Relic of the God

by Philip C. Quaintrell

“You’ll be slower.” Reyna’s answer said more than the sum of her words.

  The elf reached out and pressed her hands into the gashes across his waist and leg. Incredible warmth flowed out of her hands and into his very bones until the pain ebbed away. The princess stepped back eventually, though she appeared drained by Asher’s senses, and he could hear her heartbeat speeding up.

  “Thank you,” the ranger said, still unhappy with the tension between them.

  “Just find her…”

  Asher nodded once and climbed onto the roof where his senses could map out the cityscape. Faylen and the elves were easy to find amid the stench of the Darkakin, and the noise from the cart and giant lizard helped him to navigate their route.

  The unique smell of Faylen had him stop on the corner of the building. Though mingled with sweat and blood, her elven scent was intoxicating in its own way. The ranger hadn't realised what effect Faylen had on him until now, as he was overcome with a sense of ease and a quiet peace that had forever remained elusive to him.

  Asher gritted his teeth. He would save her.

  14

  A hole in the world

  The wind ran through Adilandra’s auburn hair and filled the queen’s ears, allowing only the sound of Rainael’s beating wings to pierce the rush. It had been the honour of her life when Rainael the emerald star had bowed her head and invited Adilandra to sit between her horns. The elf deduced that her station as queen was the only reason for such an honour, as Rainael had emanated a sense of disrespect when Galanӧr attempted to climb her magnificent scales.

  Looking to her right, Galanӧr of house Reveeri was sat astride Vorgraf the mountain child, the largest dragon among them and the only offspring of Garganafan, the ancient king of their kin. The warrior appeared particularly small in the crook of the dragon’s neck, though he did look somewhat more comfortable than she felt. That thought had Adilandra feeling envious of the time he and Gideon had spent in Dragons’ Reach, which in turn had her dwelling upon the torturous time she had spent in Malaysai.

  The queen’s thoughts spiralled from there. She saw The Goddess’ face of pure rage and agony as they left her broken in the arena, but before the memories of her time with the wicked queen could overwhelm her, Adilandra found herself thinking about Gideon and the truth of Verda’s history. That truth had shattered her world, a world that she had lived in for over a thousand years. How could the gods not be real? How could the Echoes of Fate not be real? Adilandra had seen too many things to believe that the creators of the world were mere legend and myth.

  The elf hugged Rainael’s scales for more of her supernatural warmth as fresh tears were whipped from her eyes in the rushing wind. Everything inside of her was fighting to keep hold of what she believed to be real, but Adriel’s words resounded like drums in her mind. Dragons do not lie. The events passed on to Gideon were from the very dragon upon who she sat. It would be the ultimate insult to challenge Rainael’s recall of history, but how could Atilan, Naius and all the others have been human? It was all too much for her to consider right now, and so the queen of the elves was happy to distract herself with the spectacle around her.

  Dragons of every size and colour soared through the sky with more grace than any animal in its natural element. Ancient memories were pulled to the surface at the sight of many of the older, larger dragons. Dolvosari the storm maker flew the highest, always comfortable among the clouds. Adilandra had seen the red dragon create lightning storms over Valanis’ armies as a child and knew his title was well earned. Emenar the golden one cut between Rainael and Vorgraf, her golden scales blinding under the desert sun on her rise to meet Dolvosari. Beldroga the great hunter flew just below Vorgraf, guiding a dozen younger, smaller dragons.

  This was everything Adilandra had dreamed of since she watched them fly away from Mount Garganafan after the exodus to Ayda. The dragons were the only thing that could tip the scales, and they were needed now more than ever with Valanis walking on Illian soil once more. Adilandra’s thoughts were about to fall on her daughter, Reyna, and all the perils that stood before her in the realm of man, but Malliath the voiceless dropped out of the sky, forcing many of the dragons to change course. The black dragon fell to the earth as if the gods had thrown a spear from the heavens. Following his trajectory, Adilandra caught her first sight of Davosai, the Darkakin city.

  Built in the same style as Malaysai, Davosai was surrounded by high walls and towers, each housing giant ballista. The city itself was entirely different on the inside, however, shaped into that of a circle that encapsulated a massive hole in the center. The outer edges of the city were the highest, with each level of Davosai dropping down, in the manner of a sinkhole, into the abyss-like pit in the middle. The bottomless hole was layered with wooden beams and platforms that connected via ladders and a network of bridges.

  The queen’s observations were cut short when Rainael tucked in her left wing and barrelled to the side. Adilandra’s elven grip and sharp reflexes kept her in place, as her eyes spotted the barrage of long spears that raced through the air. The dragons split up immediately and in perfect harmony, evading every spear, as well as each other, with ease. Rainael flew higher, beyond the reach of the spears, and glided over Davosai, giving Adilandra a better view of the central hole. The faintest, green glow illuminated the colossal shaft, shedding light on its significance to the Darkakin.

  Crissalith! Adilandra thought with horror. Gideon had said the crystals were deadly to dragons and she knew too well how it affected her own magic. Still, Malliath descended into the city with all the grace of a falling rock. Two spears ripped through the soft membrane of his wings, but the dragon took no heed and demolished a tower and several buildings with his girth. Fire erupted from his mouth and consumed entire streets, the flames curving round the layered city, a force of unrelenting fury. Malliath’s tail swept through the primitive homes and ugly towers, reducing them all to rubble.

  The dragons attacked the city from high and low, their strategy unknown to all but themselves. The smaller of their kind glided low over the land, while the larger wyrms attracted the ballista from above. Emenar the golden one banked sharply to the south of the city and took half a dozen dragons with her, while Beldroga the great hunter guided a group to the north. Giant spears shot out across the city in every direction, but Adilandra guessed that no city of the Darkakin had ever been under such a siege before.

  It was only after Beldroga and Emenar decimated the two ends of the city, and the smaller dragons burned the eastern towers that Rainael the emerald star began her descent into Davosai with Adilandra. Vorgraf followed his queen in and both dropped onto a cluster of buildings that strained under their substantial weight. The elves were quick to jump off, sensing that both dragons were eager to join their kin. Thankfully, they had been dropped some distance away from Malliath, whose rage continued to ravage everything around him. His fiery breath and whipping tail could be seen across the city, where many of the ballistas were now pointed.

  “My Lady?” Galanӧr’s voice barely registered with the queen. “Adilandra?” he called again.

  “We are to blame for Malliath’s rage…” Adilandra said absently.

  Galanӧr appeared somewhat distracted by the Darkakin running through the streets below. “I don’t see how. It was the mages of Korkanath who captured and bound him to that miserable island.”

  Adilandra couldn't tear her eyes from the dragon’s savagery. “We should have stayed in Illian and ended the Dragon War before it came to that. We abandoned him.”

  Galanӧr crouched by the edge of the building, observing those below. “They’re running for the centre.”

  The elf’s words brought Adilandra back to the despicable city in which they resided. “The Crissalith. They’re taking refuge in the mine.”

  “That would make sense if you were trying to avoid a dragon.” Galanӧr was already walking across the rooftop as he spoke, one of his scimitars in hand.

  Adilandra tur
ned around to see Galanӧr wading into the three Darkakin who had emerged from a small hatch. All three wielded spears decorated with fine green crystals, preventing the queen from casting any destruction spells. None would have been required, however, as Galanӧr engaged the warriors with four hundred years of training behind him. His scimitars cut their spears to pieces and progressed to removing their limbs with similar ease until all three were lying dead at his feet.

  The queen of elves picked up the haft of a broken spear and inspected the Crissalith gems. “If these crystals really were created by Atilan, then there must be something left behind that proves he was here. Something that proves he was just… just a man.”

  Galanӧr gripped his scimitars with a disturbed expression arching his eyebrow. “Maybe. But that would mean going into the mine, the same thing we came to destroy. I say we let the Darkakin take refuge inside and let Dolvosari unleash a storm to flood it. Either way, we should stay away and let the dragons deal with it.”

  Adilandra had to know. She had to see for herself.

  “I have led too many of our kin to their death, Galanӧr. I will not command any other to follow me.” The queen made for the adjacent rooftop, where the sinking city lay sprawled out before her.

  Galanӧr sighed and dipped his head, his eyes locked on the blood dripping from his blade. His was a cursed life, that much Adilandra could see. Bred for war and gifted with a talent for taking life, Galanӧr was destined to be the spear in any battle, and battle he could not avoid. But the elf clearly hated himself for what he was. The queen wished she could grant him the life he so desperately clawed at, but peace and an ordinary life would have to wait.

  “Let us be done with it…” the warrior-elf grunted.

  The two set off across the rooftops with enviable, feline grace. The streets below were chaos, with Darkakin screaming at each other to get out of the way. The dragons swooped in at regular intervals and delivered fiery hell. The stench of burning flesh and hair rose up from the alleys, but there was little that could turn Adilandra’s stomach anymore. Her time in Malaysai had changed her irrevocably and would forever haunt her dreams and consume her thoughts in those quiet moments.

  The hole in the centre of Davosai was considerably larger up close. Adilandra guessed its circumference could fit The Goddess’ pyramid inside without touching the jagged walls. The sloping ramps that wrapped around the mine’s interior were packed with terrified Darkakin, many of whom were clambering over their neighbors to reach the safety of the bottom. The dragons were notably absent from this area of the city, concentrating their efforts predominantly on the outer layers of Davosai.

  “They have several pulley systems,” Galanӧr observed. “We will have to use them to descend into the mine; using the walkways is impossible now.”

  Adilandra agreed. “We can't use magic in there either.”

  Of his two scimitars, Galanӧr immediately removed the only one with a whole scabbard and gave it to his queen, leaving himself with the half scabbard he had fashioned before leaving Malaysai. Adilandra accepted the weapon as well as the flashbacks from her time in the Darkakin arena, where she had been forced to fight and kill for entertainment. The elf pushed the memories as far down as she could and strapped the blade to her belt.

  Dropping down into the street proved hazardous among the streams of Darkakin racing for the mine, along with numerous animals who feared the predators overhead. Galanӧr took the lead and pushed many aside, though he missed the two armed warriors breaching the throng to attack them. Adilandra used the last of her magic before they entered the mine and launched the men back into the crowd with a telekinetic blast. After her display, many of Davosai’s citizens gave the elves a wide berth until they reached the lip of the hole.

  Wasting no time, Galanӧr sprinted across one of the long beams and jumped into the abyss. Adilandra took one last look at the blue sky and the flurry of dragons who continued to rain hell upon the city. The dragons were taking the city apart with incredible speed, leaving the elves with very little time.

  The queen took a deep breath and followed in Galanӧr’s footsteps. As he had done, Adilandra leaped from the beam and caught one of the ropes that formed part of the pulley system. The Darkakin that lined the rounded walls of the mine were shouting at them and throwing rocks, but all were too far away to close the gap and pose a real threat. The elves ignored them and worked their way down the various ropes, jumping from platform to platform and kicking the Darkakin off the lifts before they attacked. The intersecting beams could only get them so far before they had to dash across the chasm and join up with the winding ramp. Within minutes, they were further down the mine than any of the fleeing Darkakin now.

  “It’s cold…” Galanӧr said through laboured breaths, as he looked up at the circle of light far above. “I didn't think I would ever feel cold again.”

  “The forests of the north call to me as well,” Adilandra replied, her chest heaving. “We will leave the desert and its wicked heat behind soon enough.”

  The elves ran around the sloping walkway for several minutes until the very bottom of the mine found their feet. Piles of excavated Crissalith littered the ground, waiting to be transported to the surface. Their unnatural glow was enough to illuminate the choice of caves that burrowed into the earth, each paired with fiery torches fixed to the walls. It was in the light of these torches that the faces of the Darkakin emerged from the darkness. Adilandra and Galanӧr looked at each other for just a moment before pulling their scimitar free.

  Unlike the savages above, these Darkakin wore furs to keep them warm in the freezing mine. It mattered very little what they wore, however, as elven steel sliced through everything like butter. Adilandra tapped into the animal she had discovered lived not too far from the surface. Her rage and fury were fed only by the blood she spilled. The queen’s fighting style was almost barbaric in comparison to Galanӧr’s surgical strikes, each designed to kill with maximum efficiency and little effort. The last few who dared to attack them changed their minds and ran back up the mine, hoping to find salvation on the surface. They were in for a shock when they got there.

  “Are you hurt?” Galanӧr asked with great concern.

  Adilandra could see that unlike Galanӧr, her clothes were covered in Darkakin blood, masking any possible injury of her own. “It’s not mine. I fare well.”

  The warrior-elf nodded, though he didn't appear convinced. “I count six entrances,” Galanӧr said, gesturing to the caves that lined the mine. “Which should we take?”

  Adilandra took a moment to compose herself and return the scimitar to its scabbard. It took some effort to let go of her embarrassment upon being seen in such a frenzy, especially to one as skilled as Galanӧr. The queen walked around the cavern with a torch in hand, while examining the different entrances with a careful eye.

  “This one.” Adilandra stood under the arching entrance to the smallest cave.

  “Why this one?” Galanӧr asked.

  “Because of that.” Adilandra pointed to the only piece of carved stone above the entrance.

  Galanӧr scrutinised the stone. “Is that the ancient language?”

  Adilandra’s reply was solemn. “The ancient language of man… apparently.”

  “What does it say?” Galanӧr picked up his own torch and lifted it up. “The stone is damaged.”

  “I cannot tell, but it is the only entrance with such an inscription. There’s also no mining tools around this one.” Adilandra boldly walked into the dark cave, where her torch quickly revealed it to be anything but a cave. The walls transitioned from jagged rock to smooth stone, engraved with more symbols that the queen recognised to be hexes.

  “The magic has been spent,” Galanӧr stroked the grooves of the ancient glyphs.

  “I wonder how many Darkakin died before they gave it up.” Adilandra could see dark stains splattered across the cold walls where the savages had met their gruesome end.

  “How could the hexes have
even worked with so much Crissalith?” Galanӧr asked, taking the lead as Adilandra paused to observe a particular glyph.

  “The crystals must only affect people, not objects or runes.” The queen tore her eyes from the ancient script, a script she couldn't believe was on another continent to Illian, let alone that it was engraved on these walls by man.

  The elves pressed on until they were presented with a pair of heavy, metal doors. Over the seal was a simple wooden plaque with Darkakin hieroglyphs etched from end-to-end.

  “I can't read Darkakin,” Galanӧr commented, “but I reckon that’s a warning against entry.”

  Adilandra walked up to the plaque and threw it on the floor. They didn't have time to pause; the Darkakin mob would flood the mine soon enough. It took both of them to push the doors open and tear all the cobwebs apart. The chamber beyond was dank and dusty with shadows cast in every crevice from their torch light.

  Adilandra explored one side while Galanӧr took the other. At first glance, the queen assumed she was inside some kind of alchemy lab, with tables covered in glass bottles and empty vials. Books lined the walls inside hollowed cubby holes, each leather spine scribed in the ancient language.

  “What is this place?” Galanӧr held up a stained vial and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

  Adilandra found the large desk at the head of the chamber, where more books and tattered scrolls lay strewn over the wood. “This is where he made it…” The queen ran her finger over the glyphs that lined the rectangular desk, their magic long faded. “This is where Atilan made Crissalith. I think we’re inside his private lab.” Being inside the room where the king of the gods had once studied was unsettling in way that blurred many of the elf’s emotions.

  “What’s this?” Galanӧr had found the back of the room, where a thick book with frayed edges sat on a display.

  Adilandra swallowed the shock that threatened to overwhelm her and examined the cover. “It’s a grimoire. I have seen books like these before; the elders have similar ones in Elandril, but they don't appear as ancient as this. You see the cluster of glyphs in the bottom corner there?” The queen gestured to the pattern of runes that formed a horizontal figure of eight. “That’s the author’s signature.”