Relic of the God

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “What happened?” Gideon asked.

  Ilargo didn't answer, but both the dragon’s and his own image flickered, revealing a plethora of cuts and nasty gashes. Ilargo possessed every one of Gideon’s wounds in exactly the same place. The memories flooded back and he saw flashes of his fight with the god of war and the explosion that rocked the cavern. Adriel’s dying expression haunted the young Dragorn, bringing about fresh tears.

  When Gideon looked back at his eternal companion, the wounds had gone, along with his own. Everything was perfect in their sanctuary, but it wasn't real.

  “You’re injured,” Gideon said, meeting the dragon’s glassy, blue eyes.

  As are you, Ilargo replied. We share our pain.

  “Galanadavax?”

  Ilargo turned to his left as if he could see the ebony dragon. He has perished with Adriel.

  The death of a Dragorn was twice as hard to bear when it meant that a creature as unique as a dragon died with them. Gideon felt an immense amount of guilt press down upon him. He had opened The Veil and allowed Krayt to enter the real world. He was to blame…

  You were not to know, Gideon. Even Adriel was blind to this outcome. The Veil has ever been a mystery.

  “It’s not a mystery anymore,” Gideon said, standing up. “It’s deadly in the hands of a human.” More violent memories continued to return to him. “Krayt was powerful. He cast magic better than any elf and he wasn't even Atilan’s court mage. Imagine what Naius could do if he ever found his way back…”

  Or Atilan himself… Ilargo added.

  Gideon didn't even want to think what the king of the first men was capable of. “The Veil must be destroyed. Any one of them could turn the tide in this war.” The Dragorn settled on the horizon, his thoughts drifting. “How are we going to do this without Adriel and Galandavax?” he asked hopelessly.

  We will find our way, as dragon and Dragorn have done for thousands of years. I suggest we start by overcoming our first problem.

  Through their bond, Gideon already knew what Ilargo was thinking, and with those thoughts came alarm. “Wait. Where am I right now?” The last thing he remembered was a bright light and… pain.

  Ilargo closed his eyes and lowered his head until they were almost touching. Their shared mind allowed for nothing to be forgotten, and Gideon re-lived his last moments in the cavern.

  “I’m unconscious,” he said. “I’m still inside the mountain.”

  I cannot wake you up. It has taken some time to bring you here…

  “How much time?” Gideon asked. “How long have I been in here?”

  Ilargo hesitated. Almost two days.

  If Gideon hadn't been inside the sanctuary, he was sure dizziness would have clouded his vision by now. “Two days?” he repeated. They were supposed to be meeting Galanӧr and Adilandra in the Hook of the World.

  They will not wait forever, Ilargo said, aware of his concerns. My mother will not let Valanis win.

  “What if I’m…” Gideon couldn't say the words, but not because he feared to die, stuck under a ton of rock, but because if he couldn't find a way out, Ilargo would die as well.

  We will know more soon, Ilargo stretched out on the soft grass. You will wake eventually. For now, you should rest with me.

  Just as Ilargo knew what Gideon was thinking, the mage knew what the dragon was thinking. Despite his comforting words, Ilargo feared that Gideon would soon die, alone and in the dark. If this was to be the end of their journey, let them be together in their sanctuary, he thought.

  The young Dragorn sat with his back leaning against Ilargo’s chest, where he could enjoy the warmth of his scales and the steady beating of his heart.

  “A lot of bad things had to happen for me to find you,” Gideon said. “I would gladly go through it all again…”

  Ilargo’s head curled around to be next to him. There were no words offered, instead, Gideon felt an overwhelming feeling of contentment. It was infectious and worked to relax the mage. He hoped that in Adriel’s final moments, he too had the opportunity to speak with Galandavax one last time.

  It was impossible to gain any sense of time, not just because of the encapsulating darkness, but because time had no meaning in the sanctuary. Gideon opened his eyes, or at least he thought he had, to a thick abyss that couldn't be pierced.

  I am still here. Ilargo’s words brought relief.

  I can't see anything…

  Can you move? the dragon asked.

  Everything hurt. Ilargo’s superior healing time had helped to keep him from bleeding out, but judging by the pain, Gideon knew he was still battered and bruised. His back was stiff and his joints refused to obey his commands. The inability to move brought a certain degree of panic with it. His heart was suddenly pounding in his chest and his breathing took on a state of desperation.

  Stay calm, Gideon. You are alive. Everything else is a problem that can wait.

  Gideon focused on Ilargo’s words and brought his breathing under control. He couldn't perform the movements of the Mag’dereth, but he could still use the breathing techniques.

  Can you reach Abigail’s wand?

  Tentatively, Gideon wiggled his fingers and explored the side of his leg, feeling for the leather holster strapped to his thigh. The wooden handle poked out the end, offering an endless amount of solutions.

  I thought I didn't need this anymore.

  In your current state, a wand will help you to channel magic.

  Gideon lifted his arm, bringing the wand with it. His elbow hurt to bend and the cuts on his knuckles split open as his grip tightened around the wand. The Dragorn grunted through the pain and thought of the ancient word for light. The cavern was washed in a bright light, banishing the shadows, but also hurting Gideon’s eyes. After several blinks, the grim surroundings bore down on the mage.

  “It’s a tomb…” His voice was hoarse and his mouth as dry as The Flat Wastes. The urge to drink from a flowing waterfall of cold water became his greatest desire.

  Do you still have The Veil?

  Gideon was already checking the pouch on his belt before his eyes caught up. The metallic orb was tucked away inside the leather and bound tight. Having something so powerful hanging from his belt didn't feel entirely secure, so he removed the pouch and dropped it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

  Can you move? Ilargo asked again.

  Sitting up elicited more groans and a stabbing pain in his back. Grounded rocks fell from his hair like black rain and smaller slabs fell onto the ground beside him. The colour of his clothes was gone, replaced with dirt and blood. The remains of stalactites lay in bits around his legs, concealing his boots. Thankfully, he was able to wiggle his toes and shuffle his feet out of the debris.

  Gideon, look at your left leg.

  The Dragorn looked down at his leg, using the glow from the wand to get a better look. Gideon gasped at the sight. At least three inches of Mournblade’s tip was inside his thigh. The shock of it was easy to overcome, as he couldn't feel a thing.

  It’s the worst injury you have left, Ilargo assured.

  Gideon felt very sorry for the dragon, who had endured every wound and suffered the disadvantage of remaining awake for it all.

  There was worse?

  A few broken ribs. And those wiggly things on the end of your limbs.

  Gideon was glad to know he still had the capacity to smile. Fingers and toes, Ilargo.

  Yes, those. Far inferior to claws, but the bones inside have healed.

  Gideon couldn't stop looking at the sword sticking into his leg. I’m going to pull it out.

  Be careful, Ilargo cautioned.

  Just touching the blade brought a yell to the Dragorn’s cracked lips. Three deep breaths later, and Gideon yanked the scimitar free in one quick tug. His shout echoed throughout the caves and Ilargo roared somewhere deep in his mind. He immediately clamped a hand over the wound to stop the flow of blood.

  Use the wand…

  Gideon pointed the wand
at the deep cut and spoke the ancient word for heal, but the drain from such a powerful spell stopped him from completing it. If I heal it, I’m going to pass out again.

  Burn it.

  Gideon gave a short laugh. A typical dragon response.

  The Dragorn braced himself as he positioned the tip of the wand over the end of the wound. Another spell had the wand increase its brightness, making it hard to see anything at all. The noise was almost as bad as the smell, but Ilargo’s determination dominated Gideon’s reflexes, pushing him on until the wound was sealed. The pain brought a certain degree of anger with it, and it took all the self-control he had left not to throw the wand away. It helped to scream.

  “Okay…” he said to himself. “Time to get out.” Gideon repeated it three more times as he found his feet again.

  The entranceway to the cavern that had once housed The Veil was gone. The purple crystals and hanging stalactites were hidden behind a wall of broken rocks. Good, he thought. Let Krayt’s tomb go unnoticed by the world.

  Gideon climbed over the nearest boulder to find Adriel’s body lying amid the debris. There was so much he didn't know about the ancient Dragorn, so much life Gideon would have loved to hear about. The perilous nature of their mission had put talk of anything else aside. Adriel had known the world before The Dark War, before Valanis. The stories he could have told…

  They will live on in us now, Ilargo said. You are not ready for them all yet, but Galandavax gave me his memories before he flew to the next world.

  Gideon wasn't sure when his human brain would ever be ready for the memories of a dragon or an elf as old as they were. He struggled to recall his earliest years at Korkanath.

  He was and will forever be a Dragorn, but someday I would like to know who he was before all the wars.

  We will learn together, Ilargo replied.

  Gideon slid down the rock to reach Adriel’s side. It didn't seem to matter how slow or how cautious he was with his movements; everything hurt. Lifting the elf took longer than it should have, but eventually, the mage had him in his arms.

  Gideon. I agree he should not be left under the mountain, but carrying him will slow you down.

  I’m not leaving him, Ilargo.

  We can come back for him, Ilargo continued.

  Gideon grunted with the effort it took to navigate the fallen rocks, light the way with Abigail’s wand and carry Adriel. Ilargo, there’s a very good chance we won't return. I’m not leaving him.

  Ilargo’s disagreement felt to Gideon as if a physical thing had taken root inside his head. Still, he put one foot in front of the other and continued into the gloom.

  I hope you remember the way, because it all looks the same to me…

  30

  Under siege

  With Velia on a war footing, there were no guards inside the palace standing ready to open the excessive amount of doors, but Asher had no problem kicking them all open with his muddy boots. The ranger hurried through the palace with Faylen in his arms; the elf had yet to say a word since Barrosh. King Rengar and his knights were no longer leading them, as they were continuously delayed on their route by orders that needed giving in defence of the city. Nothing was going to stop Asher and the others from finding a comfortable place for Faylen.

  “Out here.” The elf Reyna had called Tai’garn gestured to the gardens that overlooked the city.

  Nathaniel dashed ahead and opened the doors, allowing the sounds of a city under siege to breach the palace. Asher thought the grey clouds and cold chill would be the last place Faylen needed, but the wisdom of elves was not for him to question.

  “Put her down, here, on the grass,” Tai’garn told him.

  Amid the flowers, under the shelter of the largest tree in the garden, the ranger set Faylen down with care. The elf had gone through so much to get back to them.

  Asher watched as the elder and his two companions crouched by her side, positioning her palms upward and straightening her legs. A few hushed words from Tai’garn had the flowers and even the blades of grass bending towards Faylen. The grass clung to her and the flowers grew and curled around her limbs. The branches of the tree moved in the breeze so that shafts of light could shine down on the elf. Ӧlli, Reyna’s loyal white owl, looked down on Faylen from one of the branches, his eyes watching them all intently.

  Asher wanted to stay and watch as the owl did, but the chanting from beyond the walls distracted him. With Nathaniel, the two men gave the elves some space and made for the stone railing at the edge of the garden. The view on any other day would have been breathtaking, with the entirety of Velia situated beneath them and the four colossal statues looming over them like guardians. Instead, they were looking out over ten-thousand Darkakin, all baying for blood.

  Their chanting was demoralising, as it did nothing but exaggerate their numbers and instill fear across the city. The curved walls of Velia were a flurry of red cloaks running up and down the ramparts. Some readied ballistas while others replenished arrow supplies, but most made for their post with all haste, ready for battle. Beyond the walls, a visible line of arrows marked a line across the land, a warning to the Darkakin that should they cross it, death from above would find them all.

  Keeping to their side of the arrow line, the savages spread out, their numbers easily encompassing half of the city perimeter. The roars of grotesque trolls and mountain giants echoed over the chanting, mirrored by screams of horror from within the city.

  Glaide, Doran, and Tauren came to meet them by the rail, leaving Reyna and Hadavad to assist the elves.

  “It’s great to see ye still standing, fellas!” Doran bellowed.

  “Well met,” Glaide said, clasping Asher’s forearm and clapping Nathaniel on the back. “You’re all a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Aye, but ye weren't supposed to bring an army with ye!” Doran’s eyes just made it over the railing.

  “Our journey from Syla’s Gate has not been an easy one,” Nathaniel replied, glancing back at Faylen and the elves.

  “Did you find it?” Tauren asked. “Did you find the gem you spoke of?”

  Asher shared a look with Nathaniel before he rested back on the horizon. He couldn't say the words aloud. Everything they had gone through was to retrieve Paldora’s gem and now it sat in a pouch on his belt, of no more use than a rock.

  “We have the gem,” Nathaniel answered.

  “That’s great!” Tauren beamed.

  Doran turned to the ranger. “Does it have the power to get rid of this lot?”

  Asher looked back at Tai’garn and wondered. “I don't think so…”

  “Look at them all,” Tauren said, his gaze focused on those below. “The city is fit to burst.”

  Asher inspected the state of the outer walls and the Darkakin beyond. “They’re safe inside the city. The Darkakin have no means to breach the walls, even the giants aren't tall enough to climb them.”

  Nathaniel pointed at the mass of savages. “They do have catapults, however.”

  Doran wiped his finger on the rail and licked it clean. “Velia’s stone is strong. It will take more than a few catapults to break them.”

  “What of the main gates?” Nathaniel pondered.

  Hadavad walked up behind them with the answer. “Elder Tai’garn has bought us some time there.”

  Asher had seen Hadavad possess three bodies in the time he had known him, but never a woman and never one so young. Still, after all the things he had witnessed in his extraordinary life, it took the ranger only a moment more to become accustomed to the mage’s new appearance. Judging by Nathaniel’s searching eyes, the Graycoat would require a little more time.

  “Using his staff,” Hadavad continued, “he has placed a ward over the gate. It would take even a troll several days to break that shield.”

  Tauren leaned over the railing. “For thousands of years, people said the same thing about Syla’s Gate. We all saw what happened there…”

  Valanis happened, Asher thought. The
dark elf was a variable in this war that none of them could predict. That was why they needed the gem. The ranger felt the crystal through the fabric of the pouch and knew that time was running out.

  “Forgive my absence!” King Rengar strode onto the balcony-garden. “War is pressing.” The king of Velia looked from the elves to Asher with a flicker of disdain on his regal face. “I must ask, Elder Tai’garn; did word find your king? Are the elves coming to our aid?”

  The rangers came back under the shelter of the tree, where Asher noted the glances exchanged between Reyna and Tai’garn. They’re coming alright, Asher thought, but it’s not aid they bring.

  Tai’garn stood up with the princess. “Our fleet has already set sail, Your Grace.”

  There was visible relief on Rengar’s face. The king of Velia had coordinated skirmishes with the likes of Gray Stone before, but this was a battle no king or queen of Illian could possibly fathom.

  “Queen Isabella of Lirian has given her word that the armies of Felgarn will offer their mettle.” Rengar looked past them, to the western horizon. “They are still days away, however.”

  “Your Grace,” Reyna said. “On our travels, we came by grave news. It seems King Merkaris of the north is -”

  “Coming for my head as well,” the king finished. “Elder Tai’garn brought news of this to me with the Graycoats. The men of Namdhor attacked them in Darkwell without cause. It seems we are in for a war of the ages.”

  Asher couldn't hold his tongue. “That sounds poetic to you, doesn't it?”

  “Asher…” Reyna warned.

  The ranger stepped forward. “Battles have already been fought for the free people of Illian while you lounged in your palace. Cities reduced to dust, homes destroyed, and thousands left dead in the wake of these savages. You think success has already been granted to you, that your name will go down in history as a hero. It doesn't matter who’s coming to your aid, king, those defences won't hold.”

  “Asher,” Reyna said again. “You need rest.”

  The ranger could see that every one of Rengar’s knights wanted to pull their sword free and defend their king’s honour. There was an angry part of Asher that wanted them to. He just needed to fight, it was the only thing that helped him to relax anymore.