Rise of the Nightkings

by Levi Samuel

  Inyalia laid among the rocks for what felt like an eternity. She could barely think, let alone comprehend time. The uncontrollable shivers had ceased, replaced by a comfortable numb. Floating in the rushing water, held stationary only by the gathered stone and her bow, Inyalia closed her eyes. It was the only way she’d be able to stay still long enough to ensure no one saw her.

  Slowly peeking through her eyelids, the sun had changed position. It was touching the peaks of the towering mountains. Nightfall would be here in minutes. She remembered thinking about it when she let loose her arrow. How long ago was that? Was it even the same day? There was only one certainty. She couldn’t stay here much longer. The water was robbing her strength. She’d risked staying too long already. Forcing her body to move, Inyalia crawled from her refuge. It wasn’t so difficult being out of the main current, but her muscles didn’t want to cooperate. One hand after another, she pulled herself into the grass, using every bit of strength she had. Her fingers hurt. They were frozen, the sudden flow of warming blood made them itch. Pulling herself completely from the water, Inyalia convulsed. Her shivering returned, burning and itching covering her from head to toe. Weakly, she peeled her cloak and armor away. She needed to shed the wet clothes if she was to correct her temperature. It seemed frozen wind and snow was nothing compared to mountain spring water on a warm day.

  Exposing her skin to the fading sun, Inyalia rubbed her arms, keeping her body curled as best she could. She could feel the warmth spread through her body, but it made the itch worse.

  Opening her pack, Inyalia was pleased to see the contents were mostly dry. Some of the water had entered through the leather flap, but the wax coating had prevented the majority of it. She pulled her spare clothes from the middle, pleased they were little more than damp. Dressing as quick as her muscles would allow, Inyalia stuffed the wet armor and cloak into the bag.

  It took a few minutes for most of the itch to subside, and when it did, she was discovering cuts and bruises that hadn’t been there before. Her strength was far from returned but she’d have to make do. After everything she’d been through today, she wasn’t giving up just yet.

  Slinging the rucksack, Inyalia grabbed her bow and quiver and made for the bridge. Caution would be needed. The exercise wasn’t over, and there was no telling who would be waiting for her.

  Climbing into the nearest tree, Inyalia took her time approaching the lodge. It was bound to be the most patrolled, most protected area of Caelum at this point. She couldn’t risk failing now. Keeping watch on the distance, Inyalia climbed into one of the trees she’d used before. She didn’t have her armor to help camouflage her, but if she was careful, she wouldn’t need it. Slowly, she moved into position, finding a place where she could see both the lodge and the surrounding area. She squinted through the doorless opening. It was difficult to see into the dark building, but the fading sunlight would help. She just had to wait a few moments longer and hope that Tylor was still there.

  Allowing her eyes to adjust, Inyalia saw several people within the lodge. Most were of no concern, but it seemed fortune smiled upon her.

  Tylor sat alone at a small table, not a care in the world. His leather-backed chair was lush with padding and his feet were elevated. The pages of a thick book had his full and undivided attention.

  Inyalia’s nose wrinkled in distaste. After all she’d been through, he was relaxing in a plump, comfortable chair, and she was exhausted and sore. She wanted to shoot him again on principle, but there was no way she could outrun the rangers a second time. All she had to do was get to him and she’d pass. But it wouldn’t be that easy. She was still undergoing a test. There was no way she could simply walk in, especially after running for her life. No, there had to be more to it.

  The sun had nearly disappeared behind the mountains, providing plentiful shadows. They would aid her, but it also provided cover for everyone else. Birds circled overhead, searching for something.

  Inyalia watched them for a long moment. What were they looking for? It was too populated for food. And these birds weren’t nocturnal. They should have already returned to their roosts for the evening. Scanning the trees, Inyalia spotted the nests near the top. Nothing appeared wrong with them, and many of the neighboring birds had roosted already. Why hadn’t these few?

  Staying as still as possible, Inyalia studied the trees with empty nests. Starting at the base, working her way upward, she found what she’d expected. Hidden among the leaves, much the same way she was, she found a ranger. His bow was drawn, eyes searching the road. A smirk came to her lips. She’d guessed right. The birds weren’t landing because the rangers were too close. And she’d found them before they found her. That meant she could finish this without another chase. But first—.

  Inyalia glanced overhead, making sure there was no empty nest in her tree. She had the advantage. There was no sense in squandering it. Content, she returned to the task at hand.

  Working her way to the back side of the trunk, Inyalia opened her pack and pulled a small piece of lambskin from one of the side pockets. It was soggy, but that didn’t matter for her intentions. She grabbed a chunk of charcoal from the same pocket. Black grit rubbed off on her hands. Stretching the lambskin as best she could, she scribbled a single word into the soft fabric. Cutting a piece of twine, she wrapped the damp lambskin around the shaft of an arrow and tied it off. Ensuring it would hold, she tucked the arrow into her quiver and quickly scaled the side of the tree, hoping to remain out of sight. Inyalia took position on the far side where she had full cover. From there, she dropped down behind a row of manicured shrubs. She was in position, all she had to do was finish the game.

  Inyalia aligned herself with Tylor, ensuring a clean shot through the opening. So long as no one stepped through, the way was clear. She located as many rangers as she could find. Selecting the most likely target, she drew and nocked a generic blunt tip and took aim. Awaiting the perfect moment, Inyalia released. The arrow flew into the darkening sky, up over the tree tops. One of the flying birds crossed into its path. With a squawk, the blunted head struck, and both bird and arrow tumbled down. It was a long wait, but it paid off.

  A high-pitched scream echoed across from the lodge. One of the rangers flailed about, tumbling from his perch. He landed hard on the ground, batting and kicking as the stunned bird flopped and fluttered, trying to get away from the floundering elf.

  Open laughter echoed from the trees, announcing the location of the other rangers, including a few Inyalia hadn’t seen. She didn’t care so much about that. The bird had simply been a distraction. Nocking her message, she took aim and fired. The slim, wooden missile passed through the opening and struck the book in Tylor’s hands, knocking it into him. The arrow landed in his lap, as the book wrapped around his head.

  Inyalia crawled from the shrubs and disappeared into the trees. She didn’t have time to wait for Tylor’s response.

  Approaching Inyalia’s sleeping quarters, Tylor knocked on the wooden frame. Very few of the buildings here had doors. The weather never required it, and they’d been designed to offer privacy without confinement. Instead, he waited patiently before proceeding in. That was the polite thing to do after all. Even from here, he could feel the heat radiating from the small hut. The orange flicker dancing on the wall, hinted to the fire’s size.

  “Come in!” Inyalia’s voice demanded from the far side of the room.

  Tylor stepped through the opening and rounded the corner. He found himself staring down the shaft of a blunt tip, aimed at his chest. Inyalia was wrapped in a thick blanket. Her armor, clothing, and cloak hung near the central firepit, steam rolling from them. A smile found its way to his lips, though he didn’t want to be shot again. “I must say I didn’t expect so many surprises today.”

  “Does this mean I passed the test?” Inyalia kept her bow drawn. She needed to make sure it was over before she let her guard down.

  “Today? Yes. Unless you plan to shoot me again? I won’t deny I
deserve it. But I really don’t want to be shot again.” Tylor recalled his own trials, he’d had it easy compared to what she’d undergone. But she was the general’s daughter. She was going to be held to a higher standard, regardless of fairness.

  Lowering her bow, Inyalia removed the arrow and stuffed it into her quiver. “Good. Now go away. I need to sleep!”

  Despite his lingering pain, he managed a smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Placing his hand over his chest, Tylor turned and stepped toward the door. Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder. “You did well today.”

  Chapter VII

  Rumor Has It

  Morning came quicker than ever. Inyalia rolled, burying her face in the heavy quilted blanket. It was a desperate attempt to hide from the beaming rays of light shining through the open walls, an attempt that proved folly. Her muscles screamed at her, each one tense and throbbing. Unable to escape the day, Inyalia sighed and threw the blanket away from her. Straining, she sat up, placing her feet on the sun-warmed floor. It hurt to move, but the quicker she started doing it the sooner the pain would subside.

  Making her way across the small hut, Inyalia pulled her clothes from the iron hooks elevated above the firepit. The pile of wood she’d stacked the night before had burned to cinders. Not so much as a single piece of charcoal remained. Bits of ash clung to her clothes. They were stiff, but dry. Giving a quick few whips to each article, the fibers loosened, returning to their usual flowing state.

  Inyalia quickly dressed and went to work gathering her armor. It was stiff as well, but that was desired. In many ways it was better. The armor had been wet molded to her. While it fit well before, it would be even better now. She only hoped it hadn’t dried too fast. That would make the leather brittle and more likely to break.

  Buckling the molded armor into place, Inyalia took a seat on her bed. Her mind filled with dread. What would Tylor have in store for her today? She wasn’t ready for any more tests, though she understood their purpose. It was a way of finding her limits. It would tell her what she was capable of. And considering the elves had never been involved in a war, or really anything more serious than the occasional beast attack, being tested now would prepare her if such a time ever came. The rangers were the first and last line of defense. She had to be prepared, even if her skills were never needed.

  Inyalia recalled a statement her father often made. If being a ranger were easy, everyone would do it. She’d thought about that line quite a bit. The rangers were the elite. It wasn’t supposed to be easy. There was always the army or navy for that. Anyone could join them, surpassing their ranks by the thousands. Though neither branch suited her. The army traveled, which was ideal, but usually only to neighboring kingdoms in need of aid. Rarely did they engage in combat. And the navy protected the coast, while providing escort for the trade ships. Neither path suited her. She wanted to travel, but Trendensil was her home. She couldn’t stand the thought of being away for so long.

  Inyalia sat quietly, processing her thoughts. No, this was where she wanted to be. This was where she needed to be. Her vow renewed, she picked herself up, grabbed her pack and quiver, and headed out the threshold.

  It took no time to reach the Ranger’s Lodge, though traveling by road took nearly three times longer than by tree. Inyalia could usually find Tylor inside. They’d created an unofficial tradition, meeting there each morning for breakfast. It provided a short time of revelry before her daily torture began.

  She marched through the opening, glancing to the bar along the left wall. The main area of the lodge was mostly open, filled with several leather-bound chairs positioned around half as many tables. The far wall was adorned by a set of twin oaken doors that sealed the officer’s lounge from view. Inyalia had seen inside only once, when Tylor had arranged the battle with Lorena. As far as she could tell, there was little more than an oblong table set with several chairs at the center.

  On either side of the doors, towering shelves overflowed with books of all thicknesses, colors, and sizes. To the left of the southernmost shelf, a stairwell offered invitation to the basement and second floors. A dividing wall protruded, separating it from the barroom.

  Inyalia glanced up the stairs. The second floor served as an inn and bathhouse. She understood the latter, but why anyone would need a bed was beyond her. All newcomers were assigned lodging when they met the circle. Though, her first day of training had answered that question. She’d been so sore she couldn’t bare the thought of walking to her hovel. Instead, she spent the evening upstairs, soaking in a hot bath.

  As for the basement, her guess was just as good as another. The base of the stairs was sealed by a thick iron door that was always locked. So naturally, many rumors circulated around it. Some believed it protected a vault filled with powerful artifacts. Others said it was the entrance to the catacombs, where those killed in training were buried. And her personal favorite, the entrance to another dimension where strange and wonderful creatures were kept prisoner. Inyalia didn’t believe any of it. None of the stories made any form of sense. Even if such outlandish places did exist, they wouldn’t be located in the basement of the lodge.

  Making her way to the center table, where her and Tylor usually met, Inyalia was surprised to find the place so barren. Typically, there were several ranger’s lounging about, enjoying a morning meal. Most of them were recruits, much like herself.

  It didn’t take long to realize that Inyalia was unique in her training. Very few of the others had a one on one relationship with their mentors. Despite Tylor’s assurance to the contrary, she believed it had something to do with her family name.

  She’d arrived slightly later than usual, but it wasn’t late enough to warrant the place being near empty. Taking her seat, Inyalia gestured to one of the other recruits, an elf named Thurlas. He was talking with a mage from one of the lower tiers. She seemed comfortable with the ranger. Most magi didn’t spend any longer from their kind than necessary. Inyalia had seen her a few times, but she’d never caught her name. But that didn’t mean much. There were many people Inyalia had met but didn’t know. Even Thurlas, she’d spoken to a handful of times. He was nearing the end of his time in Caelum, which meant they were rarely in the same place at the same time. “Hey Thurlas, where is everyone today?”

  “You haven’t heard?”

  Inyalia waited patiently. That was kind of a stupid question. If she’d heard, she wouldn’t have asked in the first place.

  “Most of the trainers have been recalled to service. And they’re rushing those of us who are nearing completion out the door. I got my duty papers this morning. There hasn’t been an official announcement, but the rumors say something big is coming.” Turning to his companion, Thurlas invited her to join the conversation. “Tell her what you heard.”

  The mage looked much older than Thurlas. But that was the way with humans. They aged roughly three times faster. Inyalia wondered what life was like for them. Having such a short lifespan had to be torture, simply waiting around to expire.

  The human’s voice was monotone, reciting the words as if reading a report. Her posture was rigid, her entire body reacting to each movement. “Divination spells are showing dark times ahead, though nobody has been able to discern any more detail than that. They haven’t even agreed on a time period as to when this thing is supposed to happen. But things have been growing increasingly odd. Spells are misfiring as if they were cast incorrectly, despite proper handling. Some people are talking about the dead crawling from their graves. Even the weather has been acting up in some areas. A missive from Galmak reported blood raining from the sky. A lot of people are saying it’s the end of days.”

  Inyalia absorbed the story. It was quite a tale. But how could it be true? She hadn’t heard anything prior to now. Surely Tylor would have told her if something serious was happening. A smile breeched her lips. “You guys are messing with me, right? Good job. You had me going there for a moment.”

  “Hey, believe what you
want. We’re just telling you what we’ve heard. Speaking of which, it’s about time to head out.” Thurlas stood and grabbed his pack. “Good luck.”

  “You as well.” Inyalia watched the pair disappear out the nonexistent door. Raising her hand, she signaled the kitchen boy.

  “What can I get you today?”

  “I’ll take some toast with gravy, and a glass of milk, if you please. And while I have you here, have you by chance seen Tylor today? He’s usually here before I am.”

  “I can’t say I have, though I’ll ask the chef. He was working the counter before I got in.”

  Nodding her agreement, Inyalia watched the boy rush behind the bar, disappearing between a set of swinging doors. He would have made a good ranger save for the damage to his left hand. He was missing the first two joints of each finger. She guessed that was why he worked the kitchen, rather than drawing a bow. Though she’d seen him wield a knife with a proficiency beyond her own. Given the right motivation, she had no doubt he could hold his own.

  A moment later, the kitchen boy returned. A copper tankard rested in his good hand, the loaded plate of food balanced a top it. A sealed piece of parchment was pinched between the nubs of his damaged fingers. Setting the plate and tankard in front of her, he extended the missive. “Chef says he was here this morning. He requested we deliver this to you.”

  “Thank you.” Inyalia wasted no time breaking the wax. It had been pressed with the sigil of an owl perched upon a broken branch. She knew it as Tylor’s personal stamp. Unfolding the missive, a second, smaller piece fell free and floated to the floor. Picking it up, Inyalia studied the elegant curvature of the symbols. It was written in a black ink, though it seemed to pulse between purple and yellow. Were she not in a place where magic was taught, she would have discounted it as a trick of the light. The symbols were foreign to her, but the tone of their intent suggested they were important. Directing her attention to the second, larger sheet, thick blots of smeared ink marred the page. She recognized Tylor’s hand at once. It had been hastily written and sealed before dry, leaving smudges along the adjoining side. She silently read the missive, hearing Tylor’s voice in her mind.