Rise of the Ranger (Echoes of Fate: Book 1)

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Nathaniel didn’t know what to say. He knew the ranger had to of done terrible things in service to Nightfall, but hearing the details was hard to swallow. It was only a shame that it took the death of a boy to free Asher of his shackles.

  “Who would wish for such a thing?” the Graycoat asked.

  “Governor Tarn, of Skystead.” The tears stopped flowing now and the ranger’s face was that of resolve. “He was the first person I killed as a free man. I couldn’t return to Nightfall after Dunwich, but I could look Governor Tarn in the eye when I slide my blade between his ribs. Apparently he was in contest with the governor of Dunwich for lordship in King Merkaris’s court. Tarn thought that the death of his children would cripple his opponent, paving the way for himself.”

  “Death does not atone for death, Asher.” Nathaniel knew all too well that revenge was futile. “When I earned this coat the first thing I did was take a patrol on the border of the Wild Moores. I wanted to kill every Outlander beyond those trees for the death of my father. I stayed longer than I should, but eventually I came across a small band preparing to raid the town of Bleak. I put them all down, even the ones that tried to escape. Killing every one of them didn’t make me feel better, it didn’t make me feel more of a man and it certainly didn’t bring back my father.”

  “It’s all I know,” Asher replied solemnly. “When Nightfall’s finished with you, killing is all that’s left. I just put my talents to better use. There are plenty of monsters out there that don’t walk on two feet. Helping the elves is the right thing to do. Maybe now I can save a few children, rather than...”

  “We’ll find a way through this, Asher, together.” Nathaniel wanted to help the ranger become the man he desperately craved to be. There was honour and courage inside Asher that few would ever see, or even expect, but the Graycoat knew it was there.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Promises, Promises

  Another day and night had gone by while Adilandra gathered her strength and the three of them rested, ate and drank. Gideon had been quiet during the reprieve however, the journey across Verda had been taxing for the young mage, holding onto Malliath for so long without sleep or sustenance.

  A second army had arrived at dusk, filling the city with more savages, eager for a fight. Galanör and Gideon had taken it in turns to sneak down to street level, disguised in stolen rags, to retrieve the supplies needed for their eventual escape of Malaysai. Their trek to the east would be all the more difficult with Lörvana and Fallön, injured as they were. The enchantment on Gideon’s satchel was perfect for storing all their goods without weighing them down further.

  Dawn was a couple of hours away and the three companions readied themselves at the edge of the building top. The streets were quieter now, but far from empty with the added army.

  “You are sure it was Alidyr Yalathanil?” Galanör asked for a third time that day.

  Adilandra had informed them both of what she had seen upon her arrival in Malaysai. Though Galanör had never seen the dark elf, he, like every other elf, knew well of Valanis’s chief general and head of the Hand.

  “I will never forget that face,” Adilandra explained. “The fact that he is still alive is shocking enough without the thought of what he’s doing with the Darkakin. He made a blood oath with the Goddess, but I know not why.”

  “It must have something to do with the arrival of the armies,” Galanör reasoned. “Though what the head of the Hand wants with a Darkakin army is beyond me.”

  “It can’t be for anything good, but it proves that my husband is wrong to move ahead with his plan.”

  “How so?” Galanör asked.

  “The Echoes of Fate.” Adilandra could see Galanör already losing interest with her theory. “The gods are real Galanör; just because our people lost their faith doesn’t make that fact any less so. Through Nalana they told us that the dragon eggs offer great promise, but they will not win the war against Valanis. Alidyr’s presence here is proof that Valanis’s forces are gathering. They’re clearly preparing for war, securing allies and for what?” the queen asked rhetorically. “Because Valanis will rise soon and lead them against the free people of Illian.” Galanör looked to be seriously considering her words. “You know this to be true. You have seen it yourself, when Lyra Valarkin turned on you at Korkanath and proclaimed her true master. We don’t have long before the Dark War is renewed.”

  Gideon shuffled beside them. “Before we start fighting any wars, why don’t we free your friends?”

  Adilandra was growing to like the mage. There was real goodness in the young man, and a heart that only felt for others, if a little tainted by his anger for Galanör. Gideon showed a need to do what was right, whatever the cost and despite his personal feelings, a trait that many an elf could learn from.

  “Dawn will soon be upon us.” Galanör looked up at the starry sky, where a faint glow had already begun to appear in the east. “Follow me in and keep your wits about you.”

  Adilandra put a hand out to stop the younger elf. “I know a better way in.” With her other hand the queen presented them with a pair of shining crystals.

  “Hey!” Gideon protested. “Those are mine!” The mage opened his satchel and looked inside, as if the infinite room held within would reveal the theft.

  “Forgive my deception,” Adilandra said. “I took them while you slept. I have been storing energy inside them, but now they’re ready.”

  Galanör reached out and closed her hand around the crystals, using his own to keep it shut. “I know what you would intend, but you’re not thinking clearly. Using a portal would drain you of much needed strength, even with the crystals.”

  “A portal?” Gideon sounded just as much excited as he did nervous. “You can use portals?”

  Adilandra looked back to Galanör. “It will ensure that we get inside without alerting anyone. Freeing Lörvana and Fallön is going to be hard enough with the Darkakin already inside the pyramid, let alone having them follow us in. Trust me Galanör; I have over a thousand years of experience with magic. Two crystals; one to get us inside and one to get us out.”

  “You’re not even going to use them both to open a portal?” Galanör’s grip tightened around Adilandra’s hand. The magic stored inside the gems hummed against her skin, ready to be unleashed.

  There was no time to argue, the sun would be up soon and the Darkakin with it. Adilandra was unaccustomed to being challenged, especially by another elf, and continued the only way she ever had - her way. The queen pulled away from Galanör and flicked her wrist across the top of the building, throwing the crystal into the air. Before the gem vanished beyond the roof, Adilandra called on the magic inside herself and the crystal, willing the energy therein to rip open a hole in reality. The space in front of the companions was encompassed in darkness, as the portal’s inky abyss formed a rough circular shape. The edges of the hole sparked with lightning, that licked the rooftop in silence.

  Gideon’s eyes couldn’t have gotten any wider, but Adilandra contained her smile, all too aware of what was on the other side of that portal. Galanör didn’t look happy, but the elf was too smart to argue now, it had been done and their only course was to move forward before the magic drained Adilandra. As one, they stood up and rushed through the portal, though the queen gripped Gideon’s arm to ensure he came with them. The dark veil passed over them like water, before the world was remade.

  Adilandra quickly scanned the dimly-lit throne room and Galanör removed his scimitar, pivoting in every direction. Gideon stood amazed, staring at the portal, which had already begun to collapse on itself.

  “Incredible...” the mage whispered with the hint of a smile.

  “Focus, Gideon,” Galanör instructed, much to Gideon’s obvious disdain.

  The young mage removed his staff from the sheath on his back and the wood grew, as if from nothing, in both directions. Adilandra had seen Gideon fight with them to escape the arena and was confident that he could be
of great help. That thought was suddenly crushed, when the weight of responsibility fell upon the queen. She had already brought a company of her kin into these badlands, and watched as they were all cut down or taken by savages. Now here she was, doing the same thing. Galanör was four hundred years old, with so much experience and wisdom already, and Gideon was a young mortal with so much promise. Adilandra had potentially doomed them both with her quest.

  The queen took Galanör’s advice herself and focused on their new surroundings. The throne room was empty in this early hour, with four single fire-pits illuminating the corners. The long balcony offered a spectacular view of the night sky between the translucent drapes that blew in the warm breeze.

  Adilandra was drawn to the spot where Ederön had been beaten by Krenorak, the elf’s blood staining the floor, before he was thrown from the balcony. Some Darkakin slave had scrubbed the floor well, but Adilandra’s keen eyes could still see the dark blood between the flag stones.

  “How do we know where to go now?” Gideon asked.

  “I was kept prisoner here before they took me to the arena.” Adilandra’s anger bubbled to the surface when she thought of the nights chained to the wall in the Goddess’s bed chambers. The queen of the elves had been forced to watch as a drugged Fallön was raped by the Goddess of the Darkakin. “Fallön is being kept a few floors above here, in the apex of the pyramid. I confess that Lörvana’s whereabouts are unknown to me. Krenorak took her as a trophy, but I never saw his chambers.” Adilandra thanked the gods for that small mercy.

  “Perhaps we should split up?” Gideon responded.

  “Shh...” Galanör had heard the voices at the same time as Adilandra. The younger elf put a finger to his lips and indicated to Gideon, with his hands, that they had heard something afar.

  The three companions followed the growing voices, until Gideon could hear them too. A set of stairs had been built into the floor on the other side of the throne room, the source of the foreign tongue. Without a sound they crept down the stairs and huddled beside an open doorway. The room beyond opened into a circular balcony that overlooked what Adilandra assumed was a council chamber of sorts. The queen went for her sword when she saw the Goddess, sitting on another throne below. Before her was a semicircular table with two heavily tattooed and pierced Darkakin men. Their harsh language made no sense to the elves or the mage, but it was clearly a heated discussion.

  Gideon held his finger aloft, as if an idea had suddenly struck him. Adilandra watched curiously when the mage rummaged through his deep satchel, though more curious was the face the human made during his search. With typical human elegance, Gideon’s tongue stuck out and his brow furrowed under the concentration. Had their situation not been so dire, the queen might have found it very amusing.

  From within the bag, Gideon removed a small, delicate spinning top, etched with the tiniest of ancient runes. He quickly placed it on the floor, pinched between his thumb and index finger, and flicked the spinning top into motion. As it span between their crouched bodies, the Darkakin language came to life in their ears.

  “How dare you make blood oaths with an elf!” The dark skinned warrior, with small dragons teeth fused into his bald skull, roared and slammed the table. “You speak for Malaysai and Dovosai, not Gravosai! Why should my people fight for some elf a thousand miles away? Let Illian rot I say!”

  “Do the people of Gravosai not crave the fight?” the Darkakin on the other side of the arcing table fired back. His skin was as white as milk and half of his head was completely bald, the other half flowed down to his shoulder in scraggy, pale blond knots. Deep red tattoos covered his bare chest and arms, as well as a thick red line that ran across his forehead and eyes.

  The horned Darkakin spat on the floor in disgust. “Overlord Kett... typical Dovosai, you’ve got your head so far up this bitch’s arse you can’t see what’s right in front of you!” The Goddess remained perfectly still, despite the insult. “We now know that elves live on this very land. We should march north and sack their cities in Ayda. The elves will offer a greater fight than the prissy little shits in Illian. Our ancestors left that place for a reason.”

  “They did not leave, Overlord Balgora,” the Goddess spoke from her tiered throne. “The world of man and elf alike cast us out. Alidyr Yalathanil assures me that the elves will be invading Illian soon. Imagine the war to be waged when we march beyond Syla’s Gate. In the bloody fight between their two people, we will wade in and show them what real war looks like.”

  The spinning top wobbled and stopped all together. Their next words became garbled, as unknown words replaced the language the companions understood. Galanör beat Gideon to the spinning top and flicked it with more strength and precision than any human could achieve.

  “No Darkakin has stepped through Syla’s Gate since the elves built the fucking thing!” Overlord Balgora spat.

  “It was abandoned when the elves left Illian,” the Goddess replied calmly. “I have more than one elven source...” Adilandra’s stomach flipped at the thought of how the Goddess was extracting information from Fallön and Lörvana.

  “How do you know its defences haven’t been taken up by the Illians?” Balgora sat back in his chair.

  “Alidyr assures-”

  “You trust an elf?” Balgora cut her off.

  Overlord Kett stood from his chair with enough force to launch it across the room. “And you question the Goddess too much! Your choices are simple Balgora; join my army and those of Malaysai, disprove your cowardice and march on Illian, or return to Gravosai in several small boxes.”

  “You would take my army by force, right here in the streets of Malaysai?” Balgora looked back to the Goddess, disbelieving. “My people would resist. There would be more blood in the streets than you could handle, and your armies would be depleted, securing your demise in Illian.” The horned Darkakin laughed with great mirth. “Do not think I am stupid enough to mistake your need of me. I hold the maps of our ancestors that ensure safe passage across Drowners Run. If your forces were to make camp on the wrong island, The Adean would claim their lives while they slept, or better yet, the beasts of black would drag them to the depths.”

  The Goddess held out her hand and the Darkakin Adilandra recognised as Hyvark appeared from the gloom. The skinny man handed the Goddess a bound scroll and bowed, before scuttling back into the shadows.

  “Do you mean these maps?” She held the scroll aloft so that Balgora could see it better.

  The expression on his face turned from surprise to anger in the blink of an eye. “You bitch!”

  “Goddess-bitch!” The queen of the Darkakin stood from her throne. “There are those in your camp, Overlord Balgora, who would see our three cities join together, under one banner. My banner. For years you have denied this alliance, but I would see its conclusion here and now. The Darkakin must be strong if we are to emerge victorious in Illian.”

  “You speak of alliance but you mean servitude.” Balgora stood up as well now. “You would have me bend the knee and offer you Gravosai with the bow of the head.”

  “Bow your head, or lose it...” Kett puffed out his chest.

  Balgora barred his filed teeth and removed the semicircular sword from his belt.

  The Goddess sighed. “I will take that as your final answer. Hyvark, bring in Overlord Balzal.”

  Balgora’s face dropped, when the truth of his situation became obvious. “Balzal...”

  Hyvark opened a set of doors that Adilandra couldn’t see. A younger man than either Kett or Balgora strode into the chamber with every confidence. Like Balgora, the Darkakin had two rows of dragon teeth fused into his bald head.

  “Traitor!” Balgora yelled at the other man. “You are my blood!”

  “You should be proud of your son, Balgora,” the Goddess continued. “He has secured his position as ruler of Gravosai; he will earn a place in history when he leads my armies into battle, he will sit at my right hand when Illian lies at our feet. He is
wiser than you ever were.”

  Balgora almost growled. “But he’s not stronger!” The heavy man flung his chair away and flipped the arcing table out of the way, ready to kill his own son.

  The Goddess rolled her eyes. “If strength is all you recognise... Krenorak?”

  Thunderous footsteps preceded the Darkakin’s entrance. The largest human Adilandra had ever seen entered the chamber from behind Balgora. The giant had hunted the queen and her kin for miles across the Flat Wastes and through the thick jungle of The Great Maw surrounding Malaysai. His dark skin rippled with thick muscle, though his face was forever hidden beneath his skull-mask.

  Balgora swivelled on the spot, with his curved blade held out in front of him. Adilandra detected the slight tremor in the man’s grip, but he did an excellent job of concealing his fears.

  “Balgora has insulted your Goddess,” the queen possessed a wicked smile.

  The horned Darkakin didn’t wait for the man-mountain to attack. His curved sword whipped into the air and came down towards Krenorak’s neck. With more speed than a man of that size should rightly possess, Krenorak caught Balgora’s sword arm with an iron grip, halting the attack mid-swing. Adilandra’s elven ears heard the bones snap in his wrist, before Balgora’s screams filled the circular chamber. The curved sword fell to the floor and Krenorak launched his free hand into the helpless man’s face, burrowing his strong fingers through his flesh and eyes. Once his grip was secure, the big man squeezed his hand, tightening his grip on Balgora’s skull. Through the agonised screams and the Goddess’s laughter, Adilandra heard the man’s skull slowly cave in on itself.

  Once the pain had become too much, Balgora passed out with blood pouring down his face. Krenorak removed his hand from the deformed skull and gripped Balgora’s jaw like a vice. One quick twist broke the neck, ending the Overlord’s life once and for all.