The Knights of Erador (The Echoes Saga: Book 7), page 1
The Knights of Erador
The Echoes Saga: Book Seven
Philip C. Quaintrell
Also by Philip C. Quaintrell
THE ECHOES SAGA:
1. Rise of the Ranger
2. Empire of Dirt
3. Relic of the Gods
4. The Fall of Neverdark
5. Kingdom of Bones
6. Age of the King
7. The Knights of Erador
THE TERRAN CYCLE:
1. Intrinsic
2. Tempest
3. Heretic
4. Legacy
For Paul and James - thank you for falling in love with this world…
Dramatis Personae
Adilandra Sevari
The elven queen of Elandril and mother of Reyna Galfrey
Alijah Galfrey
Half-elf and King of Erador
Asher
Human ranger
Athis
Red dragon, bonded with Inara
Doran Heavybelly
A Dwarven Ranger/Prince of Clan Heavybelly
Ellöria Sevari
The Lady of Ilythyra
Faylen Haldör
An elf and High Guardian of Elandril
Galanör Reveeri
An elven ranger
Gideon Thorn
Master Dragorn
Ilargo
Green dragon, bonded with Gideon
Inara Galfrey
Half-elf Dragorn
Kassian Kantaris
A Keeper of Valatos
Lady Gracen
The governess of Felgarn and lady of Lirian
Nathaniel Galfrey
An ambassador and previous knight of the Graycoats
Reyna Galfrey
Elven princess of Elandril and Illian ambassador
Sir Ruban Dardaris
Captain of the King’s Guard
The Crow (Sarkas)
Late Leader of The Black Hand
Vighon Draqaro
King of Illian
Contents
Prologue
Part I
1. Gathering Shadows
2. The Mages of Valatos
3. Playing the Game
4. Flames in the Dark
5. Two Words
6. Reunion
7. Hunting Grounds
8. Magic Over Matter
9. Kings of East and West
10. This is Going to Hurt
11. On the Road
12. Baited
Part II
13. Half-Human
14. It’s In The Bones
15. A Storm is Coming
16. Duty-Bound
17. Wanted: Dead
18. Brotherhood
19. Never Trust a Fart
20. The Power of Choice
21. A Flying Visit
22. An Unexpected Welcome
23. A Time to Act
24. Marked by the Past
Part III
25. Holding the Line
26. An Orphan of Two Worlds
27. A Dark Knight in Dhenaheim
28. The Coming of the Tide
29. Quiet as a Tomb
30. Fire and Ice
31. Rise Again
32. Heroes Die
33. Wrath and Ruin
34. Divergence
35. A Resistance Born
36. Broken People
37. Ride Hard
Part IV
38. Regression
39. The Promise of Blood
40. Allies on the Road
41. Orders From On High
42. Together Again
43. End of the Road
44. Hope is not Enough
45. Full Circle
46. Whole again
47. The Assassin
48. All That Remains
49. A Red Dawn
50. Aftermath
Epilogue
Author Notes
Appendices
Prologue
For more miles than he cared to consider, Glamren Stormshield had heard nothing but the sound of the wind, its howl whipping through his hair and whistling past his ears. Now, standing before the tallest trees the dwarf had ever seen, the wind fell away as if snatched by the forest itself.
The towering pines stretched north and south, disappearing into the mist in both directions. It was dark inside, a place where even the sun dared not venture. Glamren had never seen the trees of The Dread Wood before, but he had heard enough legends to stay out of them. In fact, he had heard enough tales to keep well away from the place.
In that eerie silence, Glamren could only hear the laboured breaths of his companions. The company of four said not a word in the shadow of the pines.
Then there came a sound…
A long exhalation blew out from The Dread Wood, washing over the dwarves, before it was then inhaled by those same trees.
“Is it just me,” Orin posed in their dwarven tongue, “or is the forest… breathing?”
None of the Stormshields answered. Glamren’s eyes shifted anxiously, searching between the trees for any threats. With nearly a century to his name, the dwarf reminded himself that he was experienced enough to handle any monster that a forest could produce; after all, he had faced the real beasts of the world, creatures that lurked beneath The Whispering Mountains…
A twig snapped somewhere beyond the tree line. Glamren gripped his spear. A shadow darted through the wood.
It was unsettling.
For the first time in many years, the dwarf could feel the cold touch of fear taking a hold of his bones. The company of dwarves kept their eyes fixed on those trees, too anxious to look away.
Ferek shook his head, his large axe hefted in both hands. “We shouldn’t be here,” he warned. “I told you we were going too far west!”
Dovum crunched forward through the snow, his head tilted to the side. “Nothing,” he said. “No sound at all. No birds… No anything.”
“There’s something right unnatural about it,” Orin added, his crossbow levelled.
“Of course it ain’t natural!” Ferek snapped. “It’s the bloody Dread Wood! We’ve all heard the stories. We’re not supposed to come this far west. We’ve got no business leaving the mountains.”
“Easy fellas,” Glamren croaked, his voice out of practice. “They’re just trees. Never has a dwarf feared the likes of a wood, especially Stormshields,” he added, wondering why his words sounded so hollow.
Dovum gave a sympathetic shrug. “Ferek’s got a point though, Glamren. Why are we here?”
Tearing his eyes from The Dread Wood, Glamren looked over his shoulder to take in the jagged line of mountains behind them. “Because orders are orders - you know that as well as I.”
Orin huffed. “The king can shove his orders up Grarfath’s—”
“Stow it!” Glamren barked, pushing his own fear down in the hope of burying it under aggression. “The Hammerkegs have been getting sneakier of late. Remember their attack on the southern outpost? The king’s fearing for Hyndaern’s flank. If their clan were to find a way north on this side of the mountains, the city might be vulnerable. That’s why we’re here.”
Ferek looked north and south along the stretch of snow that separated the woods from the mountains. “Well, I don’t see no Hammerkegs!”
“Aye,” Orin chipped in. “Back to Hyndaern I say!”
Glamren shook his head in despair. “I never thought I’d see the day you two lost your nerve because of some trees…” The dwarf trailed off, his attention caught by Dovum or, more specifically, Dovum’s wide eyes. “What is it?” he demanded, following his companion’s gaze into The Dread Wood.
“There’s something in there,” Dovum whispered.
Orin and Ferek braced themselves with weapons raised. Glamren didn’t miss Ferek’s quick look to check that the passage back into the mountains was still clear.
Another twig snapped from within the wood and two shadows dashed through the trees before vanishing. The urge to fight had long been a trait associated with those of Glamren’s bloodline, but something about The Dread Wood made him want to turn and run as fast as he could.
Glamren huffed and pointed his spear at the trees: he had orders. It took some effort to convince his legs to take action but, one after the other, his feet ploughed through the thick snow, taking him closer to the trees.
“What are you doing?” Ferek hissed.
Glamren paused to reply over his shoulder. “If there’s something out there, we need to make sure it ain’t no Hammerkegs.” The dwarf flicked his head. “Now spread out.”
Ferek and Orin appeared to be on the verge of insubordination until Dovum pulled free his sword and went south of Glamren. The other two reluctantly fanned out to the north.
Passing through the trees was an experience unlike any other Glamren could recall. The air was thick and oppressive, a contrast to the crisp chill that threatened to steal one’s breath in the clearing. Overhead, there was nothing but pines and shadow…
Looking to his left, he could just make out Dovum between the branches and trunks. To Glamren’s right, Ferek and Orin were sticking closer together than he would have preferred, concerned that the net they were casting wouldn’t be wide enough to catch the Hammerkegs.
“Pss!” Glamren waited for Ferek to find him before encouraging the dwarf to advance.
The Stormshields pushed on as one, their silvyr armour dulled by the natural darkness of The Dread Wood. Glamren was the first to find evidence of intelligent life creeping between the trees. The stout warrior crouched down and examined what were clearly boot prints in the snow. They were far apart, suggesting that the one who created the prints was either moving fast or tall in stature.
“Pss!”
Turning south, Glamren discovered Dovum had come across similar prints, though whether they belonged to the same individual remained to be seen. The other dwarf held up his boot and motioned for Glamren to place his own inside one of the tracks. Obliging, he side-stepped to bring himself in line with the running prints.
The tracks were narrower than his own, but certainly longer.
There were a few creatures who could claim to possess such a foot, but the first, and most obvious one, that came to Glamren’s mind was a human…
“Impossible,” he mumbled.
Dovum’s heavy footfalls gave away his advance and it became clear that the dwarf was following the tracks towards Glamren. “They’re going north,” he observed quietly.
“Aye,” Glamren agreed, “but who are they?”
Dovum nodded along. “They don’t belong to no dwarf,” he stated confidently. “I’d say they’re human if I had to guess.”
Glamren was shaking his head before his companion had finished speaking. “There ain’t no humans north of Vengora, never mind west of The Whispering Mountains. I’d bet me place in Grarfath’s Hall no human has ever even seen The Dread Wood. It just can’t be…”
“Look!” Dovum pointed his sword between the trees. “There’s more of them!”
Glamren looked up from the boot prints with a growing pit in his stomach. Dovum was right; the disturbed snow farther into the wood was undoubtedly more tracks - tracks without apparent owners. The two dwarves explored beyond the nearest trees and attempted to guess at the number of the opposing party. There were too many, however, and the piled snow made it even harder.
“They outnumber us,” Dovum surmised.
Glamren agreed, though he countered, “We don’t know that they pose a threat. These are just tracks.”
Dovum arched a frozen copper eyebrow. “We’re in The Dread Wood, Glamren - everything is a threat. Especially humans who aren’t supposed to be here.”
“True enough,” Glamren conceded, hoping, more than anything, that he hadn’t walked his companions into a trap. “Alright, we’ve seen enough to know that something ain’t right. Let’s get back to Hyndaern and report our findings. I’m going to suggest that we post a battalion on this side of the mountains - do a proper sweep of the tree line.”
Dovum was in happy agreement as his eyes scanned the gaps between the trees. “Let’s tell them two the good news and get back to the mountains.”
Glamren’s spear led the way north, along the tracks, as they searched for Ferek and Orin. “How far did those idiots go?”
Weaving between the trees, the dwarves searched frantically, their concern growing with every crunch of snow beneath their boots. They quickly found their companions’ tracks but they went on and on, leading, seemingly, nowhere but deeper into the forest.
Coming across a small rise of dark rocks, Glamren stepped up and climbed over them using one hand on the stone for support. Reaching the other side, he gripped his spear in both hands again to continue the hunt for his companions.
Red…
It was an easy colour to spot in a landscape of browns, greens, and white snow. The haft of his spear was stained with what could only be blood. Glamren stopped in his tracks and looked from the spear, to his hand, and back to the rocks. That pit in his stomach was becoming cavernous.
“Blood…” Dovum whispered absently, his eyes darting across what little they could see of the forest.
Glamren spun on his heel to face one way then another, his rage churning. “Ferek!” he cried. “Orin!”
A voice of warning told Glamren that shouting was a foolish thing to do in a place such as this, but he feared for his companions, both counted as friends long before they became soldiers in King Gandalir’s army.
They pushed on a little farther until they came across a scene that robbed both dwarves of their breath.
“Ferek…” Glamren let his spear fall to the snow as he approached the blood-soaked tree.
Pinned to the trunk, several feet in the air, Ferek’s lifeless body hung limply, his torso impaled by a spear too long to be wielded by any dwarf. Whoever had killed him struck swiftly and with great efficiency to have speared Ferek through the narrow gaps in his silvyr armour, not to mention the strength required to pin him so high.
At eye line, Glamren gripped the boot of his old friend, which was dripping wet with blood. Looking up, Ferek’s chin rested against his breastplate, but his eyes were wide open, still filled with shock.
“Who could have done this?” Dovum questioned, holding back his grief. “To have killed him without a sound, and with such brutality!”
Glamren was asking himself that same question. The length of the spear suited a human, but he didn’t recognise its make nor the red cloth that hung from the end.
“Humans couldn’t have done this,” he concluded, sure in his heart that they were dealing with something far more monstrous. “Where’s Orin?” he demanded, searching the bloody scene.
There was no sign of the youngest among their party. If they had been attacked, and by a larger force, it stood to reason that he would have retreated to the mountains for more advantageous surroundings.
Glamren growled, picked up his spear, and charged through The Dread Wood. He could hear nothing but the crunch of snow and the blood pounding in his ears. He wanted to shout out to Orin, but he kept his mouth shut and continued his run back to the tree line.
As glimpses of the clearing shone white through the trees, Glamren had the spark of hope in his heart. He had come across no enemies nor their tracks, but he was sure he had caught sight of Orin between the trees, standing in the snow…
Finally breaking through the trees, Orin was indeed standing in the clearing. No, he wasn’t standing, the young dwarf was staggering towards the mountain pass. One hand clung to his throat while the other hung by his side, absent his crossbow.
“Orin?” he called, his hope slowly being sucked down into that bottomless pit.
Orin stopped and turned around. His blond beard was stained red and his face was similarly splattered. Bloodshot eyes focused on Glamren, though there was little recognition in them, only fear. Fresh, rich blood pulsed between his fingers, steadily drenching him. It was a mortal wound if ever Glamren had seen one.
First he dropped to his knees. His eyes glazed over and lost their life. Then, he fell face first into the snow, dead. Glamren almost choked on his shock and grief, but a righteous anger rose up in him, demanding his full attention and instant action. He spun around to face Dovum with a command to battle…
Dovum wasn’t there.
Glamren’s orders died on his lips. The Stormshield levelled his spear at the forest and scanned everything in sight. The only tracks were his own.
