Tauren son-of-none crept through the upper walkways of the great forges. Beneath him, hundreds of blacksmiths and armourers worked tirelessly by their anvils and forges to produce swords, helmets, spears and breastplates, each glowing orange under their relentless hammering. Walking between the smiths were Karathan guards, keeping a close eye on their work. Except for the orange light of the molten forges, the massive warehouse was cast in darkness on the edge of the city.
The White Owl hopped over the railing and climbed down a wooden beam, until he was among the many tables laden with fresh works. Keeping an eye on the guards patrolling pattern, Tauren swiped a piece of armour off the table and examined it from within his mask. It was a helmet of sorts, though the faceplate was shaped like that of a hawk, with a long sloping mouthpiece that ended in a sharp point. It was well crafted and made from strong metal. How long had Orith been supplying them with minerals? Were they planning on replacing all the armour in Karath’s army? Tauren could see no reason why they would, especially with the cost of it all!
The White Owl moved silently between the forges, though his footfalls were entirely removed by the constant hammering. The guards crossed each other’s path and completely missed Tauren, who had timed his steps perfectly. On the other side of the warehouse, the son-of-none examined some of the weapons being boxed and loaded onto carts. Spears, swords, axes, bows and even clubs were being prepared. There were already owls waiting outside, ready to follow the carts and discover their destination.
Tauren reached out to handle one of the swords when he detected the slightest of movement out of the corner of his eye. It was as if the shadows themselves came to life, when the darkened corners of the forge gave birth to any warrior’s nightmare. Tauren flung his body backwards, in what would have normally been considered lightning reflexes, but on this occasion, the flying knife skimmed against his owl-shaped mask in an explosion of sparks. The helmet alone saved his life as he turned his evasion into a backwards flip. When he came back up, the White Owl was holding a dagger in each hand.
His resolve faltered, dampening his usual rage, when he looked upon the sight of three Arakesh. Tauren had never seen the legendary assassins before, but the red cloth that covered their eyes was enough to identify them. It was also enough to remind him what fear felt like. For the first time in a long time, the White Owl considered running from a fight.
The smiths stopped hammering and stared at the four warriors in terror. The guards came rushing over, weaving between the many forges and anvils, with their swords drawn. All three Arakesh acted as one body and threw a jagged knife, each one slaying a guard before they could interfere with their fight.
Chaos erupted as the smiths dropped their tools and half-forged materials, and ran for the doors, leaving sparks to shoot into the air when the heated metals found their resting place on the floor. Tauren didn’t wait for an invitation and lunged at the closest assassin. It was immediately apparent that he was fighting a foe with skills superior to any he had fought before. The Arakesh evaded every swipe and slash of his daggers, not bothering to draw the twin-swords on his back.
Then the opening didn’t present itself, the assassin made one and flung Tauren’s arm away, bringing his knee up into the White Owl’s stomach. The blow pushed him back into a wooden pillar, where another Arakesh was waiting by his side. The owl-shaped helmet took most of the swift punch, but the force of it was still enough to knock Tauren to the ground.
Get up! Salim’s voice resounded in his mind from years past.
From all fours, Tauren silently removed a hand-sized blade from his belt and launched it behind him without looking. His black cape disguised most of the dagger’s flight, until at the last moment it plunged into the assassin’s shoulder, driving him back into the pillar. It wasn’t enough to slow him down however, and the blindfolded man pulled the blade free of his flesh without so much as a grimace.
The White Owl had no intention of letting these men live. Tauren quickly grabbed one of the fallen hammers and threw it end-over-end into the assassin’s hand. The hammer slammed into the top of the dagger’s hilt, where it drove the blade back into the assassin’s heart with his own hand wrapped around it. The Arakesh gasped and slid down the pillar and into the murky depths of the afterlife.
A place Tauren was hoping to avoid this night.
The two remaining Arakesh didn’t appear to be angered by the death of their kin, but both launched as one, with their short-swords raised. Tauren had no time to celebrate his defeat over an Arakesh, and instead used his youthful agility to evade and dodge their attacks, while rolling across the damp floor. The White Owl came up running, intending to change the environment in which they fought. He stopped and swivelled on the spot when the glowing forges and anvils surrounded him. Now the assassins would have to take care or suffer the devastating heat of molten metal.
Worryingly, only one of the Arakesh chased him across the warehouse. The other had slipped back into the shadows.
As the short-sword dived for his head, Tauren tilted to the left and unclipped the hook and rope from his waist. The Arakesh brought his next blade down, cutting a neat line across Tauren’s leather armour. The White Owl used the taut rope in his hands to stop the next attack by catching the thrust at the assassin’s wrist. A swift punch knocked the Arakesh off balance, allowing Tauren the opportunity to wrap the rope around his wrist, until the four-pronged hook was driven into the assassin’s arm. Despite the killer’s scream, he managed to keep a tight hold of his short-sword.
That was when the other Arakesh made himself known.
Leaping from behind a forge, the assassin lunged for Tauren, who simply kicked the other sword arm of his captive Arakesh, forcing it to flick up and slow the approaching assassin. In the same seamless movement, Tauren pulled down on the rope and forced the assassin’s hand onto the steaming black surface of an anvil. The skin sizzled and burnt as the Arakesh thrashed about. He soon yielded his sword, which fell to the floor, and lashed out at the White Owl with abandon. Tauren was forced to kick him back, taking the other Arakesh with him.
They stood their ground before him, one with both swords ready to tear Tauren apart, the other cracking the knuckles of his burnt hand, now more than happy to simply beat Tauren to death if necessary.
The White Owl breathed heavily inside his mask. He had finally found a fight where his rage had no place. They weren’t slavers or whip-masters. This opponent would require guile and cunning if Tauren was to fight another day. Salim Al-Anan had spent years trying to teach him patience in order to master an inner-peace. This calm, but furious heart was the core of all warriors, Salim had said to him. Without it he was just an animal lashing out in the dark.
With all that in mind, Tauren had already taken steps to ensure his survival this night. His width, and that of his cape, hid the burning anvil behind him. The Arakesh both lunged as one, closing the gap in the blink of an eye.
That was when Tauren dropped to one knee.
The bag containing the Talo spices had finally burnt through atop the anvil, and the explosion of light and sound overwhelmed the Arakesh. They both staggered backwards with expressions of horror and agony. Keeping his rage in check, the White Owl pushed off the ground with a dagger in both hands. Having already assessed their armour, Tauren thrust the blades into the gaps behind their chest plates and stepped back. Both men dropped to their knees when blood began to fill their lungs. Tauren removed his finest blade, with the hilt of an owl, and dropped once more to one knee and slashed across both of their throats in one swipe.
After they fell to floor, dead, Tauren stumbled to his feet and sheathed the blade across his chest. He looked down at his work in amazement, the realization slowly hitting home. He had killed three Arakesh! They were said to be the greatest fighters in all of Illian. Tauren owed everything to Salim and his training. Without the old warrior’s devotion to a lost and savage slave boy, Tauren would have been killed a hundred times over before this nig
ht.
Before leaving the forges, he stooped low to pick up the hawk-like helmet. He would show this to Halion as soon as possible. They had much to discuss, especially the reason why the forges had been under the secret guard of the Arakesh.
12
Out For A Stroll
Asher stood on the corner of the crossroad in the heart of Lirian. One way would lead him north and out of the city, the other would take him back to the Pick-Axe. The ranger had a bag of gold on his belt and a sword on his back; he didn’t need much more than that to get by.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there, contemplating his next step. A part of his mind tried to convince him that he would be of no use to Reyna and the others, or even worse, he would lead them all to a certain death in the pit. But fighting was all he knew, it was the only life he understood anymore and he wouldn’t be finding a new one any time soon. War was unavoidable.
Fighting aside, thinking of them as friends was still foreign to him, but keeping the elves and Nathaniel alive had started to feel more important to him than getting by. Ignoring his training and the instinct to survive came down to him putting one foot in front of the other until the tavern was in front of him again.
By the time Asher returned to the Axe, the streets of Lirian had been deserted by its daytime inhabitants. Taverns across the town came to life as their regular patrons drank into the night, preparing to stumble home under the canopy of the stars. The Axe was by far the easiest tavern to find in the whole city, with the general hubbub of noise breaching the walls and spilling into the street. The ranger stopped briefly to pat Hector across the neck and make sure the horses had plenty to eat and drink. Despite his often cowardly nature, Asher had grown fond of the steed.
Asher made his way downstairs, to the rangers’ private bar, and found a most captive audience. Even Bale the barbarian was sat around the fire, listening intently, as Reyna told them of recent events, as well as a few ancient ones. Even Kaleb Jordain, who should have been residing in a drunken stupor by now, was focused on the elf’s every word. Glaide turned to look at Asher with wide eyes and an expression of wonder the ranger had never seen on him before.
“I know I call you an old man, but…” Glaide looked Asher up and down as if seeing him for the first time.
“How have ye of all people wound up in this mess?” Doran bellowed, surrounded by empty beer cups.
Salim walked up to Asher and patted him on the arm. “For a man over a thousand years old, you don’t look a day over sixty!”
The rangers erupted in laughter, as did Nathaniel and Reyna. Asher simply nodded with the merriment and noticed Faylen’s serious gaze. Jokes about longevity were clearly not amusing to an immortal.
“I have coin,” Asher placed the satchel of bits onto the table, “and I’ve found a caravan leaving in three days. They were more than happy to have us on the road with them.”
“Three days…” Faylen echoed with disbelief.
Hadavad, the mage, rose from the floor. “You really mean to destroy Valanis?”
“We do,” Nathaniel replied for them all.
The old mage looked away in contemplation for a moment, stroking the beard around his mouth. “I shall retire for the evening. Good night to you all, and thank you for sharing perhaps the most spellbinding of tales, Princess Reyna.” Hadavad bowed and Atharia stood up to follow her mentor.
“I shall retire also.” Faylen stood up to leave.
The elf tried to get the attention of the princess, but Reyna avoided her gaze, eager to remain with the eclectic bunch of rogues. Faylen simply rolled her eyes and retired to her room, beyond the private bar. Asher wanted to follow her and discover the cause for her true alarm, though he suspected it was the delayed travel time.
After another hour of questions from the adventurous rangers, Nathaniel and Reyna left together. Asher could see that they had some things to work out, as well as a few other things to get out of their system. Bale and Salim took up a small table and fell into conversation about the prowess of the Arakesh versus that of the Graycoats. Having seen these two forces collide firsthand, the ranger was more than happy to join Glaide and Doran by the fire however, ale in hand.
“Elves, dragons, assassins, epic battles and an ancient prophesy to boot…” Glaide eyed Asher over his tankard. “You have been a busy Outlander.”
“Thankfully I’m yet to cross paths with a dragon,” Asher commented.
“Yet…” Doran replied before belching. “Seems to me that there’s a whole lot goin’ on out there that we don’t know about!” The dwarf downed another ale. “An’ how dare you be older than me ye haggard old shit! I’m supposed to be the old wise one in these parts!”
Asher and Glaide laughed as they had years ago. “I was asleep for most of it. You’re still older…” The rangers laughed again, Doran included.
The ominous, high-pitched squeal of a pig resounded from the floor above them, along with the shattering of glasses and screams from the waitresses. The wooden beams above them shook and dust rained down from one end of the room to the other.
“HEAVYBELLY!” Russell shouted down the stairs. Doran was already laughing. “I told you to keep that hog under control! He’s drinking more than you!”
“He’s just for a bit o’ fun!” Doran shouted back between fits of laughter.
“Get your fat arse up here before I mount his head on my wall!”
Their merriment continued for the rest of the long night, old friends reunited with new stories and plenty of drink.
Reyna collapsed into Nathaniel’s bare chest and moved with the rise and fall of his heavy breathing. Everything about his body was different to that of an elf. From the hair on his face and chest to the scars that crisscrossed his skin, Nathaniel was the most exquisite creature she had ever seen. The princess kissed him and looked into his eyes, feeling the pit opening in her stomach. She didn’t want to see those eyes grow old and finally close once and for all. And yet he was fated to.
“What’s wrong?” the knight asked. “You gave me the same look yesterday, on the road to Lirian.”
“It’s nothing.” Reyna shook her head and kissed him again.
Nathaniel rolled over and took the elf with him, until they were side-by-side, Reyna encompassed in his thick arms.
“Talk to me,” he said.
Reyna hesitated. “I have become fond of you...”
Nathaniel glanced at their entwined bodies with a child-like grin. “Oh good.”
The knight had sensed those weren’t the words she had intended and Reyna knew it. “I am afraid to lose you,” the elf replied more honestly.
Nathaniel stroked her jaw and turned Reyna’s face to see his own. “We will fight by each other’s side, always keeping the other safe.”
“There is no fighting time…” The princess dipped her head into his chest again, avoiding his look of surprise.
“I thought immortals lived in the present, with no fear of the future.” Nathaniel stroked the curve of her ear and kissed her cheek softly.
Reyna rolled out of his embrace. “Even if your mortality wasn’t certain, I am a princess, an elven princess, and you are…”
“Just a man.”
Reyna met his eyes once more and knew that she looked upon more than just a man. She cupped his stubbled cheek in one delicate hand and kissed him passionately.
“Nathaniel Galfrey will never be just a man.”
“And you are so much more than a princess, or even an elf. They do not define you. You can choose who you want to be… who you want to be with. Meeting you has shown me that. I defined myself as a knight, a Graycoat, but before any of that I am simply a man who loves a woman, an elf.” Nathaniel smiled and Reyna couldn’t help the tear that streaked across her cheek.
Neither of them had talked about their love for the other before. In her heart she knew that she loved this man, but in her head, Reyna knew that the odds were stacked against them. If the forces of Valanis did
n’t kill them first, her father surely would before he allowed her to marry any human.
“You won’t lose me…” Nathaniel whispered into her ear as he pulled her close.
Reyna held him tight, as if time itself couldn’t take him from her.
Asher awoke to the sharp sound of someone clearing their throat. He was still in the same chair he had been laughing and drinking in all night, only now Glaide and Doran were gone and Faylen was standing over him with a scornful expression. Despite her incredible beauty, the elf could look mighty fearsome when she wished to.
“Morning…” Asher’s throat was hoarse and the word broke in his mouth.
“It’s dawn.”
“Hence the greeting.” Asher looked away, trying to shake off the spinning feeling in his head. He was relatively immune to the effects of alcohol, but Doran’s own brew was potent, even to an old Arakesh.
“Dare I ask how much sleep you have acquired?” Faylen presented the ranger with a glass of cold water.
“Enough for a day of gathering supplies.” Don’t be sick, Asher thought over and over.
“That is not what we are doing today.” Faylen had the hint of a smile on her face.
Asher gladly took the water and mirrored her expression. “And what are we doing today?” The water was a soothing balm as it ran down his throat.
“Scouting.”
Asher cocked an eyebrow. “What are we scouting exactly?”
“The tower of Gadavance…” Faylen turned away, missing Asher’s confused expression.
“And why are we scouting the tower of Gadavance?” In truth, Asher was enjoying their little exchange.
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