The Knights of Erador (The Echoes Saga: Book 7), page 44
But he wasn’t an elf of Ayda nor a citizen of Elandril. He was a ranger of Illian…
Gleaming scimitars, long missed, flowed out of their scabbards. Galanör was whole again, a fact he wasn’t sure how to feel about. What was certain, however, was the dark pit from which Alijah drew his beliefs.
“You should have stayed away.”
The half-elf became very still. “And you should have left when I gave you the chance.”
Both combatants exploded with energy, colliding in a flurry of sparks and clashing steel. It quickly became apparent to Galanör that Alijah was a student of multiple fighting forms. He initially met the ranger with identical elven techniques, likely instilled in the half-elf by his mother. But he flowed elegantly into a style that reflected the efficiency of the Arakesh. It was this particular form that won him more than a couple of strikes that left Galanör staggering back.
His third technique was of a more brutal style, often found in mercenaries who had honed their skills fighting in random encounters. They were survivors, happy to use anything that would help them claim victory. It was this particular form that encouraged Alijah - with their swords locked - to headbutt Galanör, pushing him back. A swift kick to the inside of his leg then dropped the ranger to one knee, bringing him to the mercy of an overhead strike.
Crossing his scimitars into an X, Galanör prevented Alijah’s Vi’tari blade from cutting him in two. His strength was another issue. Being a child of both races, he should be stronger than the average man, but being bonded to a dragon increased his abilities to that of a full-blooded elf. Right now, seeing the edge of that green blade inches away from his face, Galanör knew they were evenly matched in their struggle.
Alijah looked down at him, his head and arms trembling with exertion. “You’re said to be the greatest sword fighter alive. I’ve wanted to test myself against you for a long time.”
Galanör knew better than to waste time with words - his blades would talk for him. A growl rumbled from his throat as he put all of his strength into one arm, an effort that allowed him to free Stormweaver. The scimitar thrust forward and Alijah jumped back to avoid the tip. Galanör was in no mood, however, to give the half-elf an inch.
The elf sprang up and came down with both blades, putting Alijah on the defensive. He spared a glance to check on Malliath, aware that the dragon could intervene any time he pleased and end the fight. Alijah, it seemed, had something to prove. Galanör decided that would be his opponent’s error, an error he would make him pay for.
Employing every technique he had picked up over the last five centuries, the ranger laid into Alijah’s defences, wearing him down until he found that opportune moment. He only needed one strike to end this madness and bring both Alijah and Malliath down. And, with two blades against one, it was inevitable.
The warrior in Galanör saw his moment arriving three moves from his current position. Guardian, tip to the ground, parried Alijah’s counterattack. The elf spun on his heel, disorientating his foe. Stormweaver came up to block the second attack, just as predicted. Then, to finish what it started, Guardian swung around with his momentum and cut the half-elf from shoulder to hip.
Alijah cried out and fell backwards, his dark cloak covering him. Galanör remained where he stood, his chest heaving. It was a mortal blow for anyone, a thought that made him consider Reyna and Nathaniel - he could never look them in the eye again.
It was only a second later that it dawned on Galanör: Malliath was still standing, his nostrils flaring with smoke. The ranger examined Guardian’s edge and was dismayed to find a clean length of steel. If anything, the scimitar looked blunted in areas.
A brief groan escaped Alijah’s lips as he found his feet again. The half-elf rotated his shoulders and cracked his neck before turning around to face Galanör once more. A faint line marred the black scales of his armour but no more.
“That’s going to bruise,” he complained, touching the scar with his fingers. “Still, there’s a reason you can’t kill a dragon with a sword…”
Galanör had no time to respond before he was looking at the back of Malliath’s throat. A pair of glands, either side of his thick tongue, exhaled two streams of fire that combined to jet a single column of dragon’s fire. The heat slammed into Galanör before the flames were even close enough to burn, blowing his chestnut hair out behind him.
In that brief moment - his only moment - the elf pushed out with his magic and erected a shield between him and Malliath. The fire was all-consuming but the power behind it was intense, testing the strength of his magic. It was only a matter of time before the dragon wore him down…
This wasn’t the first or even second time the ranger had faced Malliath’s wrath but, like he had then, he considered this to be his final breath. It wasn’t, however, as so many tales would tell. He didn’t see all five hundred years of his life flash before his eyes. He didn’t even think of any particular individuals. There was simply no time for any of it.
Blinded by the fire, he only caught glimpses of the inferno curving around his body, scorching all but him. The magic bit into his muscles, draining him. The heat from the flames began to penetrate his shield, promising an agonising death. The elf cried out, putting everything he had into the spell.
Then it was gone, his magic over-extended. Yet, somehow, the fire continued to curve around him, kept at bay by the shield of another. When, at last, Malliath shut his powerful jaws, the world around Galanör was hot and the air rippled in waves, distorting his saviour.
“Ellöria!” Alijah said his great aunt’s name as if he was genuinely pleased to see her. “Your magic is a testament to our bloodline! I’m sure—”
“You are not welcome here, nephew.” Ellöria’s interruption soured Alijah’s expression but she continued to approach with Aenwyn by her side.
“I’m afraid it’s the other way around,” Alijah corrected, Galanör long forgotten. “Illian is mine. I don’t want to spill more blood than I already have, so don’t make me.”
Ellöria’s open palms crackled and sparked with flickers of lightning. “No elf shall suffer the likes of your reign.”
Ice began to collect around Alijah’s clenched fist. “I will break you.”
The lady of Ilythyra frowned at her nephew. “I wasn’t talking to you, boy.”
Confused, Alijah followed her gaze to Malliath. “If only it was that—”
Ellöria whipped up her hands and released the lightning that had been steadily building. A staccato of agonising bolts tore across the ground and ripped through the air with elven fury behind them. Alijah caught the brunt of the spell and was launched off his feet and sent hurtling towards the blaze of Malliath’s making. The dragon himself shared the pain of his rider and reared back with a terrible roar. So pained was Malliath that he collapsed onto his front, his legs unable to support him.
“Get everybody out of the forest!” Ellöria commanded of her entourage.
Galanör ran to her side and that of Aenwyn’s. “You can’t stay!” he warned the Lady.
Everything about Ellöria was unyielding. “He will hunt us across the land and force us to depart The Shining Coast.”
Galanör shook his head. “If you stay, they will kill you and still burn Ilythyra to the ground!”
“Elves have ever been the light in Illian,” the lady replied softly, catching the ranger off guard. “When the dark rises we resist it to our dying breath. It’s time for you to see your place in all this.” Her hand came to rest on his chest. “Keep the dark at bay. Resist.”
Ellöria gave Galanör no chance to reply, nor any of her entourage. The hand touching his chest produced a spell that threw all of them back towards the interior tree line. The ranger felt his limbs roll over more limbs before his momentum came to an abrupt end at the foot of a wide tree.
Despite the distance that had been forced between them, Ellöria’s whisper resounded with perfect clarity.
“Resist…”
Beside the ranger, Aenwyn and the rest of Ellöria’s handmaidens had tears streaming down their faces. There was no mistaking that the next few minutes would be her last. Beyond the lady, Alijah and Malliath were picking themselves up. Smoke drifted off Alijah’s scaled armour and a patch of his exposed neck was clearly burnt, adding to his older injuries.
Galanör picked up his fallen scimitars and prepared to fight by Ellöria’s side when Aenwyn gripped his arm. “We have to go!” she urged with glassy eyes.
The ranger took his arm back. “We can’t let her—”
“Someone has to survive to fight back,” she spoke over him. “Ellöria is giving us that chance…”
Alijah had sheathed his cursed blade now and resorted to magic. He approached the ancient elf with flaring hands and Malliath at his back. Ellöria stood her ground, unflinching in the face of death. The air around her began to swirl, picking up debris. Bolts of lightning spilled out of her hands. She wasn’t leaving this world without a fight.
“Quickly!” Aenwyn hissed, yanking Galanör to his feet.
It felt wrong to leave her fighting alone. Ellöria was among the oldest of elves and royalty too - her passing should be observed out of respect, especially given the nature of her sacrifice. But to stay would negate that sacrifice and then the light would go out for good…
The pain in Galanör’s heart was almost physical, but he forced one foot to race in front of the other, whisking him away from the heart of Ilythyra. Behind them, they heard all manner of explosions and the trees were brought to life in an array of flashing colours. They heard trees snap and the air being sucked away more than once. The atmosphere around them was thick with all the magical discharge.
Through it all, Malliath’s terrifying roar gave them swift flight through the forest.
Resist. The word echoed over and over inside Galanör’s mind. He had entered Ilythyra unsure of himself, what he had become, and what he should do next. Now he knew. Now, he left Ilythyra knowing exactly what fate had been training him for all his long life.
He was going to stand against the dark. He was going to resist…
36
Broken People
Kassian’s feet beat against the dry Selk Road without thought of rest. The Keeper had found something new to fuel his life, something to replace the love that had pumped through his heart: rage.
No longer was there darkness when he closed his eyes; only fire. Malliath’s flames consumed his wife over and over again, filling his every muscle with explosive tension. More than anything, he wished to kill Alijah Galfrey and slay his dragon.
And that’s exactly what he was going to do.
A little ahead of him, the murderer’s parents, Reyna and Nathaniel, were walking side by side. The old Graycoat had a strong arm around his wife, holding her close. The elf had yet to speak since reuniting with her son.
Kassian didn’t mind the silence. He had nothing to say anyway. The ambassadors were showing him to the capital, a place he had never visited, and was content for them to lead him. Beyond that, he intended to part from them and kill their son at his earliest opportunity. He would find the right way to do it too. Alijah would suffer before he was granted the mercy of death.
The Keeper looked over his shoulder, hoping to see the rising smoke from Valatos. They had travelled too far, however, and the city’s burning heart was three days beyond the horizon now. Kassian had wanted to see the destruction. He wanted to see nothing but Alijah’s wicked deeds so that his resolve would see no end.
How many mages had been killed in Valatos? How many children and families had been burnt like Clara? Kassian would remind the half-elf of every one of them before the end, even if he had to cut the number into the murderer’s skin.
Nathaniel turned to Kassian over his shoulder. “We should rest here a while,” he suggested, nodding to a small forest near to the base of The Vrost Mountains.
Kassian was in no mood to rest. “We stopped at Palios,” he reminded the old knight. “Then we stopped at Darkwell. We’ve rested enough, at least until we reach Dunwich.”
Nathaniel came to a stop. “It’s only going to get colder from here on. You said it yourself; you’ve never been farther north than Palios before. Trust me; we should rest before ploughing into the snows.”
The Keeper wasn’t going to let his sheltered life stop him from advancing. “You said Alijah would return to Namdhor, so that’s where I’m going.”
The old Graycoat settled Reyna down on a boulder not far from the road. “We have no idea what we’re walking into, Kassian. You heard Alijah - he’s taken the capital. We have to assume there are others helping him.”
Kassian didn’t halt his march. “Then it sounds like I’d find better luck sneaking into the city alone.”
“And then what?” Nathaniel questioned. “You saw him back there, both of them! Do you really think you can just walk up to Alijah and kill him?”
Kassian finally stopped and spun around to face the old knight. “I saw him bleed. He’s powerful, but he’s not all powerful. If magic can hurt him, it can kill him.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Nathaniel warned. “You can’t wage a one-man war against him.”
The Keeper threw his arms up. “Shouldn’t you be protecting him? He is your son after all!”
“Did he look like he needs protecting?” Nathaniel fired back, the truth of his question dampening some of Kassian’s fury. “And I wasn’t blind to what he did. You won’t be the only one seeking revenge against my son. But you’re a good man, Kassian. If you give into this madness now you’ll—”
“I’ll what? Never come back? Find only death? Do I look like I give a damn?” Kassian shook his head in despair and took in their surroundings. “I’m going on. And I’m going to kill the man and his beast responsible for Clara’s death. That’s all there is now.”
The Keeper turned his back on the old knight and made to continue his arduous trek into the cold depths of the north. Reyna’s soft voice, however, caught in his ear and brought his feet to a stop. It was absent her usual melody, a tone typical of the elves that always worked to bring a man to a stop. Now she sounded flat, much like himself.
“You need his guard to lower,” she had said, bringing him back around. “There is a greater chance of that happening around us.”
There wasn’t much capable of breaking through his burning anger, but there was some strategic sense in Reyna’s words. Alijah had stopped the carnage in Valatos to speak with them, leaving him vulnerable to surprise attack. But sticking with the Galfreys meant slowing his progress, not to mention any interventions to his future plans when it came time to act.
Frustrated, the Keeper groaned and clenched his fists. “I should have stayed in Valatos and finished the job when I had the chance! He was injured! The elementals were beating him! I should have… I should have…”
Kassian’s subconscious wall cracked and a drop of heart-breaking emotion spilled into his rage. Tears welled in his eyes and he paced in every direction, pulling at his sandy hair. When the dam finally broke he dropped to his knees, his shoulders shaking with sobs.
“I should have saved her,” he wept, saliva collecting between his lips.
Nathaniel placed a heavy hand on his shoulder and squeezed hard. Having let some of his exhaustion in, Kassian silently followed them to the small forest and gave no protest to the fire Nathaniel started. The Keeper hadn’t realised until the warmth washed over him that the air had indeed taken on a chill not known in a Velian summer.
In the silence that sat between them, the old knight stoked the flames, looking from his wife to the Keeper. “Once we get around The Vrost Mountains, it’s going to be damn cold in the day and freezing at night.”
Kassian simply nodded his understanding. They still had several hours of daylight, given summer’s longer days, and he was becoming eager once more to set off. He wasn’t of a mind to sit idly - Clara deserved action. But the Galfreys would provide the potential window he needed to avenge her. It was an infuriating position to be in.
“Would you like to tell us about her?” Nathaniel offered.
Any mention of Clara got Kassian’s back up. “Of course. She was the most beautiful, intelligent, and caring person to ever walk Verda’s green earth. And your son and his pet murdered her without a second thought.”
Nathaniel winced and focused on the fire instead. Reyna didn’t so much as blink, her attention lost to the flames that danced between them all.
“Would you like to tell me about him?” Kassian asked venomously. “Perhaps you could start by telling me how the son of two renowned heroes became a mass-murdering monster…”
The old Graycoat took an audibly deep breath, likely to gain some measure of control. “The things done to Alijah are beyond your comprehension, Keeper,” he said with a hint of aggression. “There have been forces at work behind every great moment in history, turning the wheels, guiding events, amassing a death toll so high it makes Valatos just another drop in the ocean.”
“It wasn’t a drop in the ocean to me,” Kassian retorted.
“But that’s just it,” Nathaniel replied. “You’re nobody. Fate doesn’t care about you or Clara for that matter.”
“Don’t you say her name!” Kassian spat, rising to his feet.
“Clara’s death was assured ten thousand years ago,” Nathaniel continued ignorantly, “just as your death is assured if you try to kill my son.”
Kassian snapped and leaped at the old Graycoat, kicking up dry dirt as he reached for the man’s neck. Nathaniel didn’t even rise to meet him but, instead, waited until the Keeper was almost on top of him before rolling backwards with Kassian’s collar snatched between his fingers. The two men tumbled away from the fire and came to a sudden stop with the old knight straddled over the Keeper’s chest and a slender dagger pointed down at his face.
Throughout it all, Reyna remained perfectly still.
Nathaniel held his dagger steady, the tip only an inch from Kassian’s eye. “You’re only just entering a battle we’ve been fighting for a very long time. I’m so sorry that you’ve lost your wife. We’ve lost people too. And now… it seems we have lost a son as well.”
