Outlaw: A Dance of Fire & Shadow, #6

By Jay Aspen

A mysterious land beyond the Mists of Time

 

Isandor has been at war for centuries.

 

Determined warriors defend their land, holding back the orc-legions of the Darklord Ashkar that threaten even the kingdoms of the west.

 

Ariel and Marin answer the beleaguered country's call for aid, only to encounter mistrust and mystery amid the hopes of an alliance.

 

The great Mage-citadel of Iren Tabril holds a secret that must be revealed before it is too late.

 

Outlaw is the sixth book in the Dance of Fire & Shadow series, the fantasy adventure romance epic from Jay Aspen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandfire Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Mar 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215093009

Jay Aspen

Jay writes from experiences in wilderness travel and extreme sports; snow peaks in the Andes, big walls in Yosemite and Baffin Island, sailing the Irish sea to photograph puffins and dolphins. A science degree and training with Himalayan shamans led to an interest in bio-psychology. She lives in the wild Welsh Borders, sings jazz, rides horses.

Book preview

Outlaw

A Dance of Fire & Shadow, Volume 6

Jay Aspen

Published by Sandfire Publishing Ltd, 2023.

Also by Jay Aspen

A Dance of Fire & Shadow

Shadowblade

Iceblade

Fireblade

Soulblade

Exile

Outlaw

Ronin

Corsair

Shadowblade Origins

Valara of Eldaran

Stormweaver

Duneflyer

Webdancer

Sandrider

Icefighter

Dunewarrior

Stormweaver

Stormweaver Trilogy 2

Stormweaver Trilogy 1

Sharksinger

The Phoenix Enigma

Resistance

Truthseer

Firestorm

Northstar

Skyfall

Seaflight

Spygame

Nightfall

Defiance

The Phoenix Enigma Trilogy

The Phoenix Enigma Trilogy 2

The Phoenix Enigma Trilogy 3

Watch for more at Jay Aspen’s site.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Also By Jay Aspen

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

Further Reading: Ronin

Also By Jay Aspen

About the Author

1

.

.

THE SMOKE FROM THE funeral pyre drifts across the flat bloodstained rock of the battlefield before rising slowly, coiling past the steep grey cliffs above us, and then disappearing over the crest of the pass.

My eyes sting from the smoke, but my tears are for my friend Ramil, killed by orcs while saving the life of his cousin. I let my gaze stray to Deris, knowing how hard he will take the death of his kin.

His face is impassive.

But that is the Elven way. The long life and resilient strength granted to the Fae has given them a different philosophy, a culture of restraint that has fooled some into believing they simply accept ill luck and cruel treatment as part of their fate.

Not so. The anger of the Fae is slow-burn, thoughtful, collaborative, until it finally erupts in a deadly response. They can inflict a terrible retribution, served with skill and precision born of Elvish pride in their strength and speed. Pride they keep well concealed until faced with overwhelming threat.

Elvish response is carried out with cooler heads than the outburst of uncontrolled fury that took over my mind and body halfway through this savage fight, driving me to slaughter so many of this legion of orcs attacking my friend. Their hacked corpses lie strewn across the battlefield and already their stench is worse than when the hideous creatures were still alive.

The thought that my wild rampage might have been the immediate cause of this tragedy has haunted me from the moment I saw Ramil’s lifeless body on the ground.

What if it prevented Deris from getting close enough to his cousin to save his life before he bled out on the cold rocks of this mountain?

Marin must have guessed my thoughts because he walks through the smoke to stand beside me.

"Ariel, don’t blame yourself. If you had not made that wild attack, I doubt if any of us would have survived against such numbers. Or such malice."

Somehow I can’t let go of this bitter feeling, even though it would be such a relief to let his words ease the pain inside me.

I really thought I had the Mage-power under control. I should be able to use it and still be fully aware of what I’m doing, instead of getting lost in a haze of blind rage.

His arm slips around my shoulders, strong, supportive.

You’ll get there. You did it before, when you first started the Eldrin training. Don’t forget it has only been a few weeks since you took so much extra power from the source at Maratic. I’m amazed you were able to keep it mostly under control until now. Maybe you found it more difficult because this battle was in a strange country so far from home. Isandor is still a vast unknown for the three of us.

I lean into him, needing the comfort and reassurance of his strength and experience––but although his words are full of encouragement I know I will feel the cold reality of what I did for a long time to come.

"Marin, I have never seen you lose control like that."

He turns me, slowly, carefully, to face him.

"Ariel. This is despair and loss talking. You know I took far less of Maratic’s power than you did––and in any case I have years of Eldrin training behind me, since I was a child. You have come so far in little more than a year. No one really knows why you have such a strong affinity for Mage-power but I don’t think anyone could have learned to control and use it faster than you have."

I look up at him, forcing myself not to move my gaze from those determined hazel eyes as I feel the deep undercurrent of his skill and power. Strong, steadfast, committed to protecting his people to the last. I know Marin is feeling as responsible for Ramil’s death as I am.

Then I notice something else.

Marin, there’s blood in your hair. Please tell me I didn’t do that when...

He pushes my hand aside. No. Not you. An orc-blade I didn’t see coming. I had been forced too far away in the fight to reach the three of you in time to be any help at all. Too slow cutting my way through lines of orcs––

His eyes suddenly move to something happening behind me and I look round in time to see the Isandorian Wind-mage raising her arms high above her head. Seven deft, precise hand movements to draw in the wind and channel it in a blast of such ferocity the scattered corpses start to move. Slowly at first, tumbling and sliding across the dark, bloody ground, they start to collect in a great heap on the rock floor beneath the cliff.

All I can do is watch, fascinated as this strange, tall woman does things I have never seen before. Mage-power does not manifest this way back in Samaran. Deris can use his Elven windsong to redirect the wind and guide a ship or an arrow, but this... I am looking at a force that is far greater, yet narrow-focused and guided. Riala is able to create the full power of a storm just with her mind and the movements of her long slender fingers. It seems unbelievable that her willowy body could have the strength to push and move such massive amounts of air––or corpses. She seems able to keep the calm eye of the storm around her, as her pale hair and blue-grey silk robe lift and swirl only a little in the vortex.

I glance at Marin. Do you think she created the savage storm that brought our ship here? I still don’t understand how we even reached Isandor when we had no real idea of where it lay.

He watches her in silence for a few moments before replying. I don’t know. That ocean storm had a hundred times the size and power of the force she is generating here. Look, it is so tightly-focused, there is no disturbance at all to the juniper bushes on the far side of the battleground, just beyond the line of her work.

I look more closely. It is true. She is focusing a narrow funnel of wind with enough force to move those heavy, lumpen orc-bodies into one spot at the foot of the cliff. When the pile is complete, she changes the shapes her long fingers are weaving in the air. For a few moments it is hard to see what is happening, but then I see one of the boulders at the top of the cliff start to move.

She’s narrowing the wind even further, concentrating its power in one place. Centuries of wind-erosion, directed at one part of the mountainside, all in a few minutes. The words have barely left my lips when the first boulder falls, to crash onto the heap of dead bodies with a dull squelch. Then another, and another, until at last the whole stinking, bleeding pile of corpses is completely buried under an avalanche of rocks.

Her work complete, Riala walks slowly across to where we are standing. She dips her head in a respectful, if restrained, bow.

Forgive me. I would have first paid my respects to your friend’s sacrifice in protecting our lands. She points to the huge black ravens circling overhead. But the poison in those foul orcs would kill the carrion birds of the mountain if I did not quickly cover them.

"Is it forever poison?" The thought of such a deadly toxin in that great heap of bloated bodies brings a shiver to my spine.

It is similar. It is not as powerful as the concentrated form in the poison darts of Ashkar’s assassins, but in the end it would cause much harm. She looks at me curiously. So you know a great deal about the dangers we face, even from as far away as Samaran?

"Your messenger, Rhandir, was dying from it when he reached us. He lived only long enough to warn us of the threat emanating from the dark tower in the east. That’s why we set sail to find you. But I still don’t understand how the storm brought us here. Not just to Isandor, but to the very part of it where you are, at a time when you needed our help."

She points to the delicate silver ring on my hand. So fine, yet so strong. I could feel the call of Rhandir’s ring as soon as you entered the realm of the Wind-mages. I petitioned the Windlord to send a storm to bring you here.

That is why Rhandir gave the ring to us? He did not live long enough to explain everything.

We hoped you would come to our aid with a great army. Such were the tales we heard, about Samaran’s victory against the Rapathian legions––

She stops herself. My apologies. I did not mean to infer that I do not appreciate the exploits of your small party. You fought with courage and skill against a deadly enemy.

Riala’s words draw my gaze to the pile of rocks covering the corpses. The stink of the dead orcs still hangs like a miasma over the battleground.

How long have you been fighting these creatures?

Her expression grows dark. This war has been Isandor’s burden for centuries. Every time we think we have finally beaten them back, we find we have only earned ourselves a few years of peace while Ashkar reforms his orc-legions and tries once more to invade.

How much of a respite have we gained with our victory this time? I try to emulate Marin’s skill at diplomacy by watching her response but all I can detect is her own careful effort to engage positively with a potential ally.

We have saved Isandor from an orc-legion that would have attacked our guardians from behind, in the heart of our defenses. It would seem that this mountain route is no longer secret, despite its location being carefully guarded.

I watch her expression change briefly to anger and suspicion before she brushes it aside.

She has guessed there is treachery afoot for the enemy to have made it this far on a secret route.

Riala turns away to stand in silence before the pyre, acknowledging the debt her people owe to Ramil. A sacrifice far greater than anything we, the three surviving Eldrin, have done in this fight.

Only three of us instead of a great army.

But why is she not searching for Kiran?

2

I STRAIN MY EYES AGAINST the light, scanning the top of the vertical cliff where we left Riala’s wounded companion at the start of the battle.

Marin follows my gaze and my thoughts.

I’ll go find him. I saw him above us on the cliff during the fight, heaving rocks onto every orc careless enough to stray beneath the spot where he was perched. I would guess he is now too exhausted to walk down here unaided. He sets off up the steep rocky hillside at a run.

Riala hears the pebbles scrunching under his boots and turns to watch his progress.

Where is he going?

He’s going to bring Kiran down here. We left your friend above the cliff, dropping rocks on the enemy.

And why didn’t you already go looking for him?

Her face lights up in hope. You mean he is alive? I felt so sure he would die within minutes when I had to leave him. It was my sworn duty to stop the orc legion’s advance. She pauses, focusing inward. I still cannot feel his presence. I fear he really is dead.

We found him in time to give some healing, enough to save his life but not enough to restore his fighting strength. Look, up there. I point to the narrow path descending from the clifftop. Marin has Kiran’s tall slender form hoisted over his shoulders as he navigates the steep terrain between grey outcrops and tumbled boulders.

Riala takes an eager step forward, then halts. There is nowhere to stop and deal with a wounded man on that treacherous slope. As Marin gets closer, Kiran’s blood becomes visible, drying on his clothes and matted in his long white hair. I can sense Riala’s concern as she waits for them to reach us.

Marin sets his charge back on his feet, holding onto his arm for a few moments as he sways and almost falls. Kiran manages to steady himself and then looks round. When he sees Riala approaching, his exhaustion seems to fall away a little as he breaks into a radiant smile.

Riala! You survived that legion of orc-devils. I was so sure you would be lost!

She stands in front of him, her grey-blue robe stirring only a little in the soft wind. And you survived a sword wound I was sure was fatal. We are truly blessed.

Kiran steps unsteadily forward and kneels before her. She lays her hands either side of his face and closes her eyes.

Marin walks quietly to my side, glancing across at her.

I think she is healing him in the way of Isandor.

To my surprise, he kneels in front of me.

"Marin? What are you doing? Gratifying though it is to have a powerful warrior kneeling at my feet, I have a feeling there must be some purpose to it beyond inflating my ego any further?"

Did you notice the way she has been looking at us? Beneath the gratitude and courtesy, I sensed a thread of suspicion there––and there was the same quiet undercurrent of unease when we found Kiran, even though we made it clear we would help and heal him. With their country at war with such a powerful foe, it would be strange if there was no suspicion of outsiders. Especially as it is likely that treachery led the orcs to this secret route. Now we need to reassure potential allies they have nothing to fear from us. Show them we are very similar to them.

Point. I hastily rearrange my thinking on the situation. Marin, you seem to have this way of planning ahead, even when things get really confusing and disorienting... I check once more on the way Riala is cradling Kiran’s head in her hands. Then I imitate her movements as best I can while healing the ragged cut oozing blood into Marin’s tangle of dark-honey curls. I wait until she looks round, to make sure she sees us. I hope that has gone some way to reassuring her that we are like her, and likely to be trustworthy.

She walks across the smooth rock, her smile fading to a frown as her eyes focus on the twin crysteel blades sheathed at my back.

Tell me how it is possible that you fight with steel and yet still heal wounds?

This seems to be a serious issue for her, yet I have never heard of the two skills being mutually exclusive. It occurs to me that news can be remarkably selective when messengers cross vast distances to deliver it. But then, the Eldrin have deliberately kept themselves apart and unnoticed for generations in their duty to protect Samaran’s King. I look hopefully to Marin to provide a reassuring answer.

He gets to his feet. Riala, we Eldrin take our Mage-power from a hidden source in Samaran that must be somewhat different from whatever you have here in Isandor. I have no idea why it manifests the way it does. We simply accept it as it is.

It seems to satisfy her curiosity and allay any underlying mistrust, at least for now. And it leaves me wondering why I had not thought of such a simple response.

Lupine comes bounding down the slope and heads straight for Marin. The huge silver wolf begins her usual sequence of whimpers and growls to report what she has discovered on her patrol of the mountain.

Riala takes a step back in shock and turns to me, no doubt guessing that Marin is now too engrossed in communicating with Lupine in signs and words to respond to any of her questions.

What is he doing? Her amazement is evident.

The wolf has been scouting the pass to make sure there are no stray orcs lying in wait for us as we return. Marin is checking with her to ensure the way is still clear for us.

Return where?

To Samaran. We defeated the orc-legion and now our orders are to learn from you what reinforcements you need. Then we must report straight back to the King to forge a treaty of alliance with Isandor. As Rhandir requested.

Now she is more than amazed.

More like astounded.

Surely you do not believe that this is a significant victory? What we have just survived here is a small part of our most recent battle, one that has already dragged on for several weeks. The orc-legions will return very soon to make another attack.

Hard reality reasserts itself. I have been taking Marin’s words of encouragement far too literally. The Rapathian war should have taught me that things are seldom as simple as they first appear. More to the point, my longing to return home to my village of Caerlen had distorted my reasoning.

I am finally starting to understand a little more why Marin believes we must stay apart, lest he lose focus on keeping all his people safe. Celeste’s death still haunts him and all I have been doing is trying to persuade him that it was not his fault. That we can have it all, our passionate relationship as well as surviving deadly situations.

I have to be more supportive and get my focus back onto our mission.

Riala, what do you need?

She gathers the last tendrils of wind into herself and a soft hush falls on the hillside.

To achieve a final victory will take an army many times the size of our current depleted numbers. It would be well for you to first see the main force that we are facing, greater than anything that has been ranged against us in all the centuries of our struggle.

3

RIALA’S WORDS ARE A heavy reminder of the dark, destructive months the Rapathian war inflicted on Samaran before we gained the final victory. Slaughtered warriors, starving peasants, burned houses and ruined crops. I try to imagine how it would feel if the war had also stretched back through generations––and how bleak the future would seem if it opened into never-ending struggle and loss.

I stare at the pale, slender Wind-mage with new respect.

How do these people stay sane in the midst of so much terror?

Maybe there are deeper things to learn about this place than simply numbers and weapons within the invasion force threatening their border.

"Riala, our orders are to learn about the situation in Isandor and report back to our commander. I trust you will know exactly what information we should