Empire of Dirt: (Echoes of Fate: Book 2)

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  1

  Valanis

  Forty years later...

  Alidyr crouched by the edges of the shimmering pools of Naius and, with tentative fingers, the elf picked out a handful of crystals. The glittering rocks formed the pools themselves, their liquid-like texture only solidifying once removed. The magic stored within each of the crystals was vast and capable of transporting Alidyr across the country in a single step. Their glow vanished in his hand and he dropped them into a pouch on his belt.

  “You’re getting lazy...” Thallan Tassariön approached from behind.

  The elven General appeared to be upside down to Alidyr, though unhindered by what should have been a twenty-foot fall.

  “The pools of Naius are a gift, Thallan.” Alidyr stood up to watch Thallan walk between the stalactites and down the rocky column, until they were side-by-side. “Any gift of the gods should not be overlooked.”

  Now that they were face-to-face, Alidyr could see the water dripping off Thallan’s black cloak and armour. With his hood and mask pulled low, Thallan’s pale face and bald head glowed in the light of the pools. Intricate tattoos lined his scalp in the ancient script of the precursor race, those who walked the earth even before the elves.

  “I can see from your appearance that you have met with the Mer-folk of The Adean.” Alidyr turned away and slowly walked out of the gravity-defying caves, heading for the stone halls of Kaliban.

  In truth, Alidyr was anxious to hear his brother’s report, but he always took measures to appear composed in front of the Hand of Valanis, after all, he was the Head.

  “Indeed I have brother, but I have failed to bring good news.” It was clear from Thallan’s tone that he was happy to be the bearer of bad news. “The Mer-folk were insulted when I asked about Paldora’s gem. They claimed that they would be aware if any such artefact was within their domain.”

  Alidyr looked away to hide his scowl. He had been a fool to believe that the ranger had truly thrown the rest of Paldora’s gem into The Adean. At the time, Alidyr had been in possession of Asher’s ring and a shard of the magical gem, and had been intoxicated with the power it granted him, not to mention the prospect of delivering it to Valanis. Now he would be made to look the fool in front of the Hand and his master. He wanted to order Thallan to return to the Mer-folk and tell them to scour the ocean again, but Alidyr knew the ocean dwellers were telling the truth. Valanis had established their fear of him millennia ago, if not their loyalty.

  “I will inform Valanis immediately,” Thallan continued.

  Alidyr swivelled on him, blocking his path. “I will inform him, as head of the Hand it is my responsibility.”

  Alidyr could see the disappointment on his brother’s face. For the last forty years, since Valanis had broke free of the Amber spell, Thallan had been placed in charge of the Hand, replacing Alidyr for his failure to find the gem. Returning the shard of Paldora’s gem from the ranger had seen Alidyr elevated to his rightful position, above Thallan, once more.

  “As you wish...” Thallan bowed his head and sunk back into the darkness of the caves.

  Alidyr took a breath to collect his thoughts, before navigating Kaliban’s cold halls. The elf soon found himself at the grand doors of Valanis’ personal chamber, a chamber his master had been unable to use until recently. Only with the shard of Paldora’s gem was he able to leave the pools of Naius. Alidyr paused in front of the door, considering his choice of words when delivering the news.

  “Enter...” The beckoning voice was not that of his master, but melodic and female.

  Alidyr rolled his eyes and entered the chamber, where Samandriel Zathya, another member of the Hand, stood defiantly before him. Samandriel smiled wickedly at Alidyr, always happy to challenge him when her famous double-ended spear was in hand. Of all the Hand, Samandriel had always been the most protective of Valanis, guarding him like a father. Now she stood in an empty room, a sentinel in front of the balcony door.

  “Where is our master?” Alidyr inquired.

  “He likes to watch the sunrise.” Samandriel glanced at the entrance behind her.

  Alidyr made for the balcony, but Samandriel stepped in front of him with blazing, golden eyes. Alidyr clenched his jaw, wondering if these games between his brothers and sister would ever end.

  “He doesn’t want to be disturbed…” Her tone wasn’t to be argued with.

  “I am the head of the Hand, Samandriel -”

  “And you’ll lose both of them if you take another step, brother.”

  Alidyr examined the tip of her spear and didn’t doubt it. He had long wondered who would truly win in a contest between the two. For all his guile and strategic brilliance, his skill with a blade could be challenged by Samandriel at any time.

  “Let him through, Samandriel…” Valanis’ voice was but a whisper, yet it carried easily over the wind and into the chamber.

  Samandriel cocked an eyebrow before bowing her head in respect. Alidyr caught sight of the familiar ancient script that lined her bald head. He had those same tattoos across his own head, but had chosen to hide them beneath his thick, black hair when he formed the secret society of assassins, known to Illian as the Arakesh of Nightfall.

  Only after the doors closed behind him did Alidyr step onto the balcony. Even on a day free of storms, the view from Kaliban was only ever that of clouds and fog, though it gave the perfect view of the sunrise. The ground would be forever hidden from the fortress’ great height however, along with the rest of The Ice Vales and Grey Stone below. That particular kingdom of man had been settled under the shadow of Kaliban for centuries, every king none the wiser.

  Alidyr walked out of the main keep, past the ancient, armoured suits that stood either side of the archway, and onto the broken balcony that looked over the sea of clouds. A wind, as cold as ice, whipped about his white robes, chilling him to the bone. The elf cared little for the weather however, he had been forged through pain and suffering until his master had granted him an inch of his godly power. Fire and ice were but elements to be controlled at his fingertips, and never to be feared.

  The elf walked out across the balcony and felt the loss of one of his short-swords ever more keenly when in the presence of his master. The pair of magical swords had accompanied him everywhere for over a millennium, guiding him in battle and fuelling his bloodlust. Still, Alidyr couldn’t allow for his discomfort to show. In the presence of Valanis, there could only be strength.

  The herald of the gods stood on the lip of the damaged balcony, between a gap in the broken railings. Concealed in billowing, dark robes, that wrapped tightly around his waist, Valanis was hidden within a black hood that struggled to contain the dark elf’s long, blond hair. Sleek, glistening armour coated his torso in layered plates, until they rose into short, pointed tips at his shoulders. Both of his arms were protected beneath similar armour that finally ran over the backs of his hands and fingers. It wasn’t the same design he had worn during the Dark War, Alidyr noted. Valanis’ new appearance was subtler, yet more menacing somehow, as if the shadows themselves embraced the dark elf.

  The hairs on Alidyr’s body became rigid and his skin tingled as he met his master. The magical aura that surrounded the herald was intoxicating, making Alidyr feel powerful in his presence. It had only been a few weeks since Valanis had walked free of the pools of Naius. Somewhere beneath his armoured gloves was the ring that granted some control over the magic that threatened to consume him. Alidyr could see that the shard wasn’t enough though. Valanis’ face glowed from within his shadowy hood and he had already seen the golden veins that ran across his master’s face.

  “Speak your fears, Alidyr,” Valanis said, without turning around.

  His voice reverberated with what Alidyr had always liked to think of as the combined voices of the gods.

  It humbled Alidyr to know that his master understood him so well. “I fear that the shard will not suffice, Master.” The elf glanced at the golden aura emanating from within t
he hood.

  “I too share that fear,” Valanis surprisingly replied.

  It wasn’t in his nature to reveal fears or weaknesses, but then Alidyr realised how confident Valanis must truly be, even in a weakened state. The herald of the gods was more powerful than any other.

  “That is why I haven’t left Kaliban,” Valanis continued. “I have stood here every day and looked out at the world, wondering if stepping into it will be the end of me. If I perish, the will of the gods perishes with me. Only I can bring them forth...” The dark elf turned to Alidyr and looked upon his acolyte with blazing purple eyes.

  Alidyr bowed his head in respect and agreement. Valanis’ vision for Verda was the most beautiful thing Alidyr had ever heard. He would do whatever his master bade to see it through.

  “Now tell me what really troubles you,” Valanis commanded, with his gaze firmly fixed on the horizon.

  Nothing could be hidden from the master.

  “Thallan has returned from the Shining Coast,” Alidyr reported.

  The coast ran the entire length of the eastern shore of Illian, a place Mer-folk had been known to prey on unsuspecting fishermen.

  “The gem is not in The Adean,” Valanis stated before Alidyr could. “You were deceived by the ranger.”

  “He was an Arakesh, a master of lies.” Alidyr knew it was a mistake to create excuses. Valanis didn’t tolerate them. “I was blinded by my arrogance and ask for no forgiveness, but instead offer my life.”

  Valanis ignored his offer. “This ranger... the same boy who shared my slumber in Elethiah for a thousand years. The immortal man...” Valanis continued to look out across the vista. “I have given this prophecy much thought since I awoke from the Amber Spell. The Echoes of Fate…” Valanis laughed quietly to himself, putting Alidyr on edge. “An apt title for godly words.”

  The elf was more than aware of the prophecy spoken by Nalana Sevari a millennium ago. It had been he who told Valanis of the princess’ godly words, spoken not long after the Amber spell was cast.

  The immortal man is set to rise, bringing the dark one closer to his most dangerous desire.

  Alidyr thought over those words for a moment, astounded by their accuracy.

  “I’ve never thought of it before,” Alidyr observed, “but why did the gods speak through Nalana Sevari of all elves? I know she was royalty, a Dragorn even...”

  “The gods could not pierce the shroud of the Amber Spell to give me such foresight. But in their wisdom they found someone who could ensure their words rang out for all time, until they could reach my ears.” Valanis closed his eyes as the sun broke through the clouds and bathed his face in its warm rays. “We are all bound by fate and the destiny laid out by the gods, Alidyr. This ranger, Asher… he is still alive.”

  Valanis’ bold claim gave Alidyr pause, for he had caused the collapse of Elethiah, the ancient citadel of the elves, and surely crushed Asher within, along with Princess Reyna Sevari.

  “Only he knows the location of the whole gem, and the gods wish me to possess it. Find him and you will find Paldora’s greatest gift. But I cannot stay here any longer.” Valanis turned and casually walked along the railing. “Forty years have I slumbered in this mountain. For decades I have sent you and your brothers and sister into the world to see out my commands. But now I have returned to strength.” The dark elf held up his left hand and inspected the armoured finger, adorned with a shard of Paldora’s gem. “As I did during the war, I will lead our forces to victory; but no longer from the shadows. Let the world of man look upon me and shudder. Illian will see the true power of magic.”

  Hearing his master so enthused and full of life only intoxicated Alidyr further. The elf felt strong, invincible almost, next to Valanis. Finally, after a thousand years, the Dark War would return and consume all of Verda.

  “Remain mindful, Alidyr.” Valanis’ omnipotence never failed to astound the elf. “Even with the power of Naius we will be challenged for supremacy. We must ensure that events continue to flow as I have designed.”

  Alidyr walked along side his master. “As we speak, three Darkakin armies march across Drowners Run.”

  The archipelago was located in the far south, beyond The Arid Lands and even further than Syla’s Gate. It was the only way to cross the ocean and reach Illian’s shores from Ayda, the eastern continent and home to the elves, under King Elym Sevari’s rule.

  “By the month’s end they will be on Illian soil. And my spies have already reported that Malliath has been seen in Malaysai. King Elym is without a dragon and therefore unable to open the Dragon Wall. His army will arrive on these shores without the aid of the great wyrms. My Arakesh have already defeated the Graycoats, scattering them across the land.”

  “You are lucky that your schemes to retrieve the shard were successful,” Valanis added threateningly. “Had you failed I would have commanded your brothers and sister to destroy you for the death of Adellum. Your words are just as deadly as your blade.”

  Alidyr tried not to wince when Valanis emphasised the singular.

  “That is why you sit at the head of the Hand. But never forget; your Arakesh are mine...”

  Alidyr bowed again, apologetically. He had been expecting some repercussions for inadvertently causing the death of Adellum and losing one of his gifted blades. The elf was suddenly thankful that his only punishment was a few stern words, mixed in with thanks for retrieving a shard of the gem.

  “Apologies, master. The Graycoats are scattered and through King Merkaris Tion you already control the north. He will move his army on your command. When the Darkakin arrive from the south and the elves from the east, Illian will be plunged into chaos and blood. When the land is cleansed the gods can return!”

  Valanis didn’t reply straight away, but stopped and mused over his thoughts. Alidyr knew better than to interrupt his master’s thoughts.

  “It has been a long time since Merkaris has visited the pools,” Valanis finally said.

  Indeed, it had been several years with Alidyr being the king’s only connection to the dark elf. Alidyr could still remember Merkaris discovering Kaliban all those years ago, lost in his own little adventure through the caves of Vengora, the mountain range which dominated the northern lands. The human was already twisted and depraved before Valanis brought him into the fold, however. The Hand had killed those travelling with the king and sent him away, the only survivor of a ‘troll attack’ and now the new disciple of Valanis, and a well placed one at that.

  “Perhaps I should pay him a visit,” Valanis continued. “Reward him personally for his defeat over Mörygan Mörgö.”

  Alidyr was aware of his master’s dislike of the Mörgös. During the Dark War they had served him covertly until his apparent defeat, and then they scurried back to Elym, seeking forgiveness and telling lies of enchantments and spells put upon them by Valanis. Mörygan had been travelling with Princess Reyna when Merkaris killed him, an impressive feat indeed... for a human.

  “Is it wise to travel so far, Master?” Alidyr knew exactly how Valanis would journey to Namdhor, the capital of Orith and all the north.

  Valanis placed a hand on Alidyr’s shoulder, seemingly affectionately. “You worry about me so, Alidyr. Accompany me and see for yourself the power of Paldora’s gem.”

  The dark elf waved his hand across the cool air and opened a portal darker than night. Before he made to step through it, Valanis held his arm out again, this time towards the main keep. The ancient, armoured knights, standing either side of the doorway, began to shake, before the helmet broke free of the nearest one and flew into Valanis’ open hand. The air around the helmet became distorted and the steel lines that formed a pattern over the helmet glowed orange from the heat. Valanis was creating a new helmet as if his very hand was a forge. Soon, the helmet appeared new and stronger. Intricate patterns swirled across the surface, leading into a curvature of the cheeks and mouth piece that sloped down past the chin.

  Valanis pulled back his hood an
d illuminated Alidyr’s face with a golden glow. The aura disappeared as soon as the dark elf placed the helmet over his head. Only the slightest hint of his purple eyes could be seen through the dark slits of the smooth, yet angular mask. Alidyr felt it only added to his master’s already menacing appearance.

  “Come,” Valanis’ altered voice bade.

  The two strode through the abyss-like portal and left Kaliban far behind. In a single bound they had traversed four hundred miles north, into the region of Orith. Alidyr looked about and recognised the gloomy interior as Merkaris’ personal chambers. The morning sun shone through a slither in the heavy curtains, revealing the dust that floated across the room. The bed covers were strewn across the floor and a naked woman lay asleep atop the soft mattress, a plaything to the king of the north.

  Both Alidyr and Valanis turned towards the bookcase behind them, when their keen, elven ears detected the smallest of whimpers. They could see it for what it was; a secret door. Valanis didn’t bother looking for the switch, but instead swiped his hand through the air and opened the bookcase on its hinges with telekinesis. The room on the other side was far gloomier than Merkaris’ chamber. The stone floors were bare of any rugs or animal hides and the walls were hidden behind a plethora of torture devices and chains. The chamber was that of spikes and blades and the smell of old blood. Candles and torches cast shadows in every nook and corner.

  “Please!” the man’s agonised voice pleaded again and again. In the centre of the chamber, Merkaris stood with his back to Alidyr and Valanis.

  The king was standing before a man who was chained to the ceiling by his wrists. Blood dripped down every inch of his naked body with several chunks missing from his ribs and thighs. Hooks dug into his mangled face, clawing at his nerve clusters. Alidyr recognised many of the torture techniques and was confident that Merkaris had learnt these particular skills from Samandriel.

  “And who is this sorry soul?” Alidyr asked, taking joy in the fright he gave the king.