A Clash of Fates: The Echoes Saga: Book Nine

by Quaintrell, Philip C.

  Inara pressed a reassuring hand into Asher’s arm. “You have nothing to fear. No creature will threaten us in the company of Ilargo and Athis.”

  “I have embraced fear all my life,” the ranger began, his response surprising the Guardian. “Fear makes you stop and think. It keeps us alive.” He paused, glancing down at the satchel. “I am accustomed to fearing for myself, but fearing for another is… crippling.”

  “You feel vulnerable,” Gideon surmised, smiling with understanding. “It is to be expected. And, in truth, it may never pass. Even when your dragon is fully grown, seated at the top of the food chain, you will still fear for them. Such is our bond.”

  Asher held any further reply when he spotted Adan in the distance, not far from the trees. Leaving Inara and Gideon to organise some kind of perimeter - using the dragons’ bodies as the walls of their camp - the ranger approached the Drake from behind.

  The closer he got, the quieter the world seemed to get. There wasn’t so much as a creak from the forest nor a branch blowing in the wind. Every sense at Asher’s disposal told him that certain death lay beyond.

  “The trees have grown bitter,” Adan observed, his reptilian eyes angled up at the pines. “They do not welcome us.”

  Asher knew better than to question the strangeness of the Drake’s comments. “Is that because they know I’m about to take some wood for the fire?” he quipped, reaching for his sword.

  Adan’s hand whipped out and gripped the ranger’s arm. “I would not take anything from this wood. To disturb the trees is to disturb its inhabitants.”

  Asher let go of his hilt. “The world doesn’t get much colder than this, Adan. We need fire.”

  “I have strength enough to sustain a fire,” the Drake confided, suggesting they turn away from The Dread Wood.

  Situated between the two dragons, both of whom had curled their bodies around to form a protective circle, Adan created flames from nothing. His hands crafted the fire, building it to a size that would offer comfort to them all as well as melt some of the snow away.

  “Are you sure you can maintain it?” Gideon enquired. “It wasn’t that long ago you were healing me.”

  “You measure magic differently to us Drakes,” Adan said. “You always take into account your potential need of destructive spells. No matter what happens here or in Namdhor, I know I will not require such taxing magic. And so, I have more than enough to keep you all warm for a while.”

  Gideon shrugged as he seated himself on the ground. “I hadn’t thought of it like that,” he admitted. “I suppose we always do take a certain amount of violence into account where our magic is concerned. You are a credit to your race, Adan. After spending so long at Asher’s side,” he suggested with a coy grin, “I would have expected you to be wielding a sword by now.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t tried,” the ranger interjected, as he prepared food by the fire.

  Adan regarded Asher for a moment. “I must confess, I see no attraction to that of a ranger’s profession. Though, I would enjoy seeing the world. Perhaps one day,” he added.

  While the dragons slept the morning away, the four companions ate and drank what they needed to replenish themselves. It was a mostly silent affair given their general level of fatigue. Adan entered some form of meditation that allowed him to rest while simultaneously keeping the fire alive. Inara stared hard at The Whispering Mountains, clearly frustrated with the distance that still remained between them and Namdhor. Gideon, the most sensible among them, sought actual sleep beside the comfort of Ilargo’s neck.

  Under normal circumstances, Asher would have appreciated the time to himself and his thoughts, but they were no longer just his thoughts. Try as he might to focus on the conflicts that lay ahead, as well as his friends in Illian, the dragon’s young mind kept him grounded to the here and now, where The Dread Wood offered constant threat. It was enough to keep any decent rest at bay and the ranger on edge.

  By midday, Gideon was on his feet again. He left Ilargo to his slumber and approached the companions around the fire, his hand resting on Mournblade. In a flash of steel, the Vi’tari scimitar was pulled from its scabbard and out for all to see. The sound of its reveal sent Asher’s hand to his own sword, though he managed to refrain from drawing it.

  “I would test myself,” Gideon announced, looking to Inara.

  “Now?” she questioned incredulously.

  “Time is not on our side,” he replied. “It’s now or never. Besides, the way of the sword is a perishable skill.”

  Asher perked up. “You were killing Red Guards yesterday,” he pointed out.

  Gideon walked a little further away from the fire in search of a better space. “Red Guards do not wield Vi’tari blades,” he finally countered. “Alijah fights with the cursed blade of Thallan Tassariön, one of Valanis’s generals.”

  “I know who he was,” Asher cut in. “I was fighting him at Velia when you first arrived with Ilargo. You killed him if I recall.”

  “Quite so,” Gideon agreed, twisting his sword in his hand. “And you did better than most fighting against one so experienced as Thallan. That cursed blade of his once belonged to a Dragorn, until Valanis twisted its enchantment. Now it will obey any who wield it, whether they serve the light or the dark.”

  “I saw Alijah wield it on The White Vale,” Asher replied. “He cut down legions of orcs that day. I also saw him use it in Ikirith… up close. It’s a viper of a sword. I’m not sure I would have survived were it not for Adan.”

  Inara sighed. “Fine,” she said, rising from the ground. “Alijah’s dangerous - understood.” The Guardian of the Realm removed Firefly from its scabbard in one smooth motion.

  Asher watched her approach Gideon, noting the absence of any real expression on her face. To most it might appear that she was focusing herself before combat, but the ranger could see right through her facade. Beneath that stony surface, a storming sea churned within her, brought on by the mention of her brother.

  It bothered Asher, but he kept his thoughts to himself for now.

  Instead, he watched two of the world’s greatest fighters collide in a clash of steel and a spectacular explosion of colour. It gripped the ranger. He had never seen two Vi’tari blades pitted against each other and it was proving quite the display. The scimitars would strike high then low, every blow showering sparks of every colour.

  Adan’Karth opened his eyes briefly, but appeared wholly passive about the match. Similarly, the dragons each opened a lazy eye before returning to their much-needed sleep.

  For Asher, it was pleasant to have something familiar to him to focus on besides the foreign voice in his head. He watched them flow through their forms, ancient in their design, as each combatant danced around the other. It was beautiful to watch. Though, after several minutes analysing their efforts, Asher came to the conclusion that Inara was holding back.

  So too did Gideon. “You’re holding back,” he accused, his breath laboured.

  Having barely broken a sweat, Inara maintained her rigid fighting stance. “Of course I am,” she replied. “I don’t want to kill you.”

  “I need you to try,” Gideon said. “You need to pour those intentions into the blade - Alijah will.”

  Inara’s stance faltered and Gideon renewed his attack. It only took him seconds to bring his scimitar to bear across her neck, where he held it steady. Again, Asher saw her brother’s name take its toll on her emotions and again she tried to bury them beneath the facade of a warrior. Tempting as it was, the ranger had spent enough time around Inara Galfrey to know when it was not a good time to make an observation regarding her capabilities. And so he remained seated, content to watch as she dashed forward, pushing Gideon’s blade away.

  Their fight endured a while longer, each taking turns to claim victory. Indeed, the ranger found it hard to discern the better fighter between them, though he knew such a thing was typical when the old master sparred with the experienced student. How many times had he
tested Nasta Nal-Aket in combat only for them to draw? He could certainly see the similarities in their chosen fighting styles.

  It was Gideon, however, who asked for the breaks between matches, never Inara. Adan might have healed him physically, but the old master still harboured wounds of the mind. Every time Inara bested him, Asher had seen it coming; evident in the hesitation Gideon displayed. He was doubting himself.

  “You’re too evenly matched,” he remarked, catching both fighters’ attention. “You win, then you win. Over and over again. You both adhere to the… that mag thing.”

  “The Mag’dereth,” Inara instructed.

  Asher nodded once. “You’re able to interpret each other’s attacks and defences because you both know them so well. Was Alijah ever trained in the Mag’dereth?”

  “No,” Gideon answered flatly. “His training has been rather varied. His mother and father taught him more than just the basics, then there’s whatever he picked up from Vighon.”

  “And the Arakesh,” Asher added ominously. “In The Bastion, he was pitted against them repeatedly.”

  Appearing exasperated with all the talk of her brother, Inara let the tip of her Vi’tari blade drop unceremoniously into the snow. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

  The ranger rose to his feet and drew his broadsword from its scabbard. The action spoke of his intentions far better than any words could have achieved.

  Inara twisted Firefly in a loop before deftly slotting it back onto her hip. “You cannot fight with the egg. It will rob you of your discipline.”

  Asher watched Inara stretch out an arm where her hand then offered to take the satchel. Already the ranger could feel his control slipping away. His instincts demanded that he bat her hand away, if not remove it altogether.

  “Asher…” Inara’s voice found its way past the haze clouding his mind, allowing him to focus on her eyes. “You can trust me,” she said softly.

  The ranger required another moment to consider his options, though really he was stalling in the hope that her words would have time to sink in and quieten his instincts. He did, after all, trust Inara Galfrey with his life. But the contents of the egg were far more precious than his own life.

  With one hand, Asher carefully lifted the satchel over his head. Inara’s fingers wrapped around the strap and he felt the pressure as she tried to take it. Finally, after a few seconds of resistance, he let go of the satchel.

  “I would die before harm came to this egg,” the Guardian declared earnestly.

  Asher gave a short nod of understanding, but he couldn’t move until he saw Inara sit down beside the fire with the satchel over her lap.

  “That was a big step,” Gideon complimented. “You did well.”

  Asher didn’t want to think about it. He knew the absurdity of his emotions and he hated that they were out there on display for all to see.

  “Defend yourself,” the ranger commanded, raising his two-handed sword into an attacking position.

  Whether Gideon’s reactions were up to the task or not, his Vi’tari blade interpreted the incoming attack and forced the old master into a defensive stance. Asher’s cleaving blade came down across the enchanted steel only inches from Gideon’s face. Trained to give no quarter, the ranger used his forward momentum to barge into his opponent, shoving him off balance.

  Again, Mournblade flicked up and deflected the next attack before parrying left and right. Asher had seen all he needed to understand the nature of the weapon. Feigning his next attack, the ranger suddenly dropped into a roll and grasped a handful of snow before finding his feet again. A flick of the wrist sent that heap of snow directly into Gideon’s face, blinding him.

  As suspected, the Vi’tari blade was useless if its wielder couldn’t see. Asher swatted Mournblade aside with the flat of his sword and planted a forceful boot into Gideon’s chest. The old master left the ground with a yelp of surprise and pain. Only seconds after he impacted the snow, the ranger speared the tip of his blade into the ground beside Gideon’s head, avoiding the obvious killing blow.

  “Again,” Asher grunted.

  Gideon wiped the snow from his face and collected Mournblade on his way back up.

  “I’ve seen you fight,” the ranger said. “I’ve seen you on the battlefield against hordes. I’ve seen you defeat all manner of evil. Hell, I’ve fought you myself more than once. I can still see it in you - the boy who returned from Dragons’ Reach a bold warrior. But you’re hesitating now. You’re relying on that fancy blade instead of what’s up here,” he added, tapping the side of his head.

  “I know,” Gideon admitted, catching his breath. “I’m not blind to the doubt that haunts me.”

  “He beat you,” Asher stated simply. “You challenged Alijah and he beat you. Don’t be defined by his victory. The Gideon Thorn I know has always got back up. That’s what makes you more dangerous than everyone else. And that will be what Alijah fears the most.”

  The old master was overcome with a reflective expression as he absorbed the ranger’s words. “You are wiser than you look,” he replied bemusedly. “Perhaps you are beginning to…”

  Gideon’s words lost their definition in Asher’s ears. He could see the old master talking to him, but the world was drawing in on itself, losing its sharp edges. His broadsword fell from his limp grip, though he was entirely ignorant of it hitting the ground. Instead, he found himself on his knees, his vision directed towards Inara. Gideon was suddenly by his side but the ranger took no heed of his actions.

  The egg was out of the satchel.

  Inara held it out for all to see as a new crack tore a jagged line across the egg’s scaly surface. As the egg was cracked, so too was Asher’s mind. There was an instance of pain. Then nothing. The world was snatched from him, taking any sense of orientation with it.

  With no power to deny them, images, sounds, and smells were forced upon the ranger from a time and place that was not his own. He saw men and women adorned in the garb of warriors. Some were talking while others demonstrated their use of magic or sparred with exquisite blades. Then there were the dragons. They dominated the sky in a variety of sizes and colours, displaying their magnificent beauty. It was Drakanan.

  The ancient home of the Dragon Riders rose up around Asher’s vision in all its glory. Then, he himself rose, leaving the mountainous fort behind. The ranger flapped his wings and soared above all the dragons until Erador was laid bare beneath him. It was freedom.

  His vision splintered, taking with it the open sky. Now, he was looking down at a bronze egg in the low firelight of Drakanan’s main entrance. Asher watched through reptilian eyes as a Dragon Rider accepted the egg with a bow of the head before disappearing into shadow.

  That shadow engulfed his sight until he was looking at the inside of his own eyelids. The ranger opened them to see Inara, Gideon, and Adan’Karth crouched over him. He was returned to the edges of The Dread Wood and its terrible cold. Then Ilargo’s horned head loomed over them all, shortly followed by Athis and his piercing blue eyes.

  “What happened?” Asher croaked, sitting himself up.

  “You passed out for a few seconds,” Inara explained.

  “What did you see?” Gideon enquired with a hint of excitement.

  Asher looked at the old master, wondering if he had pried inside his mind. “I saw…” He took a moment to compile everything he had seen and heard. “I was in Drakanan. A long time ago.”

  Gideon glanced up at Ilargo while nodding eagerly. “It was a memory.”

  The ranger was shaking his head. “How can I see anything?” he asked, gesturing to the hard shell that protected his dragon.

  “There’s a reason dragons are known for their wisdom,” Gideon replied. “They have the ability to pass on memory if they choose to. Tell us. What did you see?”

  “I was… I was flying.”

  “That’s quite typical,” Inara said enthusiastically. “You see through their eyes.”

  Asher rubbed his for
ehead. “I gave an egg. No. I gave that egg to a Rider.”

  “He was likely taking it to the bonding chamber,” Gideon reasoned. “You were seeing through the mother’s eyes, Asher. That will have been the last memory she passed on.”

  The ranger declined their help to stand and brushed the excess snow off his leathers. He accepted the egg and the satchel back from Inara but paused to inspect the egg in greater detail. For all the cracks that marred the shell, there remained another layer beneath, smooth in appearance, that was yet to show any signs of distress.

  “What else can I expect?” he asked gruffly.

  Gideon responded with a light shrug of his shoulders. “More memories. It’s a good thing though. It means the dragon inside is experiencing it all.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that when they finally hatch, they will enter the world with some knowledge of it. Though, the world you’re both seeing is long past. Hopefully, your hatchling will begin to absorb some of your memories and bridge the gap.”

  Asher failed to hide some of his distress. “My memories are no place to wander,” he cautioned. “And… I’m not alone in there.”

  Gideon nodded his understanding. “You still possess some of Malliath’s memories.” The old master took a breath. “I’m afraid there is little you can do at this point. Until they hatch, everything is instinct and a little messy. And your bond is immature, meaning there is little to no filter between you.”

  “How long until they hatch?” Asher questioned, both eager and nervous to meet the being inside.

  Gideon looked down at the scaled shell. “Once the outer layer has begun to crack, it can be anywhere from hours to days.”

  Inara ran a delicate finger over one of the cracks. “Has she told you the name yet? The mother?”

  Asher was so focused on not pulling the egg away that he didn’t grasp her question for another second. “Told me the name?”

  Inara flashed a warm smile. “We may not know what lies within, but every dragon mother knows whether she has laid the egg of a son or daughter. Athis and Ilargo were both named by their mothers before they hatched. Of course, they were able to tell us themselves by the time we met.”