time comes I will give you the order to attack and I will expect you to obey it.” Elym raised his hand again when Varӧ looked to protest. “I would rest. You may leave.”

  The light from outside was blinding when the High Guardian lifted the material to leave. “I wouldn't be concerned with lending any credibility to the Echoes of Fate, Your Grace. It is a prophecy that speaks of an immortal man, after all…”

  32

  Living in the present

  Seeing the light at the end of the narrow cave almost brought tears to Gideon’s eyes. The way back had been long and arduous with Adriel in his arms, but the explosion from Krayt’s staff had caused several tunnels to cave in, forcing Gideon to explore other routes in the dark. Ilargo had made him stop and sleep at certain points, often when they came across a small stream running through the mountain. Still, seeing the light lifted the Dragorn’s spirits. He limped towards it, gritting his teeth through the shooting pains in his left thigh where Mournblade had impaled him. The wound had already begun to heal, however, Ilargo’s own fatigue prevented it from sealing up completely.

  Gideon had hoped to see blue skies and white, fluffy clouds, but the sun was setting now, offering only the promise of more darkness soon. His eternal companion stood up and looked down at him with his rich, blue eyes. Seeing Ilargo was better than any sunrise or a beautiful day. The gold specks scattered throughout his green scales glittered in the dying sun. They still shared some of the same wounds, though they appeared larger on the dragon’s body, especially the cut on Ilargo’s back, left leg. A twinge of guilt weighed upon the Dragorn, as it always would when his own injuries carried over.

  Gideon put Adriel down with great care
as the dragon lowered his head, allowing the two a moment to rest against each other and enjoy the comfort of being together again. When they finally parted, Ilargo turned to his left, towards a sight that did bring tears to Gideon’s eyes.

  Galandavax lay curled up at the base of the mountain. The blood that had poured from his chest had turned the rocky ground black, but out of it grew a variety of wildflowers of every description. The dragon now lay on a bed of plants and flowers that shouldn't have found life on such barren ground. The effects Ilargo’s kind had on the world would forever surprise Gideon and fill him with wonder, he just hoped that he would never again have to see the life that sprouted from their death.

  It was quick, Ilargo said.

  What happens now? Gideon asked. It had been some time since he’d used his voice. Speaking to Ilargo through their bond just felt natural to him now.

  Verda will reclaim him, the dragon explained.

  Gideon didn't fully understand, but upon closer inspection, he could see that the flowers had begun to grow over Galandavax’s ebony scales, along with a web of slender vines. He imagined that in time, the dragon would appear as a mound of flowers and earth, leaving nothing behind of his shape. The same could not be said of Adriel.

  It didn't feel right to bury the elf at the base of Mount Garganafan, a place that might never be visited by another person. Adriel deserved a tomb fit for not only a Dragorn but also that of an elf.

  I feel as if the world will never know. He fought in The Dragon War, The Dark War. He was a hero of ages past and this is where…

  Gideon looked back at the meadows and fields of green, surrounded by lush forestry and a perfect view of the sun rising and setting.

  Yes... Ilargo whispered. Here is perfect.

  For all of Adriel’s great deeds and the life he had led, the elf had called Dragons’ Reach home for a thousand years. Finding his resting place among nature was befitting of an elf and a Dragorn.

  I suppose there’s still a very human part of me that finds comfort in stone and tombs.

  Ilargo bent down and nuzzled his face against Gideon’s shoulder. A Dragorn finds his home under the sky, wherever it may be...

  Gideon considered collecting rocks to cover Adriel, creating a miniature tomb beside Galandavax, but if he and Ilargo had died, he wouldn't want to be buried separately. Instead, the young Dragorn picked the elf up and carried him over the new patch of flowers and vines. As if he were still alive, Gideon lowered him to the ground and sat the elf’s back against the ebony dragon’s side, as they had rested together in life. The plants and flowers reacted immediately, pressing in to make contact with Adriel. By the time Gideon returned to Ilargo’s side, the ancient Dragorn was almost concealed by vines and colourful flowers.

  It’s as if together, the process is sped up… The mage in Gideon was fascinated with the natural magic at work here, but he let it go and took a moment to watch in silence, paying his respects.

  In the last rays of light, Adriel and most of Galandavax disappeared from sight, reclaimed as Ilargo had stated. It was surprising to detect a sweet aroma in the air, rather than the expected decay of a dragon.

  Even in death, your kind is beautiful. Gideon wiped the tears from his cheeks.

  Both dragon and Dragorn stood by and watched in silence. Gideon couldn't say how long they stayed and paid their respects. It was hard to leave, harder still to think that he would never see the pair again. Their time together had been limited, but the impact Adriel had made on his life would stay with him for, well… forever.

  Come, Ilargo bade. Galandavax was among the oldest of my kin. There’s a good chance this will spread and engulf half of the mountain.

  Gideon looked back at the mound of flowers to find that it had indeed grown since Adriel had been placed among them. Vines and flowers were now sprouting from the slopes of the mountain, spreading grass as they emerged.

  It is said, in the legends of my kind, that all the fields, plains, and forests in Verda were born of dragons. My mother has memories of Malliath even telling such legends…

  It’s hard to believe Malliath saying anything, but seeing this, I can believe The Evermoore found life from the death of a dragon.

  Come. Ilargo turned away and walked through the trees and onto the fields that wrapped around the mountain.

  It was instinctual to offer a prayer of rest for the ancient Dragorn, but knowing what he did of the gods, especially having just killed one, it felt a pointless exercise. He dwelled on the last conversation he and Adriel had shared. This religion, The Echoes, offered a new god to worship, one who gave them words of what was to come, if the prophecy proved to be true.

  My mother never mentioned this… Kaliban.

  Gideon could no longer see Ilargo for the trees, though distance was no longer a problem for them. The Dragorn gave Adriel and Galandavax a lasting look before following his eternal companion.

  Adriel didn't want to believe that Kaliban was real. The Dragon Riders of Atilan’s time had him recorded as an evil god, who only understood strength over others. Gideon mentally smacked his head when he remembered that Ilargo, via him, had been present for the conversation.

  Time has diluted the memories of both man and elf, leaving the elves to worship those who created them, a religion they passed on to man when your kind re-emerged from The Wild Moores, since they had forgotten where they came from. It is possible this Kaliban is simply an older king, fallen into myth and given new life as a god, just as Atilan was.

  I suppose time will tell if the Echoes of Fate hold any weight.

  Until that time, Ilargo continued, we should focus on The Veil. Atilan and the others are very real…

  Gideon couldn't help the flashback of Adriel’s death. Ilargo intensified their bond for a moment and helped him to get past the memory. When he opened his eyes again, the young Dragorn was walking out onto the fields as the first stars graced the twilight sky. Seeing the majesty of Ilargo striding over the plains was enough to distract Gideon and remind him how lucky he was to have the dragon in his life. He was also thankful when Ilargo turned around and lowered his neck, allowing Gideon to climb onto his back. The young Dragorn was getting sick of limping.

  Where are you going? Gideon knew where the dragon was going, but he enjoyed the sound of his companion’s soothing voice.

  There is a river just south of here. I am thirsty…

  Gideon smiled as the dragon humoured his desire. He could have asked why they weren't flying there, but the mage already knew that answer and didn't want the dragon to admit that he was too exhausted to take flight.

  We’re late… Gideon said, his thoughts flying south to the Hook of the World.

  It is still a two-day flight away, and from there another three days to Velia.

  That’s not late, Gideon said, that’s too late. Who knows what the Darkakin will have done to Illian by then. For all we know the elves have already arrived and killed everyone.

  Ilargo crossed the field and entered another thicket of trees, using his jaws to tear down any rogue branches that would interfere with the Dragorn on his back. As the sound of running water broke through the small wood, Ilargo asked, What do you want to do?

  You already know what I’m thinking…

  Yes, but maybe I enjoy the sound of your voice too.

  Only Ilargo could make him smile in spite of ill events. Gideon rubbed the dragon’s scales affectionately and enjoyed the warmth radiating from his body. The nights were cooler in this part of the world, not too dissimilar from Korkanath, but the young Dragorn had spent some time in the deserts of southern Ayda now, and he felt the bite of a beckoning winter.

  We’ve been too long, Gideon continued. There’s no way they could still be waiting for us in the Hook. The mage let out a chuckle. Knowing Galanӧr, he’s probably made a canoe and already started rowing across The Adean by now.

  Ilargo didn't reply with words, but he didn’t need to. Gideon could sense the dragon’s agreement and eve
n a sense of amusement.

  We go to Velia then! the dragon announced, his enthusiasm renewed at the thought of drinking from the river.

  To Velia… he agreed.

  Gideon slid off the dragon’s back and stumbled to the edge of the river, unlike Ilargo, who waded through the cold water until his legs disappeared. The young Dragorn was overcome with fatigue again, reminding Gideon that he had walked for days in the tunnels of Mount Garganafan. It felt good to drop to his knees and fill his cracked hands with freezing water. It felt even better to splash it on his face. Dirt and blood washed off his face and hands, but the mage couldn't seem to get it all, no matter how hard he scrubbed. Fresh tears emerged from his eyes when he thought about who the blood belonged to. Some of it was his, some belonged to Krayt, and some had been Adriel’s.

  He was getting tired of fighting.

  It was disheartening to think that he was only at the beginning of his journey as a Dragorn. It would be foolish to believe that his life wouldn't be filled with those who challenged him or threatened the realm.

  I suppose I should get used to it.

  You can get used to this! Ilargo spat more than a bucket full of water over Gideon, drenching him in one go.

  The Dragorn gasped and lifted his hands in surprise. The water was shocking, but he had no time to get used to it before the dragon flapped his wing and sent a tidal wave to engulf him. Gideon gasped again and spat water back into the river.

  “What are you doing?” he asked aloud, though his voice barely carried.

  You dwell too much on the future. You are immortal now, Gideon; focus on the present.

  Gideon looked down at his drowned appearance and didn't feel too keen on the present. He did, however, feel like getting his own back. With a wave of the hand, the Dragorn created a wall of water to come crashing down on Ilargo. It was only after the dragon shook off the excess water that he realised the spell had been cast without a wand or staff, not that he had a staff anymore. Taking the moment to consider his new manipulation of magic, Gideon missed Ilargo taking another mouthful of water. The cold waterfall quickly had his full attention.