The Knights of Erador (The Echoes Saga: Book 7), page 39
But he wasn’t that man anymore. Stepping into the light had seen him risen from that murderous abyss. Ignoring the assassin’s voice, Asher drew his two-handed broadsword and stepped into the clearing.
“I warned you!” he called, turning Alijah’s head. “You shouldn’t have come back!”
The half-elf smirked, pushing his cheeks up his face. “I collapse an entire pocket dimension,” he said, releasing Adan’Karth, “and you still have the audacity to survive and threaten me. Bold, Ranger, very bold.”
Malliath closed in, stomping over the debris towards them. Coated in rain, the dragon’s black scales were glossy in appearance, though his bared fangs were not dripping with water…
“I didn’t believe her when she told me,” Alijah continued, his gaze roaming over Asher’s features. “You haven’t aged a day.”
Asher sidestepped in a bid to place Alijah between him and Malliath - his only hope of avoiding a fiery death. “So, you’re the one who wants my head.” His eyes flickered to Adan’Karth, who was steadily crawling behind the ranger.
“It should have been easy,” Alijah complained. “Especially for the Mother of the Arakesh…”
Asher failed to hide his confusion, but it was quickly mixed with chastising emotions. It had been a long time since anyone had fooled him so easily, yet here he was… the fool.
“I’m afraid things haven’t been quite as they seem,” Alijah told him arrogantly. “And while you’ve been enjoying the delights of Ikirith, the balance of power has shifted in Illian. Beyond these woods, the realm is not as you left it.”
The ranger lifted his sword in both hands and pointed it at Alijah. “What have you done?”
“That’s just it, Asher; I’ve already done it. There’s nothing left for you to do now but return to the embrace of death.” There was a flash of green as Alijah drew his scimitar. “I will help you with this,” he added menacingly.
Asher flexed his fingers to ensure the tightest grip around his hilt. “You think you’re the one to bring me down? You wouldn’t be the first…”
Alijah tapped his temple. “I am well aware of your history. You have stood against hordes of Darkakin, slain countless orcs, and cut down more assassins of Nightfall than any other. You even bested Alidyr Yalathanil and defeated the mighty Valanis! You are surely a warrior of great renown, worthy of history’s note.” Alijah’s tone dropped. “But I am none of them.”
Asher sneered. “I’m not seeing anything special.”
The half-elf grinned. “That’s your problem; you haven’t seen anything. I’ve been coming here for years, planning for this while you’ve been hunting monsters in the dark. You’ve shaped yourself into quite the hero.” Now his grin dropped away. “Heroes die,” he added with conviction.
“I tried that,” Asher reminded him. “It didn’t stick. And as far as your plans go; you haven’t won anything yet.”
Alijah frowned. “I took Illian in a single day. I fail to see how I haven’t won.”
The ranger tilted his head and looked at Alijah down the length of his sword. “As long as I draw breath, your end is assured.”
That frown turned into a sigh. “Yes,” Alijah conceded, “you’re right. Of all the thorns, I have long considered you among the worst. I had hoped Lady Gracen would see you were dealt with, but sometimes you just have to do it yourself.”
“Is this doing it yourself, good king?” Asher spat. “How many Drakes have died today just so you could kill me?”
Alijah glanced at their surroundings. “This was inevitable, regardless of your presence here. But don’t worry; I will bring them together again.”
Asher narrowed his eyes. “Why doesn’t that sound good for them?”
“Your concern for the Drakes is noble, but misplaced. I value their lives far more than your own.”
The ranger maintained his battle stance, ready to burst into action. “Is this the part where you kill me? Or were you planning on talking me to death?”
Alijah twisted his wrist to see both sides of his Vi’tari blade in the rain. “This would be the part where I offer you a quick and painless death. But we both know you’re not going to get on your knees and bow your head. You’ve always been destined to be torn from this world swinging that sword of yours.”
“On that we agree.” Asher dived forwards and dropped into a roll, bringing him up within swinging distance of Alijah.
The Vi’tari blade snapped up to meet Asher’s broadsword in a ringing of steel. From there, the combatants fell into a duel that few others could survive. Asher struck high then low before coming around the other side swinging left and right. Alijah was there every time, his defences coming up to parry blow after blow.
The ranger growled, allowing his emotions to drive him. He charged forwards and thrust his sword only to have it batted away. Two successive strikes were landed against him. First the pommel of Alijah’s blade knocked the back of his head and the second came in the form of a boot to the back. Asher felt the ground disappear from beneath his feet before it rushed up to greet his entire body.
Soaked and caked in mud, the ranger pushed up from the ground with blood trickling down his neck. A portion of his back felt numb, the pain sure to make itself known in time.
“How disappointing,” Alijah said, circling him. “I heard what you did to those assassins. I expected a real fight. Is it possible I’ve got into your head? Do my words assault you, Ranger? Perhaps you’re just tired… old.”
Asher roared and came up swinging again. Alijah stepped back and arched his back to evade every swipe of the broadsword. The half-elf only tolerated three attempted attacks before he stood his ground and blocked the fourth strike with his blade. Then he went on the attack. Unlike Alijah, Asher didn’t have the speed to step back in time with the sword. Instead, he dropped beneath it and rolled to the side, leaving death to linger on the periphery a while longer.
By the time he had risen to his feet again, Alijah was in the air and coming down on him with the tip of his scimitar. Again, Asher was put on the defensive, his blade working furiously to undo Alijah’s attacks. A particularly strong blow from the half-elf brought them together, their swords locked against each other.
“I know why you fear me,” Asher hissed before kicking Alijah away. “I’m the only one who’s seen inside your head. I’m the only one who knows what kind of monster you really are.”
Alijah’s lip curled and he lunged at the ranger with fury in his eyes. Asher didn’t evade this time. The two collided in a display of elven techniques interlinked with the fighting forms of the Arakesh. Their battle was fast and precise, leaving no margin for error. But Asher had something Alijah didn’t: a second blade.
The ranger dragged his broadsword down the length of Alijah’s scimitar, pushing down towards the hilt, and quickly introduced his silvyr short-sword to the melee. With a weapon on each side of the half-elf’s Vi’tari blade, Asher had but to push and pull and Alijah was freed of his scimitar. A sudden elbow to his face and the would-be conqueror was thrown back with a cut lip.
Malliath roared and shook his large head, the injury shared. Thankfully, the dragon remained where he stood or Asher’s part in the fight would have been over.
“I fought the last person to wield that sword,” Asher managed between breaths. “It didn’t end well for him either.”
Alijah wiped the blood from his lip. “Like I said; I am none of them.” His hands came up beside him, one conjuring a ball of fire while the other froze over with ice and vapour. “Fire or ice? I leave the choice to you, out of respect for your service to the realm.”
Asher’s shoulders sagged. “How gracious,” he quipped before spitting blood from a cut inside his mouth.
The fighter in him worked through every scenario that would see him get past Alijah’s spells to deliver that mortal blow. Given the half-elf’s speed and reactions, however, the ranger had no choice but to accept these as his final moments.
He assumed the last fighting stance of his life - knees bent, swords braced. If he was about to die, he was going to die a warrior.
Teeth bared, Asher wore his rage on the outside. He took a single step forward, preparing to charge one last time. Fate, as ever, was determined to come between the ranger and death, prolonging the pains that came with a life such as his.
Asher fell straight down, as if the ground was swallowing him up. Before he plummeted through the abyss, the ranger glimpsed the sparks and flashes of lightning that traditionally encircled a portal. He also saw the surprise on Alijah’s face.
A short drop and a sudden stop buried Asher in a pile of snow. Then, a hard weight fell on top of him and rolled away into more snow. Above, the portal imploded, leaving a grey sky in its place.
The ranger sat up, his senses fighting to gain some kind of orientation. To his left, Adan’Karth lay half-naked in the snow, his face ashen and skin marred with mud. Since there was no snow in The Evermoore, Asher guessed they had travelled north. This was confirmed when he turned around to see Namdhor, partially concealed behind a veil of black smoke that rose from a large patch between them and the capital.
“I am sorry,” Adan’Karth whispered. “This is the only other place I have ever been.”
Asher continued to look around, though he was struggling to adapt to the brand new environment in his beaten state. They were on The White Vale, the very place the Drakes had been brought into being when he activated Atilan’s relic.
“You can create portals?” he finally managed.
“No,” the Drake replied, obviously wary of their surroundings. “I stole a crystal from the man. He had a pouch full of them.”
Asher sighed heavily. “That was no man…” He stood up and sheathed both of his swords. Replacing the silvyr blade on his back pulled at something in his shoulder, eliciting a wince from the ranger. There were, no doubt, more wounds just waiting to rise to the surface.
“Thank you,” he said to Adan’Karth. “You saved my life.” The ranger would have thanked him sooner had their escape not been so dizzying.
“You saved mine,” the Drake replied, his reptilian eyes cast to the ground in sadness.
Asher looked to the south, where The Evermoore lay beyond sight. “I’m sorry for…” He caught himself, unsure how to address the destruction of the Drakes’ home.
“He came for you,” Adan’Karth stated, his tone absent the expected resentment.
Death had come for him, as it always did. Alijah was just the new weapon of choice. Still, Asher didn’t correct the Drake; he was still reliving their fight in his mind. He shouldn’t have entered the fight as if it was a battlefield. The foe he had just survived possessed advantages he should have taken into consideration.
It was possible Alijah Galfrey wasn’t an opponent to be killed by a mere ranger. Perhaps it would take an assassin…
He took a breath and recalled what he could from Alijah. He turned on the spot, taking in the realm that had apparently changed since he entered Ikirith. It was only then that he began to take in the details that surrounded them.
There were dwarves everywhere outside the city, their camp decimated by the look of it. Closer to the ranger was that smoking, charred patch of land. Within its borders were hundreds of dwarven bodies, their flesh a crisp black against their shining silvyr armour. Amongst them were Warhogs who had met the same death as their masters.
Between the camp of dwarves and the city, a long row of Namdhorian soldiers were being filed from their barracks in the north to the lower town at the base of Namdhor’s rise. They had been stripped of their weapons and armour and looked to be freezing along their slow procession.
What really captured Asher’s attention were those that kept them in line. Soldiers, clad in black, and absent any sigil. There were thousands of them, some even visible in the rising streets of the city. They patrolled through the dwarven camp, scrutinising the clans. To the west, they appeared to be sending scouting parties out on horseback, their numbers in the dozens.
Asher despaired. The north was indeed occupied. If this army had come with Alijah, they had to be knights of Erador; a faction he knew nothing about. Their tactics, fighting style, even their preferred weapon of choice were unknown to the ranger. He didn’t like the unknown.
“We’re too exposed here,” he said, his sight tracking the riders heading south. “We should get lost in their camp and—” Movement in the corner of his eye drew him to the north-east, where a pair of foreign soldiers approached on horseback. They were only just emerging from the distance but, on mounts, they would likely catch up with them before they could disappear inside the camp.
Asher cursed. “Stay behind me,” he warned, resting one hand on his broadsword. A glance over his shoulder told the ranger his Drake companion was in a state of shock by his absent stare.
It wasn’t long before the two riders crossed the plain and met them. Up close, he was able to gain nothing more about this new enemy. Shrouded in armour, even their faces were hidden, though they each wielded a sword.
“Well met,” Asher began politely enough. “We’re just hunters, from Wood Vale. What happened here? I see no flaming sword,” he added, referring to King Vighon’s banner.
Indeed, the soldiers displayed nothing that could tie them to Alijah, or any other for that matter. Another noticeable feature was the condition of their armour. Without much examination, Asher discovered battle damage on both of them, including, most curiously, a few gouges where a sword had been plunged.
When the soldiers offered no reply, Asher continued, “We’ve come to trade…” He stopped, realising the absurdness of his statement considering they had no supplies with which to trade. “That is, we’ve come to buy goods to trade in Wood Vale.”
Again, his words were met with silence. The soldiers, having dismounted, remained where they stood, staring out from their dark helmets. Asher had dealt with many soldiers in his time and he could confidently say that none had ever unnerved him as they did.
“We’ll take our leave,” the ranger said, filling the void.
Be it his movement or his words, the two soldiers took umbrage and drew their swords. Without a word, they both advanced on Asher with an outstretched hand, meaning to seize him. That meant they didn’t know who he was.
Under threat, Asher’s body relinquished its aches and pains and gave in to the warrior. His heart sped up, his muscles tensed, and his mind worked through the appropriate strategy to rid him of his opponents in as few moves as possible. Given the amount of armour they wore, he also opted to use his silvyr.
Once the soldiers had stepped into striking distance, Asher held up his hands as if surrendering - a tactic that brought his right hand within inches of the short sword poking over his shoulder. The first to reach for him attempted to grab his right arm.
The ranger exploded into action.
The silvyr’s satisfying sound was still rising in his ears by the time he had broken the soldier’s wrist, cut open his midriff, and plunged it into the chest of his partner. Both soldiers were knocked to the ground by the sheer force of his attack, but they wouldn’t be getting back up if his well-placed strikes were anything to go by.
“We need to go, now.” Asher sheathed his short-sword and moved to pick Adan’Karth up. There was no telling who had seen their fight from a distance and they still needed to reach the sprawling camp before they could disappear.
The ranger froze when he saw the Drake’s face, his eyes locked in terror. It wasn’t terror born of the violence that had just unfolded, however. Plates of armour grated against each other and a pair of swords were dragged up through the snow. Had he not had a lifetime of witnessing the unbelievable, Asher would have claimed the noise behind him to be impossible. Given that he had seen more than most, he turned around with one word on his lips.
“Reavers…”
The soldiers came at him with their swords raised in both hands this time. Asher left his short-sword where it was and dived into the melee with his broadsword coming free. He batted the first blade aside and swung across the neck, removing the first soldier’s head before the fight had even got started. The second struck at his exposed back, but the ranger had anticipated such an attack.
“Look out!” Adan’Karth yelled, unaware of the extent of Asher’s prowess.
The ranger whipped his sword over his head, keeping the broadsword in line with his spine, and parried the incoming attack. Following through with his momentum, he swung around and put all of his strength into one mortal blow. Still encased in its helmet, the Reaver’s head flew away from its foul body.
His breath laboured once more, Asher looked from the Drake to the camp. “We need to go,” he reiterated.
Picking the Drake up by the arm, the ranger guided him westward. He looked back at the bodies he was leaving in the snow before turning his attention to the thousands of Eradoran soldiers - Reavers all.
Alijah had been right: the balance of power had shifted; the realm was not as Asher had left it…
33
Wrath and Ruin
Kassian Kantaris opened his eyes to the sound of a slamming door. They didn’t open with a snap, but more a lazy blink, accompanied by hazy vision. First there was confusion. There was always confusion. Then, inevitably, the pain followed.
The master who had volunteered to extract the Galfreys’ whereabouts from him had inflicted severe damage to his body, over and over again. Then, she would heal him, leave him to rest, and begin the torture anew.
In truth, she had asked very few questions pertaining to the ambassadors’ location within Valatos. Her main focus was the destructive spells she claimed to have invented herself. Apparently, Kassian was her test subject…
