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  Kingdom of Bones

  Echoes of the Lost: Book II

  Philip C. Quaintrell

  Also by Philip C. Quaintrell

  THE ECHOES SAGA:

  Echoes of Fate

  1. Rise of the Ranger

  2. Empire of Dirt

  3. Relic of the Gods

  Echoes of the Lost

  1. The Fall of Neverdark

  2. Kingdom of Bones

  THE TERRAN CYCLE:

  1. Intrinsic

  2. Tempest

  3. Heretic

  4. Legacy

  For David… Because you’ve never stopped teaching me.

  Dramatis Personae

  Adilandra Sevari

  The elven queen of Elandril and mother of Reyna Galfrey

  Alijah Galfrey

  Half-elf rogue

  Arlon Draqaro

  Lord of Namdhor and head of The Ironsworn

  Asher

  Resurrected human ranger

  Athis

  Red dragon, bonded with Inara

  Doran Heavybelly

  A Dwarven Ranger/Prince of Clan Heavybelly

  Galanör Reveeri

  An elven ranger

  Gideon Thorn

  A human Dragorn

  Hadavad

  The late mage and ranger

  Ilargo

  Green dragon, bonded with Gideon

  Inara Galfrey

  Half-elf Dragorn

  Karakulak

  King of the Orcs

  Ellöria Sevari

  The Lady of Ilythyra

  Morvir

  First servant of The Crow

  Nathaniel Galfrey

  An ambassador and previous knight of the Graycoats

  Reyna Galfrey

  Elven princess of Elandril and Illian ambassador

  The Crow (Sarkas)

  Leader of The Black Hand

  Tauren Salimson

  The late high councillor of Tregaran

  Valanis

  The late dark elf and self-proclaimed herald of the gods.

  Vighon Draqaro

  A human rogue and friend to Alijah

  Contents

  Prologue

  Part I

  1. A Royal Welcome

  2. Consolidation

  3. On the Hunt

  4. The First Lesson

  5. A Stroll on the Beach

  6. There’s No Place Like Hell

  7. The Would-Be King

  8. The Second Lesson

  9. Lifeless Isles Indeed…

  10. A New Direction

  11. Shadows in the Dark

  12. A Bad Reflection

  Part II

  13. The Third Lesson

  14. Silvyr Hall

  15. The Hole in the Wall

  16. Schism

  17. Monsters Beget Monsters

  18. Breaking and Entering

  19. The Circle

  20. The Fourth Lesson

  21. Family Matters

  22. A Heavy Price

  23. Stealing and Leaving

  24. A Conversation in the Snow

  Part III

  25. The Fifth Lesson

  26. The Lion’s Den

  27. Seeing Through the Mist

  28. Harmonising

  29. The Sixth Lesson

  30. A Reason to Fight

  31. Moonblades

  32. When the Dragon Met the Snake

  33. A Slave to Magic

  34. The Top of the World

  35. Hammer and Song

  Part IV

  36. The Seventh Lesson

  37. The Sword of the North

  38. Turning to Home

  39. Fealty

  40. A Tale or Two

  41. Holding The Line

  42. The Eighth Lesson

  43. Under Shadow

  44. Through Ash and Smoke

  45. Aftermath

  46. Fire and Ice

  47. Breaking the Chains

  48. Chaos Unbound

  49. Hope Rekindled

  Epilogue

  Author Notes

  Appendicies

  Prologue

  Deep in the heart of The Vrost Mountains, hidden from the world, The Bastion’s ancient stone stood firm against the relentless rain and battering winds.

  Black as the night itself, the fortress had remained nestled in the icy mountains for ten thousand years, clinging to its secrets.

  Tonight, under stormy clouds, it witnessed yet more events that would never escape its freezing halls.

  On the highest balcony, a circular plateau, Alijah Galfrey stood with his bare toes hanging over the lip. The half-elf looked down from the towering height, his end only a step away.

  Alijah’s world had been turned upside down, his body beaten, and his spirit broken. Separated from his friends, his mentor murdered, and his uncle slain, the rogue had seen the last days of hope.

  “Alijah…” The Crow drew ever closer, his dark robes sodden and sticking to his bony frame.

  The rogue scrunched his eyes, focusing on what he needed to do. He couldn’t let The Crow get into his head; as Hadavad had warned.

  “You would have me become a monster!” Alijah yelled over his shoulder.

  “No,” The Crow reassured. “I will be the monster. I will kill everyone you love and hold dear if I have to. I will break the chains that hold you back and set you free! I have come too far, seen too much, to let this world rot under the reign of lesser beings. You, Alijah Galfrey, will rise above them all and show the world a better way. I will do whatever I must…”

  Alijah let his head drop. The world The Crow spoke of would come at too steep a price; he couldn’t let so many die to see himself forged into some kind of ruler. There would be so much suffering and he was too broken to carry the weight of it.

  “No,” the half-elf whispered. “I won’t let you hurt any of them…”

  Under the lashing of the rain, Alijah let go of everything and stepped forward.

  The balcony disappeared behind him and The Bastion’s lower towers and rocky cliffs rushed up to greet him, their embrace absolute. The wind filled his ears and he fell with the rain, free of The Crow’s machinations.

  Then his descent began to slow. He hung in the air, trapped between up and down, before his plummet was reversed.

  Alijah could do nothing but watch the towers and cliffs fall away, his death robbed from him. “NO!” he screamed, ascending to the balcony.

  His body twisted and flipped until he rose above the plateau and floated before The Crow. The leader of The Black Hand was standing in the pelting rain with his wand held high in front of him.

  “You will find no reprieve in death, Alijah!” The Crow declared over the pelting rain. “You will not rest until your task is complete! Verda deserves a new kind of peace! And only you can bring about that future!” The wizard placed his hand to his chest. “I have seen it!”

  “I will kill you!” Alijah promised.

  “No.” The Crow shook his head before dramatically pointing his wand to the floor. Alijah was hurled in the same direction and slammed into the wet stone. “I told you,” he continued, “you will not be the one to bring me down. We both have so much to do. The longer you resist your destiny, the longer the people of Verda will suffer under the orcs.”

  Alijah struggled to even crawl across the balcony, though he had no idea where he was going; he only knew that he had to get away from The Crow. In his mind, he called out to Malliath, hoping against all the odds that their recent proximity had strengthened their bond. He had, after all, used the dragon’s strength to break free of his chains.

  The Crow stalked behind him. “You will be king, Alijah. I have seen it as clearly as I see you now.
You are the only one who can make the hard decisions for the benefit of the many. You are the only one selfless enough to kill those you love if it means saving your people. That is the kind of ruler the world needs. You will wipe away the stain of the old gods, the pretenders, and give the people a reason to love each other.” The wizard crouched by his side and roughly turned the rogue over. “Don’t you see? You are that reason! Their love for you will be what binds them all.”

  The rain collected around Alijah’s eyes, blurring his vision. “You might as well throw me over the side yourself,” he croaked. “I will never be what you want…”

  The Crow’s animated features dropped and he stood over Alijah. “Never is a fool’s word. I shall remove it from your vocabulary, in time.” The wizard looked at the archway, beyond the rogue. “Take him back to his cell. We have much work to do…”

  Alijah used what little energy he had to roll over and look at the archway. Standing ominously against the shadows was Asher. The resurrected ranger had been enslaved through magic, binding him to the wizard’s will. Worse still, he had been bonded to Malliath through ancient magic, preventing Alijah from forming his pre-destined connection with the dragon.

  “Don’t…” the half-elf groaned. “Fight it, Asher. You’re supposed to be a hero. You’re supposed to be stronger than this!”

  Asher walked out into the rain and loomed over the rogue. His greying hair quickly became matted to his stubbled face, covering the fresh wounds he had suffered during his fight with Gideon Thorn. Alijah knew because Malliath possessed those same wounds, and had shared them with the half-elf at the time of the fight.

  “Please…” Alijah begged, trying to make some kind of connection with Asher’s blue eyes.

  Enslaved as he was, the old ranger bent down and gripped Alijah by the throat. The rogue barely had enough energy to speak, let alone fight off Asher. He was picked up and dragged back into The Bastion, his bare heels slipping on the wet floor.

  The grip around his throat was so tight that he mistook the growing shadows that gathered around him for that of his surroundings. A single crack of lightning backlit The Crow in the archway behind them, his cold eyes fixed on Alijah. The rogue met those eyes with defiance, desperate for breath.

  Then the shadows consumed him…

  Part I

  1

  A Royal Welcome

  “Hello, Father…”

  Doran Heavybelly greeted King Dorain, son of Dorryn, with a confident tone. Anything less would have been a sign of weakness as well as disrespect.

  The throne room was so quiet in the expectation of a word from the king, that Doran was sure he could hear his own heart beating in his chest.

  It was a long time, however, before those words graced the magnificent chamber. His father looked down on his first born from the comfort of a padded silvyr throne. His ancient grey eyes bored straight through Doran as if he were turning the dwarf inside out and reading his mind.

  “Have you forgotten the words of your forebears, lad?” the king asked in the dwarvish tongue.

  Doran cleared his throat, stealing a glance at Reyna and Nathaniel just behind him. “I speak so that all may understand me, Father.”

  “Look again, boy,” King Dorain said firmly. “Those aren’t guests of my hall and neither are you. You will speak how I command you to speak and when I command you to speak. Or has your time in Illian left you bereft of all my instruction?”

  Doran dared to meet his brother’s eyes, beside him, but Dakmund was just as powerless while their father sat before them. The only person he couldn’t bring himself to look at was his mother, situated next to the king. He could feel her gaze upon him but shame kept his own averted.

  “You abandoned Grimwhal sixty years ago,” the king continued. “You abandoned your home, lad, your kin… you abandoned me.” The older dwarf stood up and his thick golden robes fell to the polished floor. The shield guards lining the thrones’ platform stood to attention, taking their battle-axes in both hands.

  “This throne would have been yours and all of clan Heavybelly with it,” the king said, gesturing to the diamond-encrusted hall. “Why have you returned, and with an elf and two humans no less?”

  Doran frowned, forgetting for a moment that Petur Devron was among them. A gangly-looking man with wild hair and an unkempt beard, Petur was one of the scholars who lived and worked in The All-Tower, in Palios. An expert in all things dwarven - according to him - he had been summoned by Queen Yelifer of Namdhor to investigate the disputed mine in Vengora. To Doran’s eyes, he was a witless moron of a man who only drew breath because of sheer luck.

  Doran held up his shackled wrists. “I wouldn’t say I have returned of my own accord, Father.” It was a sarcastic response that Doran knew he would quickly come to regret.

  Dakmund stepped forward, however, defusing their father’s immediate wrath. “Their charge is trespassing, your Grace.” The red-headed dwarf flashed Doran a look that told him to keep his mouth shut. “We were forced to abandon Vengora,” he continued, “when we were set upon by the largest pack of Gobbers I’ve ever seen, a Dweller too!” The other dwarves who had accompanied them nodded vigorously in agreement.

  King Dorain scowled at his younger son. “And what of the weapon smith’s workshop? Is it in the hands of Namdhor?”

  “It remains untouched, your Grace,” Dakmund assured. “The Gobbers slaughtered the human forces; there will be nothing left of them but bones by now.”

  King Dorain didn’t look convinced, his scowl reaching up to his jewelled crown. “Then the works of our ancestors are currently unguarded.” Dakmund looked to protest the statement but his father continued. “You ran from a few Gobbers and a Dweller, boy? In the time it has taken you to return that which I no longer care for, Queen Yelifer of Namdhor could have men digging through the very stone!”

  Dakmund shook his head. “The weak arms of men could never dig through dwarven stone. They have no idea how to open the doors, either!”

  The king clenched his meaty fist. “That mine belongs to clan Heavybelly! I don’t care if the doors remain sealed for eternity; I won’t see it in the hands of the humans!”

  The queen of Grimwhal subtly, yet meaningfully, cleared her throat. Doran dared to look up at her, the dwarf who had brought him into this world. Drelda Heavybelly had been the one who made sure Doran’s heart never turned to stone in his chest, reminding him that he was more than just a dwarf with an axe in his hands. She had offered both of her sons what the king never could; love.

  King Dorain briefly met his wife’s dark eyes and his flaring temper was doused. Doran took a moment to inspect the other dwarves that filled the throne room. Dakmund had told him that clan morale had taken a severe hit after his self-imposed exile, with many of Grimwhal’s lords believing that their family line wasn’t strong enough to lead the Heavybellys. As a result, Dakmund had been forced to replace his caring and creative nature with that of a hardened and ruthless warrior, making him a fitting replacement as king.

  Seeing the future king receive such a welcome, however, put the surrounding dwarves ill at ease. They passed hushed words between each other, revealing a lack of confidence for the royal family that had never been around during Doran’s time.

  Perhaps feeling the same atmosphere, King Dorain adjusted his attitude. “You were right, Prince Dakmund, to bring any trespassers before me. Dhenaheim is no place for beings so tall.” The king looked down on Doran. “Nor so cowardly. You walked away from your duties, lad. You’ve represented the humans against your own clan in a dispute. Now, you have trespassed on land where you are not welcome. Three crimes! For two of which I would be right to have your head cleaved from your shoulders!” The king half turned to regard his wife. “Out of respect for the one who bore you, I will not have your blood spilled in front of her. For now, you and your friends may rest in the dungeons of Karak-Nor.”

  Doran stepped forward. “Father!” the ranger pleaded as Dakmund gripped hi
s arm tightly. “There’s no need for killing them. Send them back through The Iron Valley and —”

  “SILENCE!” King Dorain bellowed. “Your days of counselling me are long gone, lad! As are the days when I would respect your requests!” Grimwhal’s ruler stepped down from the platform and strode between the shield guards until he was standing right in front of his first born. “Don’t think me a fool,” he said in his gravelly voice. “Word has reached this hall of what marches through The Iron Valley. Yelifer’s army would learn much if her spies were to report back on all that they had seen here.”

  Doran shook his head. “The Galfreys might be the only ones who can send the Namdhorians back without any—”