Rise of the Nightkings

by Levi Samuel

  Inyalia approached her chair and took a seat. Looking over the full meal spread before her, she knew she was going to miss her mother. But not just for her cooking. Melaena had always been there for her. Even when they were arguing, or when Inyalia was in trouble for any number of infractions, she knew her mother would always love her. And in turn, she loved her mother.

  A reassuring smile settled on Melaena’s lips. Studying her daughter, she knew they were thinking the same thing. There was no need to pollute it with words. Catching the scent of nearly burnt bacon, Melaena broke her gaze and grabbed the skillet off the wood stove. Laying it gently upon a quilted potholder, she scooped the meat out with precision, allowing the grease to drain away. Doing a quick count, she removed the steaming pot, and ensured all the food was present. There was toast, bacon, eggs, oats, a jar of mixed berry jam, roasted potatoes, and a platter of freshly churned butter. If the table was missing something, it clearly wasn’t needed. At least not today.

  “It smells good.” Scanning the abundance of food, there was no way she’d be able to make a dent in any of it. She had a long journey ahead of her, and there was no time to delay. But the wrath of her mother was an entirely different beast. One that would undoubtedly refuse to let her walk without eating. Pulling the wooden plate toward her, Inyalia gathered a couple pieces of toast. Layering the bacon, eggs, and potatoes atop a single piece, she pressed the other onto the pile, locking everything inside. That seemed to be the best option for loading up on food, while eating it quick enough to get going. “Thanks for breakfast, mom.” Inyalia tried to rise, sandwich in hand, only to find her mother guarding the exit.

  “Stop, sit, and eat!” Melaena smiled, demanding obedience.

  Exhaling sharply, Inyalia plopped down. “But mom—.”

  “Hush up and eat. There’s no telling when you’ll have another decent meal. And I’m not letting you leave until I’m certain you’re full.” Melaena shook her legendary spoon, threatening further dispute. “And when you’re done, you’re taking some for the road.”

  Trying, and failing not to smile, Inyalia took a massive bite, filling her mouth. It took some time to chew and swallow, but when she did, she couldn’t help but feel for her mother. Inyalia had been witness to Baal’s last breakfast. And while she couldn’t say whether it was the memory of the actual event, or a story that’d been told so often it felt like memory, but there had been a similar ceremony when Wyrlan had left. She knew the pain and fear her mother was feeling. But the strong woman before her always managed to keep a smile on her face and reassurance in her voice. That alone offered strength when all possibilities seemed so frightening. Swallowing the last bit of her sandwich, Inyalia slid her plate away and cleared her throat. “I love you, mom!”

  Melaena paused her busy work. She didn’t know whether to hug her daughter or cry. Perhaps both. But she wouldn’t do either. This was Inyalia’s time to venture out. Finding her resolve, Melaena turned to face her daughter. Extending a small sack that had been loaded with dried food, she offered a reassuring smile. “I love you, too. Now get out there and show em what you’re made of.”

  The beat within her chest kept her moving at a steady pace. Though to her, it sounded more like a war drum urging her onto the plank of uncertainty. Each beat was a step closer to the rest of her life. What if she failed? What if she wasn’t good enough? How could she handle being the first of her bloodline to be denied entry? The thoughts filled her with doubt, too numerous to focus on any single one.

  The sun was cresting the treetops when Inyalia reached the edge of Highlor. Turning east onto the road, she spotted a caravan just ahead. If she could barter a ride, it’d shave hours off her trip. Increasing her pace, Inyalia approached the rear wagon. The rails jingled and clanked from the multiple traps dangling down the sides. They certainly weren’t trying to be quiet. It was piled high with a mixture of dark brown and black furs. From the size and color, she guessed them to be bear hides. There wasn’t an abundance of wild bear in this part of Trendensil. But further south, near Ryse, they were a growing menace. Inyalia had overheard her father discussing the problem on many occasions. It seemed the small farming town there was always requesting assistance.

  Now that she could see the caravan as a whole, Inyalia realized each of the wagons was loaded to capacity. And with that many hides, Ryse had to be their point of origin. But it did little to suggest their destination. Bear pelt was valuable pretty much everywhere. If they were exporting to another kingdom, they could either go through the Icefall Pass, or travel the north road near Camruun City to Largar’Thor Harbor. One would take her straight to Dragon Sanctum, the other would get her about halfway there. But both were dependent on the generosity of the wagon masters.

  Making her way beside the rear wagon, careful to avoid blind spots, Inyalia hailed the coachman. “Excuse me, but is there any chance I can barter a ride to Dragon Sanctum, or as close as you’re willing to take me? I don’t have any coin to spare, but I’m a decent archer. I’d be happy to hunt for your lunch or help guard your wares while I’m here.”

  The man pulled the reins, bringing his horse to a stop. He surveyed the young elf for a moment. She didn’t look old enough to be out on her own, but it was difficult to tell with elves. They aged differently than humans. Inspecting the unstrung bow upon her back, her claim appeared legitimate. Were they anywhere else, he would have considered the threat of bandits, but the rangers kept the roads around here fairly safe, especially this close to the sanctum. “We’re riding straight through to Icefall Citadel. But an extra pair of eyes wouldn’t hurt.” Extending a hand, he pulled her onto the seat beside him. “The name’s Willam.”

  Inyalia took his hand and climbed up. She rocked against the spring mounted seat as the wagon lurched forward and began moving again. “Thank you, Willam. I’m Inyalia.” She studied the human, trying to make sense of him. She’d met a few here and there, but never really spoken to them. Most of Somuer and Noier, the two southern most baronies, were populated with a mixture of human and elf, but she’d never been allowed to explore farther than the southern road. And most humans seemed afraid to travel north.

  Willam’s skin was worn with age, though she didn’t know how to identify which phase of his lifespan he was in. Humans used years, whereas elves used cycles. The two were extremely different things. Though an elf and a human at birth were nearly the same in every regard. The difference came with time. Humans typically reached the end of their lifespan around an elf’s thirtieth cycle. Judging from the short, choppy gray hair atop his head, Inyalia gathered he was probably somewhere around his seventeenth cycle. That meant he wasn’t that much older than her. But the difference was severely noticeable. Turning her attention to his dress, she couldn’t help but notice the dull yellow tunic was slightly stretched at the midsection and frayed around the hems. It stood in stark contrast to the brown leather breeches he wore. They were thin at the knees, suggesting heavy use. This man had had an active life. Far more adventurous than hers it seemed, and with such similar time. A woodcutter’s axe rested beside his leg, wedged between the floorboards and the seat. And a heavy crossbow sat behind him, loaded and ready to fire. “You coming from Ryse?” Inyalia asked, not sure what else to say. She’d never been one for small talk.

  “Yep. Plenty of coin to be had for those willing to work for it. This is my third trip this month. Damn bears are breeding faster than we can clear em out. But I guess that ain’t such a bad thing in my line of work.” He kept his eyes on the road, catching up to the wagon ahead of them.

  “I guess not.” Inyalia watched the world around her. She was, as he’d said, another set of eyes. She stared intimately at the beauty of the world around her. The leaves were turning orange and beginning their descent to the forest floor. The evergreens held fast, standing out among the ocean of browns and golds. For the moment, she was at peace. Her worries and fears forgotten in her renewed love of the land.

  “What’s in Dragon Sanctum
if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I’m headed there to join the Rangers Corps.”

  Willam nodded. “Met a few rangers in my travels. Decent sort if you ask me. Good to have around in a fight too. I once knew one who could knock an acorn from a tree, absent its shell.” A hearty laugh bellowed from him, recalling the memory. “Won quite a bit of coin from me on that bet.”

  Inyalia smiled, wondering if she could do the same. She’d never tried an acorn, but once, she shot an angry wasp out of the air. If that wasn’t close enough, she didn’t know what was.

  The sun was just reaching its apex when Dragon Sanctum appeared in the distance. From the hill top, it stood out like a beacon, spreading hope across the countryside. The round building was open on four sides, though only two could be seen from her vantage point. Atop the towering domed roof, a huge statue of a white dragon was perched. Its leathery wings were outstretched, casting shadow across the ground for what had to have been miles. The recessed webs of the massive wings showed every bulging muscle and vein. Two sets of coal black, ridged horns, matching color of the teeth, spines, and talons, protruded from its skull. One set swept out and back like that of a gazelle. The other protruded and curved around like a ram, framing the sides of its gargantuan head. Inyalia stared in stunned silence, drawing closer to the magnificent structure. The maw was open and aimed at the sky, silently roaring its might. Of the hundreds of sharp teeth, the smallest of them was larger than her entire body. In all her cycles, never could she have imagined such a wonderful and frightening creature. The stories she’d heard could never do it justice.

  Willam smiled, seeing her awe. “First time, huh?”

  Finding her words, Inyalia broke away from its enchanting majesty. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Just a little. When we pass the stable, I’ll stop and let you climb down. It was a pleasure meeting you, Inyalia. I look forward to hearing your tales when next we meet.”

  Thank you, Willam. It was a pleasure meeting you as well.”

  The coach came to a stop and Inyalia climbed down. She was finally here. Her stomach churned. She felt sick. All the fear that had vacated during Willam’s company suddenly returned. But she was too close to turn back now. Releasing a deep breath, she watched the caravan pull away. Willam waved goodbye and disappeared in the distance. This was really it. She’d arrived. Now all she had to do was prove herself.

  Turning away from the stables, Inyalia approached one of the wooden ramps that provided access to the grand structure. There were a total of eight of them, two sprouting from each corner. Upon first glance it seemed a bit odd, but now she realized the sections between ramps served as fortified walls for the stable, forge, smokehouse, and a few other commodities. In one of the alcoves, an elf worked diligently, hammering a wooden device together. Beside him, several others rested. Hides of various shades and thicknesses were stretched over the wooden frames, displaying every mark, mar, and scar the creature received during its life. Some of the cured hides retained their fur, while others were stripped and draped over one of many horizontal posts. She suddenly knew this was where they got the leather for their armors. And soon, if all went according to plan, she’d have her own.

  A sweet smoke lingered in the air. It billowed from a port at the top of a large iron box. The attending elf slid a small window open at its base, revealing a pile of glowing embers. Closing the window, he opened the door. Scooping a handful of wood from the barrel beside him, liquid dripped between his fingers. It sizzled as he tossed it into the smoker and closed the door.

  Hearing an arrow strike its target, Inyalia turned to find another section, not far from the sanctum. Several dummies stood erect, holding wooden swords and shields. Beyond them, an archer’s lane rested. It had both stationary and moving targets set at various heights and distances. Two rangers stood behind one of the many markers, trading shots. It took every ounce of will she had not to fire one of her arrows between theirs. Their shots were sloppy, nearly three inches out. Even from here, she had no doubt she could hit a perfect bullseye. But that was bound to draw unwanted attention. That was the last things she desired at the moment.

  Following the curved ramp around, Inyalia reached the northwest corner. Somewhere on the other side of the building, she heard the ring of a smith’s hammer. Elves scurried about, both inside and out, performing a number of tasks, though the population wasn’t nearly as dense as she’d expected. This was the headquarters of the Second Battalion. She’d anticipated hundreds of elves, most of them rangers, all crowding for space. But that seemed to be far from the case. Though as an afterthought, it made sense. Why would an entire battalion waste their days here when they could be exploring the forests?

  Inyalia approached the nearest opening. It happened to be the one above the ramp she’d ascended, though from the corner where it dumped her, she could have chosen either.

  Stepping through the large opening, she paused to inspect the wonders inside. It was as grand as she could have hoped for, though it lacked the over-the-top exuberance she’d seen outside. The interior walls were made of a glossy wood that ran vertical from floor to ceiling. Various shades and sizes of stone were locked into an intricate puzzle, sealing the floor. Overhead, exposed rafters left the vaulted ceiling open and inviting. A large chandelier, made from stag antlers, hung in the center, providing light to the layer below. Inyalia inspected the balcony that wrapped the upper level. It connected to a number of closed doors around the outer ring, though she had no ideas as to what it contained.

  Her attention returned to the excitement around her. She felt a wave of heat to the right. The stone floor extended up, creating a half circle where a large fireplace protruded from the wall. Flame licked the air from the pile of burning logs within. It was positioned dead center of the two entryways on this half of the structure. Another just like it, rested on the other side. To her left, a wall blocked much of her sight. It stretched nearly to the center of the sanctum before rounding off. She couldn’t tell from the wall beside her, but its twin, mirrored on the opposing side, separated nearly a quarter of the sanctum from view. It was then she realized it had been divided into quarters, each one nearly identical to its opposite.

  The opening between the two dividing walls held a large round table at the neck of the hourglass-shaped room. An elf stood over it, dressed in officer’s armor, similar to her father’s. In fact, there was but one difference. The sigil upon his breastplate was inlaid in silver. Her father’s armor was gold. Inyalia marched toward the elf, recognizing his as she neared.

  Ranger- Lord Traevon Duskwillow was one of her father’s closest friends. He’d joined them for dinner on many occasions when her father was home. In addition, he was also Lord of Dragon Sanctum, and commander of the Second Battalion. If anyone knew who she was supposed to talk to, it would be him.

  Chapter IV

  A Road Less Traveled

  Traevon looked up from his reports, seeing the young elf approach. His lips shifted from a content rest to the makings of a smile. “Inyalia Highlor, I wondered when I’d be seeing you. Your father told me you’d be arriving today, but I didn’t expect you until later.” He leaned over to whisper. “Just between you and me, he suggested I give you the special treatment. But I fear you’d never forgive me.”

  “Thank you?” Inyalia wasn’t sure what the special treatment was, but with a statement like that, it was probably best not to ask. “I’m just happy doing what everyone else does, if that’s okay?”

  Nodding to himself, Traevon released something resembling a chuckle. It passed nearly as quick and his posture became rigid and formal. “Unfortunately, that’s really not up to me. All of our recruits are paired with a senior ranger during their trials. Most of what you’ll face will be at their behest. Though I’ll warn you, you’re petitioning to become part of an elite force, sworn to protect your homeland at all cost, your life included. Personal safety cannot be assured at any time from now until forever. However, any ran
ger, near or far, young or old, will do everything within their ability to ensure you never come to harm. If you’re willing to accept these terms, I’ll point you in the right direction.”

  “My safety cannot be assured whether I become a ranger or not. I think I’d rather face the same odds by being a part of the greatest fighting force known to elven kind.”

  This elicited a full smile from the commander. “You always had a way with flattery. Though, be careful who you make such claims around. Members of both the army and navy have been known to pass through here. I wouldn’t want you to have to defend those words on your first day.”

  “Noted, sir!”

  “And enough with that Sir crap. I may be an officer, but I work for a living!”

  “Yes, Si— What am I supposed to call you?”

  “Traevon in social settings, Commander for formal affairs.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “Now that we have the formalities out of the way. You desire admittance into the Rangers Corps, by means of the trials. Am I correct in this assessment?”

  “Yes, Commander. Unless there’s another way. If so, I’ll take that.” Inyalia didn’t think there was another way, but if so, it would mean all of her fears were for nothing.

  “None that you would approve of. We used to take a red-hot poker and brand the sigil into each elf’s chest. Those who didn’t scream were admitted. I think you’ll find the trials a preferred alternative.”

  Inyalia’s face dropped. Suddenly the trials didn’t seem so bad.

  “I’m kidding.” Traevon drew a folded piece of vellum from his pocket. “This is an encrypted note, providing any details your mentor may need to know about you. I don’t know who it is. Your father made those arrangements, which means they probably already know everything mentioned in the missive and more. But you’ll want it for verification anyway.” Reaching into a drawer hidden beneath the large table, Traevon removed a tiny glass vial. Holding it up to the firelight, he inspected the clear liquid within and handed both it, and the missive to her. “The vial is quite a bit more serious. You’ll have to drink it before leaving here. The contents will affect you in ways I cannot say, though it is not fatally poisonous, at least not in this dosage. Your mentor will have the antidote. You simply have to reach him. The affects have never lasted longer than three days, so if you fail to meet your mentor and receive the antidote, you won’t die. But you may as well return home. Every ranger in the corps, your father and myself included, have been subject to this serum. Do you have any questions?”