Rise of the Nightkings

by Levi Samuel

  Alona’s jaw tensed, parting to reveal the pointed onyx teeth. Another glob of the boiling foam spilled, landing to the left of her prey.

  “Please, Alona. You helped me once. Don’t do this.” Using her words as the only distraction she possessed, Inyalia pivoted slightly, sliding her hand under her head. It was uncomfortable, but it was the only option she had. Fingering the shafts of her arrows, she cycled through, locating one of the blackened missiles. Working it free a little at a time, she continued trying to reason with the beast. “Please, Alona. I don’t know what’s happened to you, but I want to help.”

  The gaping maw came closer. She was running out of time. Working the arrow free, Inyalia wrapped her hand around the shaft and prepared herself. “Please, let me go. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  What could have been laughter, or possibly the attempted expulsion of a hairball, escaped the dragon’s belly. Though it didn’t halt its advance.

  Inyalia meant her last words. She really didn’t want to hurt the beast, if such a thing was even possible. But time for desire was over. There was only one desire that mattered and that was the desire to live. Squeezing the arrow tight, Inyalia brought her arm around and plunged the arrow into the dragon’s jaw.

  Alona roared and withdrew. Scraping at her neck, she struggled against the keen needle that had so easily broken through her scales.

  Now was her chance. Inyalia scurried to her feet and charged down the ravine. She had no way of getting back to the path she was familiar with, but maybe she could circle around. Either way, she was on limited time. The beast was certain to come for her now. Perhaps, if she could reach the cavern, maybe she could escape the dragon’s fury.

  Falling backward with a crash, Alona raked her front claws at the shaft. Somehow it had managed to cut through her scales and into the meat beneath. Rage and pain coursed through her, but the arrow held.

  Searching for any path that was both shallow enough, and flat enough to climb with haste, Inyalia ran. Seeing no such path, she had to make a decision. She could either continue on her current path and the dragon would catch her, or she could risk the snow and work her way toward more familiar ground. Choosing the latter, Inyalia kicked off one of the mounds of piled rock and jumped. She sank deeper than desired into the undisturbed snow, but it was better than the alternative. Half running, half swimming, she climbed the slope, reaching the top of the ravine. She wanted to glance back. She wanted to know if the dragon was pursuing her yet. Fighting her instinct, she continued on. She was on limited time. Wasting it for a mild assurance was not worth the risk.

  Reaching the side of the mountain peak, Inyalia weighed her options. The cliff face she’d scaled was too far away. The only logical choice was to continue around and hope to intersect. Moving as close to the wall as she could, Inyalia avoided the deeper snow. It would hide her tracks, while allowing her to move faster. Following the rocky terrain, she listened for the beast as best she could.

  Inyalia came to another cliff edge. From here she could see the cavern that would be her salvation. But she was still far from it. And worse, she’d apparently gained elevation on this side of the peak. It was a good fifty-foot descent to the shelf she needed. But the dragon wasn’t upon her yet. Maybe she could make it before it was.

  Grabbing hold of the frozen rocks, she realized just how cold her fingers were. But it wasn’t just her fingers. Her entire body quivered. She was afraid. Closing her eyes for the briefest moment, hoping to calm herself, Inyalia kicked her legs against the rock, digging her toes into the icy crevices. Carefully, she began her climb.

  Alonandrensal slammed into the ice-covered ground. Her claws ripped at the scales around the wound, pulling them free. She dug at the arrow with all her might, attempting to free herself. There was something about this arrow, something unique. Fired at pointblank range, a normal arrow wouldn’t have penetrated her beautiful scales. Yet this one did so from the stab of an elfling. More than that, it was robbing her of strength. No, not her strength. Her anger. Her rage. She was still angry. She’d been stabbed, it hurt. Nothing could ease that. But it was lessened enough to free her mind ever so slightly. There was no doubt the arrow was responsible. And while she was still trapped within a body that would no longer obey her command, she was at least awake once again. That was better than nothing. Had it not been for that, she would have crushed the elf before she could run. It had been Alona, the real Alona that threw herself to the ground to give Inyalia the chance to escape. But how much longer would that last? She could feel the arrow coming free. Would the little control she had fade once it was gone?

  A bellowing roar shook the wall. Inyalia’s hand slipped. Dangling by one arm, her fingers weakening moment by moment, she felt the first chunks of snow rain upon her. Stealing a glance overhead, her fear was renewed. The icy shelf at the top of the cliff was beginning to break free. Already it protruded several feet over the edge, threatening to crash down upon her. The cracks in the underside snaked through the wall of snow, growing more rapid as it went. She had to get off the cliff. Her time was limited. She found a mild humor in the situation. She’d escaped a dragon, only to be killed by an avalanche.

  Straining, she twisted her body, getting hold of the rocks once again. Setting her feet, Inyalia worked her way across. Going down was no longer an option. If she could get to the other side, maybe she could avoid the majority of the encroaching avalanche.

  Another earthquake hit. The snowy mixture slid a bit further. Some of the larger pieces broke free. Tumbling down the mountain face, they smashed against the protruding rocks, breaking into smaller pieces.

  As quick as she could, Inyalia skirted the rocky bluff. Reaching a small shelf, she dove into a pile that had crashed moments before. If she was lucky, the rest would pass her by. She could feel the rumble as the unstable shelf broke apart. Pieces crashed around her, blanketing the area in snow. It was rapidly growing dark. Soon, she wouldn’t have room to breathe. That was provided the weight didn’t kill her first. But at least if she was buried, Alona wouldn’t be able to find her.

  The ground beneath her began to slide. Inyalia instantly knew she’d become part of the avalanche. Before she lost her sense of direction, she started digging, hoping to get to the surface before she went over the edge. Fortunately, the snow wasn’t overly deep just yet. She broke through the surface, finding herself in a flowing river of powder. It poured from above in a solid wall, breaking against the shelf before continuing down. Climbing to the top, Inyalia ran toward the mountain as fast as she could. If she could grab the rocks, there was a chance it would miss her.

  No matter how hard she ran, she couldn’t seem to make ground. Instead, she continued toward the edge. Out of nowhere, the strong winds returned. Inyalia didn’t need to look to know that the dragon had found her.

  Narrowing in on the warm blood coursing through the tiny elf’s veins, Alonandrensal flapped her wings vigorously just beyond the falling snow. She had no way to reach her prey until the avalanche stopped. But she deserved death. It would come one way or another. Filling her lungs with air, Alonandrensal prepared to freeze the girl. From there the snow would carry her to the ground where her soul could be collected.

  Inyalia felt the change in temperature. All the air had been sucked out of the world. She found it hard to breathe. That could only mean one thing. Alona was going to blow that freezing snot all over her. This was it. She was out of options. She could fall or she could freeze. Either way, her death was imminent.

  Suddenly, an idea came to her. She was trapped, again. But her arrow had proven effective last time. And she had one more, and little else to lose. Willing herself, Inyalia kicked off the sliding snow and spun around, grabbing her arrow. Charging toward the beast, she jumped as hard as she could.

  Alonandrensal released her breath. It expanded, freezing the moisture in the air. Though the elf’s actions caught her completely by surprise.

  Inyalia felt the cold. But it didn’t freeze her. S
he was above it, running atop it. The ice froze and expanded so fast that she was able to purchase a few steps more than she’d expected. Though they didn’t last long. The ice fell no sooner than her weight changed its trajectory. Reaching the apex of her charge, she saw the massive teeth prepared to snatch her out of the air. Inyalia kicked one final time, pushing herself off the dragon’s snout. Overshooting its horns, she stabbed the arrow into the base of its skull and hung on for dear life.

  Alonandrensal roared in pain. She clawed at the newly plunged arrow, unable to reach it, or the elf attached to it. She had to land. That was the only way she was going to be done with this pest. More gliding than flying, Alonandrensal fought through the pain in an attempt to land without crashing. Nothing would save the elfling once she reached the ground.

  Straining against the constant change in winds and the abrasive scales, Inyalia pulled against the base of the arrow. Her grip was weakening. The dragon’s blood was seeping from the wound, making her hand slick, but at least it provided some warmth to her numb fingers. Using the scales to her advantage, Inyalia climbed atop the creature’s neck. Now was her chance. Ripping the arrow free, she stabbed repeatedly. This was the only advantage she was going to get. She had little doubt she’d escape if she didn’t kill the beast before they reached the ground. Her tenacity was paying off. She could feel the muscles relaxing, though she had to time it just right. If Alona died before they landed, she’d be just as dead.

  Alonandrensal crashed into the earth, sending a shower of snow and rock into the air. She slid for quite a way, unable to slow herself. The elf had robbed her of her rage once again. That would possibly save her. Fortunately, the arrow hadn’t caused much more than minor wounds, but it would take some time to heal. She only hoped the girl had the sense to run. If she delayed, she wasn’t sure how long she could contain herself.

  Inyalia covered her face. The impact was harder than she’d intended. But that meant she’d wounded the beast. If she could get a few more stabs, perhaps she could finish the job. Inyalia’s thoughts were cut short. The dragon slammed into a rocky outcropping, causing it to stop abruptly. Inyalia was weightless, dislodged from her mount. Flying through the air, she crashed into the snow and rolled. Regaining her bearings, she was closer to the cave entrance than she could have hoped for. But the dragon was rising. Fortunately, the arrow remained locked in her grip. It’d prove useful if it caught her before she could get to the cave.

  Inyalia crawled to her knees. Her body ached. Glancing down, her armor was shredded. She could see her own blood in many places, but nothing appeared more serious than a few scrapes and bruises. It seemed the scales had been sharper than she’d anticipated. Getting to her feet, she made for the cavern. She was limping, but at least she was gaining ground.

  Feeling the earth shake, Inyalia knew the dragon was behind her. She had to reach the entrance. It was the only thing that could save her. Just a few more steps and she’d be there.

  The beating in the ground grew more intense, more rapid. Alona was closing in. Putting everything she had into it, Inyalia dove. She couldn’t spare time to look, but she knew the dragon was close. She could see the onyx fangs in her peripherals. She could feel the icy chill of death, that cold breath freezing the air around her. She didn’t have to look. She knew she was in the dragon’s mouth. A heartbeat longer and its jaws would snap shut.

  She hit the floor of the cave, the pointed teeth scraping the sides of her boots as they closed. She’d made it, narrowly. But she wasn’t safe yet. She could feel the warmth of the forge. It was nothing against the dragon’s icy breath. That was sure to follow. She’d escaped its maw, but she hadn’t escaped its reach. Clawing at the floor, Inyalia scrambled to her feet. She had to run and hope the cave would open for her as it had before. If it didn’t, nothing would save her.

  Trembling from both cold and terror, Inyalia reached the back wall. With no other option, she unslung her bow, grateful it hadn’t been damaged more severely than a few fresh nicks in the wood. Nocking the arrow, Inyalia took aim, waiting for one of the massive eyes to present itself.

  Chunks of stone tore under the forceful talons, but it was no use. She couldn’t dig her way inside. And the cave was too deep to do much but block the entrance. All Alonandrensal had to do was to fill the chamber with her icy breath, but the elfling had wounded her. Such a fate was too quick, too clean. She wanted the pleasure of feeling the elfling’s bones break between her teeth, to make her suffer for her insolence. But she had to get to her first.

  “Go away, Alona. I don’t want to shoot you, but I will!” Inyalia pleaded, waiting for her target. She didn’t know if it would kill the great white, and she really didn’t want to. But this was a matter of life and death. And she’d fought too hard to die.

  Thunder cracked outside the cavern. Inyalia watched the dragon’s nostrils flare, sniffing for something. She felt relief flow through her as the dragon’s snout retracted. Though it didn’t set her at ease. She knew the dragon was still there. And she was still trapped.

  The walls shook, filling the room with the gravelly voice she’d heard before. “This isn’t over. I’ll find you. It may take a lifetime, but one day I’ll come for you!”

  The wind picked up outside, slinging snow past the entrance. Inyalia heard the wings flap, becoming quiet with the dying gusts. Cautiously, Inyalia approached the opening, keeping her bow at the ready. She couldn’t risk it being some kind of trick. Peeking outside, she could see Alona gaining altitude, shrinking into the distance.

  Thick droplets began to fall from the sky. Inyalia had first believed it to be rain, but the snow was turning red. Lowering her bow, she extended her hand to collect some of the thick liquid. Sniffing it, she could smell the coppery scent of blood. Something was seriously wrong. She needed to get out of here and find out what. As if the thought were the trigger, the stone faded away.

  Chapter XI

  The Hall of Guardians

  Inyalia found herself standing upon a maroon carpet, running the length of a rather long but narrow room. It was remarkably similar to the arcade where she’d last seen Tylor, save for the solid stone walls draped in once elegant, but since deteriorating tapestries.

  Slowly, painfully, she limped toward the head of the room, inspecting the numerous statues standing along both sides of the path. These weren’t nearly as large as those outside, playing no part in the ceiling’s support. Each of the ancient rangers stood proportionate to what she guessed was their likeness in life. They watched her with a stillness found only in stone. But that was the odd thing. Regardless of where she stood, they always faced her.

  Uneasy, Inyalia’s eyes darted about the room, bow at the ready. She was uncertain as to what she was supposed to do here. Most everything else had been pretty straight forward. Aside from fighting Alona anyway. Well, that and the fire and brimstone falling from the sky. And how could she forget the blood-rain. None of that made any sense to her. But everything else was somewhat simple. She didn’t know if the events outside were part of the test or not. If not, the world was in serious trouble. And if so, what was it supposed to teach her?

  Deciding her answers would be found near the throne, Inyalia climbed the base step of the dais. The large wooden chair was ornate for something so long neglected and covered in dust. She feared sitting in it, but only because it would likely fall apart. Running her exposed fingers along the armrest, she could feel the deep engravings etched into the wood. The entire chair was covered in ancient elven writing from a time long past. She couldn’t understand most of it, dialects and customs having changed many times since the throne was likely built.

  A fog began to roll through the room. It was minute at first, lingering about the floor. But as it passed into the firelight from the many basins near the walls, it grew thicker, almost like a solid smoke.

  Seeing the smoky substance, Inyalia took a step back. It pooled at the foot of the throne. Catching movement behind her, Inyalia spun, her arrow ai
med.

  Numerous elves stood in audience along the sides of the ancient chamber. The rangers were still there, but no longer were they stone. Behind them, an army of men, women, and children watched in silence. They were less than solid, spectral if she had to give it a word. Inyalia felt a sense of pride in their gaze. They supported her. Encouraged her. But more than that, they loved her.

  There was no explaining it, but somehow, Inyalia knew them. Maybe not their individual names, but she knew their faces. She’d seen them in her dreams. Every time she closed her eyes, imagining what her life as a ranger would be like, it was these people, these ghosts, who smiled at her. She didn’t know them in her dreams. They were simply faces among the crowd. It wasn’t until now that she knew who they were. Inyalia was standing among her ancestors. And while she hadn’t met any of them, their presence made her feel at home.

  “Inyalia Highlor, daughter of the Jordnye lineage.” The voice was powerful and commanding, but it held no ill intent.

  Lowering her bow, Inyalia turned to see a figure sitting upon the throne. She guessed he’d been the pool of smoke she’d seen moments before, materialized. Unlike the others, this man, this Ranger-King, was more solid than ever. Inyalia knew the armor, though no one had held the title since the first age. Her family was highborn, but none of them had taken the throne as far as she knew. If this man was among her ancestors, there was much history missing from the record books. Kneeling out of respect for his station, she awaited his permission to rise.

  The Ranger-King gestured and Inyalia rose to her feet.

  “Having been tried and tested, you find yourself among the first Rangers of Trendensil. Not in a thousand cycles have we held audience with another. Having borne witness of a change in era, you must prepare yourself.”