“King Rengar!” the princess cried over the shoulder of the Velian barring her way.
Rengar glanced in her direction and turned again after realising who had called his name. “Princess Reyna? Let her through!” he ordered.
“My father has arrived,” she said.
“Yes, thank the gods,” Rengar nodded. “I was about to greet him so that we can hopefully devise a counter-attack. My people won't last much longer.”
They might, had you fought for them. Reyna kept that to herself.
“It might be better if I greet him first, Your Grace. We can converse in elvish much faster than your common tongue. The quicker we get elven boots into the city the better.”
Rengar looked to consider her words. “As you say, Princess. I follow your lead.”
Reyna bolted from the eastern gate with all haste, leaving the elf to wonder how the king planned on following her lead. In the eyes of any elf, humans appeared to always be moving slowly, but Rengar didn't even move as if his city was burning.
The princess ran as fast as she could between the harboured ships and sprinted down the decking. Hundreds of blue and white sails drifted towards her, so close now that she could make out the white and silver of their armour against the navy of their cloaks. Reyna could also see the nocked bows every elf had aimed at the docks. The lead vessel, and by far the largest, was sailing right for the spot on which she stood.
Reyna stood up a little straighter when her father looked back at her.
Elym strode out of his tent, adjusting the circlet on his head so that the crystal shone just below his hairline. The magic stored within was the same as that of his scimitar, its hilt crowned in crystals. The king’s armour was as light as a fallen leaf but as strong as dwarven bones. Walking out onto the deck, trailing his yellow cloak, Elym surveyed the eastern walls of Velia and the docks at its base.
A great battle was raging inside, that much they could all hear. High Guardian Varӧ had already ordered the warriors of his army into formation across the various decks. From left-to-right, every elf was aiming their bows at the city. He gripped the ancient prophecy tucked into his belt, ready to give Varӧ the nod to begin their invasion.
Then he saw her.
Elym pressed into the side of the ship and leaned over to better get a look at the ragged woman standing on the edge of the dock. At first, he couldn't believe it, her appearance as it was, but there was no mistaking his daughter. The king could feel Varӧ’s eyes on him, waiting for a command, any command. Elym couldn't take his eyes off Reyna.
“My Lord?”
“Hold,” Elym ordered with a wave of his hand.
Reyna dived into the cold water and disappeared under dark depths that even Elym’s eyes couldn't pierce. Before the ship made it to the dock, the princess was climbing onboard and jumping onto the deck. The girl standing before him was not the one he had sent to Illian, nor, he realised, could she be called a girl. The woman who presented herself now had seen a world beyond palaces and beautiful forests. His daughter had seen death and war, and by the looks of her, she had fought through it all. There was an edge to Reyna now.
“Father…”
There had been a time not so long ago that he would have admonished her for not addressing him as king, but Elym couldn't find it in him. He wanted to pull her close and never let go. For too long had he pushed her away, something he thought he had come to terms with, but seeing her now, he was… vulnerable.
“My Lord?” Varӧ asked again.
Elym glanced from the High Guardian to the elves under his command, each waiting for the order to release their arrows. The order to invade was on the edge of his lips when Reyna took a step forward.
“This isn’t how we win,” she said confidently. “Against Valanis, we all win, or we all lose. There’s no room for us and them in this war, Father. I have seen our enemy and he makes no distinction between our two shores, Valanis would see it all burn.”
Elym reached out to cup his daughter's face but retracted it at the last moment. “They live on land that is rightfully ours, you know this.”
“We failed them,” Reyna continued. “Mankind was ours to shepherd and we let them down. They are fragile, their lives a speck of ours. Every moment is precious to them because any one could be their last. We should be protecting those moments, not taking them from them. They see the world differently to us, but perhaps we could learn from that perspective.”
“Reyna...” Elym tilted his head in disappointment. “You cannot think they have anything to teach us. We are superior to them.”
“You cannot love more superiorly than another,” Reyna countered. “I have seen their capacity for love and I see no difference between us. There’s no reason why we can't live together, in peace.”
“I am sure in your time here, you have been forced to fight for them in order to survive, but our reign over this realm was planned before you were born.” Elym scrunched the scroll on his belt. “We make our own fate…”
Reyna lifted her chin defiantly, just as her mother had done so many times before. The princess removed the bow from her back and gave the king a hard look that only a fool would ignore.
“You aren't here to rid the world of Valanis,” Reyna said with a tone of disgust that was hard for Elym to hear. “You’re here for revenge. To claim back lands you gave up. I won't let you hurt a single one of them.” The princess removed an arrow from her quiver and nocked it before the king could blink.
Elym raised his hands to calm the archers who instantly turned on Reyna. He recognised the bow in her hand from dozens of accounts from The Dark War, though he already knew his daughter had fought and beaten Adellum Bӧvӧ in the stronghold of the Graycoats. The weapon in her hands was more powerful than anything they had brought with them, but more importantly, it was wielded by the one person he couldn't order be killed.
“Don't do this, Reyna,” he pleaded.
“Help us defeat Valanis. Everything else can wait.”
Elym raised his chin, mirroring his daughter. “It seems something of a warrior has been born within you.”
“It was always there, Father. You just didn't want to see it…”
Elym looked to Varӧ with glassy eyes, unbelieving of the order he was about to give...
45
Standing together
Nathaniel looked in disbelief at the silvyr short-sword standing on end between his legs. Had the blade landed a foot further north, it would have buried itself in his crotch rather than the stone. Beyond it, lay a smoking ruin of what had once been the main gate and the king’s platform. The walls on either side were gone, obliterated, leaving nothing but jagged, stone slabs and a mass of dead bodies. There would be no keeping the Darkakin out now, he thought.
The knight yanked the short-sword out of the stone and presented it to Asher, who was sitting up beside him. “I believe this is yours…”
The ranger didn't even look as he took the blade back, his coordination perfect. Nathaniel lingered on Asher’s eyes, or rather the bloodied mess that had replaced them, crowning the streaks of dried blood that ran down his cheeks to meet a bruised jaw. The rest of him simply appeared haggard and battered, and for the first time, Nathaniel dwelled on the ranger being almost twice his age.
“You look terrible…” the knight said with a tone of jest.
Asher displayed the hint of a smile. “Feels good though, doesn't it?”
Nathaniel frowned. “What does?”
“Not having to share the same air with that useless sack of shit…”
Nathaniel couldn't help but smile and the two men shared a laugh on the empty ramparts. “I take it you can…” The knight waved a finger over his eyes.
“I can't see like you,” Asher replied. “But I can see better than you.”
Nathaniel wanted to laugh but he was quickly running out of energy. “You used Paldora’s gem. Does that mean -”
“No,” Asher said with despair. “If I had held onto
it for one more second it would have killed me. What little control I found wouldn't be enough to challenge Valanis.”
Nathaniel looked to the horizon of ships in the east. “Perhaps the elves will have the answer. They’re supposed to be wise, aren't they?”
“Supposed to?” Asher echoed with a smile. “Don't let Reyna hear you say that.”
The knight chuckled silently to himself and turned to the west. The sight that greeted him snatched at any elation and wiped the smile from his face. There were still thousands of Darkakin beyond the wall, though Velia’s outer defences could no longer be called a wall. The savages had only to stroll into the city proper.
Asher remained seated on the battlements, but his head twitched to the west. “They’re not advancing.”
Nathaniel needed a moment longer than he should have to absorb the ranger’s statement. Whether it be shock and exhaustion or the unusualness of Asher’s acute awareness, he couldn't say. All the knight could do was walk over to the wall and look out, confirming the Darkakins’ lack of advance. The black masses had come to a stop by the edge of the lower city, though their frontline appeared eager to invade.
“There’s nothing left of the gate,” Nathaniel said, “or the wall for that matter. Why haven't they attacked?”
“They aren't sure who caused the explosions,” Asher replied as he pulled himself up. “They’ll know it’s magic, but from what I’ve seen, the Darkakin don't use it.” The ranger’s back cracked so loud that Nathaniel heard it through his leather armour.
“They’re just waiting…” Nathaniel reached for his sword only to find an empty scabbard, the blade lost in the aftermath of Alidyr’s dramatic death.
A cool breeze washed over the pair and Asher licked his lips, as if he was tasting the air. “We don't have long.”
The knight looked from Asher to the army of Darkakin and found the source of the ranger’s ominous comment. Emerging from the middle of the horde was a lone figure in black and gold armour. Nathaniel pressed himself against the wall to get a better look at Thallan Tassariӧn, the last of the Hand. His shadowy cloak blew out behind him, its dark fabric accentuating the jade scimitar in his left hand. Any features were impossible to make out, but the elf had pulled back his hood to reveal a pale, bald head.
Nathaniel turned to Asher. “The Darkakin might not know what caused the explosion, but Thallan will. He won't hesitate to march them on the city.”
“He already has,” Asher countered. “Otherwise they wouldn't be standing there.”
“But why?”
Nathaniel couldn't get into the head of a murdering psychopath like Thallan. Why would the elf hesitate now? Velia was a nut that had just been cracked open and its forces were still scrambling to form up. The knight turned away from the horde and looked back into the city. The western edge was a vista of ruin and carnage. The buildings had suffered greatly from the deaths of both generals of the Hand, while some still burned from the flaming catapults. The streets between were strewn with bodies from both sides, their blood running through the gutters. Closer to the battlements, the entrance to the city was pebbled with debris from the wall, some of the slabs as big as a horse.
Then he heard the horns.
“That’s why,” Asher said flatly.
Nathaniel dashed to the edge of the inner wall, craning his neck to see over the canvas of rooftops. The horns pipped and blared in a rousing tune, undertoned by the marching of boots and rustling armour. The Velians moved aside, making way for a parade of white and blue. Nathaniel couldn't keep control of his face, every feature dropping in surprise. Thousands of elves marched through Velia’s streets in perfect harmony.
“Come on!” Nathaniel called, making for the stairs.
By the time both made it to the remains of Velia’s main gate, the elves had come to a stop in a neat line, directly opposite the Darkakin. The destruction somehow appeared worse from the ground. The devastation that had laid waste to the gates was so massive that the elves could charge without being funneled. The ruination of Velia could only steal Nathaniel’s attention for a moment before he came back to the elves. The knight pushed through the red-cloaks and stood in awe of them.
Every piece of their armour was exquisite, polished white and trimmed with silver. Their helmets sloped back and up, elegant and regal, as if they all wore crowns. Their cloaks fell to the floor in cascades of navy blue. Each held a spear in one hand and a shield in the other, though the shields required closer scrutiny. Nathaniel couldn't believe his eyes and the warrior in him was suddenly desperate to get his hands on one. Every elven shield was shaped in an arrow’s head and framed with silver, but its body was made of glass. The glass wasn't entirely transparent, giving the effect that their legs were wider than normal, nut who would ever think to make a shield of glass?
The elves parted as one and an entourage emerged. Nathaniel could see King Rengar and what remained of his generals, as well as a number of elves who were dressed in a similar fashion to Tai’garn. They all moved aside for what could only have been the king of elves. His posture and presence were more regal than any other elf, if that was possible. A long cloak of yellow dragged behind him and a circlet of crystals adorned his perfect, black hair.
Then he saw Reyna and Faylen.
Nathaniel broke from the crowd and ran for them, only to find five elves drop into fighting stances and present the knight with a row of spears, blocking his path to their king.
“Nathaniel!” Reyna forced her way through, putting the elves at ease, if a little confused.
The princess turned around and held her arms out, commanding the warriors to fall back into line. Nathaniel could feel hundreds of eyes on Reyna and him, though the eyes of her father were daggers boring into his head. With only a look, the princess conveyed everything he needed to know without uttering a single word. Whatever alliance she had brokered, it was thin. Nathaniel knew well of how elves could be driven by their emotions and the last thing either of them wanted was to enrage King Elym and turn it into a three-way war. He settled for the look in her emerald eyes, a look that spoke of her joy in finding him alive as well as the agony that she couldn't embrace him.
King Elym looked between the gap in the jagged walls. “Thallan Tassariӧn leads Valanis’ forces. They say he cannot be beaten -”
“With a sword in his hand,” Nathaniel finished. “We’ve heard that…” Seeing the king’s expression, the knight regretted his intrusion.
“Father, this is Nathaniel Galfrey, formerly of the Graycoats. He has stayed by my side since I arrived on these shores. He has saved my life…” The elf turned back to Nathaniel and whispered, “In more ways than one.”
King Elym regarded Nathaniel as if he were no more than a bug. “I don't know what this is,” he said quietly over Reyna’s shoulder, “but I disapprove.”
The princess looked up at her father. “Valanis first. Everything else comes later…”
“As you say,” he replied. “King Rengar!” Velia’s ruler stood a little straighter but it did nothing to help him measure up against Elym. “Have your men follow us out. It would be best if they didn't get in our way.” Rengar looked to respond but the king of elves turned his back on him. “High Guardian, I leave this glorious moment to you…”
A blond elf stepped out in front and Nathaniel expected to see King Elym fall back with Rengar, as all kings did in this situation, but Elym simply withdrew his scimitar and joined the warriors. The High Guardian began to shout over the army in elvish when a familiar dwarven voice broke over the top.
“Asher! Where are ye goin’?” Doran had pushed his way through the crowd with Hadavad and Tauren. As happy as Nathaniel was to see the rangers and the southerner alive, and without too many wounds, he quickly turned around to see what his friend was doing.
“Asher!” he added his own voice of concern when the ranger took his leave beyond the broken wall. Nathaniel made to go after him but Asher suddenly vanished behind the northern wall inst
ead of walking out to meet Thallan.
“What’s he doing?” Reyna asked.
“Whatever he likes usually...”
The High Guardian continued his speech in elvish. With the end of every sentence, the elves beat their spears against their glass shields and roared. They weren't anything close to what Nathaniel had expected, even after Reyna’s accounting of the changes their species had undergone. The elves’ cry to war spurred the Darkakin forces on, who matched the cry with their guttural chanting.
“What’s that daft shit up to?” Doran jogged over with Hadavad and Tauren.
Nathaniel kept his eyes on the mass of Darkakin, waiting for Asher to return. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
The knight flexed his finger and hooked it around Reyna’s, aware of the eyes still on them. Surprisingly, it was Faylen who came to stand in front of them, shielding the pair from Elym. They took the opportunity to hold hands and squeeze until Reyna almost broke his knuckles.
“Asher…” Faylen’s gaze fixed on the ranger, who walked back into the city against a backdrop of death.
“Of course he did…” Nathaniel raised his eyebrow upon sighting the double-handed broadsword in Asher’s hand. The blade was a solid, red line of steel, every inch coated with giant’s blood.
Faylen and Reyna gasped at the sight of him. The ranger strode over, more than aware of how to find them despite his lack of eyes. Nathaniel noted Faylen’s reaction was somewhat more emotional than what he had come to expect from her, but he said nothing, unlike Doran.
“Now there’s a scar to show off!” the dwarf bellowed over the elven cheering. “How did ye earn that?”
Faylen placed a gentle hand against the ranger’s cheek. “You did it, didn't you? That’s what caused… all this.” The elf looked at the debris.
“He did what?” Reyna asked.
“He killed Alidyr,” Nathaniel answered. “Right after Alidyr killed Samandriel.”
Relic of the God Page 38