A Clash of Fates: The Echoes Saga: Book Nine

by Quaintrell, Philip C.

  “Inara’s right,” Gideon agreed. “At some point that memory will be passed on to the hatchling. You will either experience it yourself or they will tell you.”

  It all sounded so surreal to the ranger, as if he was hearing about someone else’s life. “I don’t know any name,” he admitted quietly, his eyes fixed on the bronze egg.

  “There will be time,” Gideon reassured. “Come,” he bade, gesturing to the fire. “Let us rest some more before we take flight tonight. Tomorrow will bring tests of its own.”

  Asher didn’t argue. His head felt heavy, as if he could feel his mind altering to make room for more memories that were not his own. He decided, however, that he would accept these new ones willingly. He cradled the egg by the fire and closed his eyes. Whatever was happening to him, the ranger knew he wouldn’t emerge the same.

  And he was fine with that.

  6

  The Dawn of a New Day

  Like every morning since that fateful night, Kassian Kantaris awoke with one thing on his mind: Clara. Waking up without the feel of her warm body beside him was agony, but he couldn’t deny the sting had lessened over the last two years.

  It was said that time healed all and the Keeper hated it. He didn’t want to get used to life without his wife. He didn’t want the fury to seep from his veins. Yet here he was, perched on the edge of his bed with an old feeling returned to his heart.

  Hope…

  He hadn’t seen so much as a flicker of hope since his days in Valatos, with Clara in his life. But he could feel it, growing bit by bit as the days stretched on. Hope that they would defeat their enemy, and not just because that enemy was Alijah Galfrey, but because there was evil holding reign over the land. Hope that Vighon would be king again and bring a new age of peace to the realm. Hope that Inara and Asher would return with Gideon and Ilargo. Hope that their allies had claimed victory on Qamnaran because the world needed dwarves and elves.

  And then there was the hope he held deep down for his fellow Keepers. Besides those who accompanied him, they were scattered across Illian, each possessing the knowledge and experience of a seasoned mage. Their talents were being wasted in hiding and there were potentially hundreds, if not thousands, of people out there with a sensitivity to magic who needed guidance.

  That last hope meant a lot to him, its origins from a place in his heart where Clara still existed. More and more, in fact, he found himself wondering what she would think of his day-to-day actions. He knew his wife wouldn’t have condoned half the things he did, but the world was broken - at least that’s what he told himself.

  Already exhausted by his first thoughts of the day, Kassian pressed his hands into the bed and pushed himself up. He winced and chastised himself, forgetting that his hand was still injured. He inspected the bandage, dismayed to see flecks of blood that had come through. He knew he needed to set time aside to heal the stump where his little finger had been, as well as garner the magic to perform the spell.

  But there was a constant reminder that every ounce of his magic would be required soon.

  Opening the window, the sound of Reavers beating their armour flooded his room. Kassian sighed. He wondered if the morning would ever come when he could get up, enjoy his pipe, and drink a hot cup of Velian tea. He hoped not. That all sounded rather dull, in truth. The Keeper had no plans on resting until his bones demanded it.

  That in mind, he dressed in his usual attire, including his long coat, enchanted sword and bracer, and his wand holster. He held the wand itself in his hand for a moment. The texture and weight felt wrong, even down to the quantity of Demetrium in its core. It had, obviously, been perfect for young Fin, who had wielded it with honour until his dying breath outside The Dragon Keep. And so he holstered it on his right thigh and made to leave the inn that had been kind enough to give him free lodging.

  Stepping out into the lower town, he was greeted by the pervasive chill of the north. Having grown up in Velia, Kassian preferred a warmer climate where one’s breath didn’t attempt to cloud the view every few seconds. The people, however, he found to be far more hospitable than the rest of the world gave them credit for. Approaching his fellow Keepers, several Namdhorians reached out to thank him for his efforts in the recent battle, as well as offer him supplies. He refused them all and ushered them up the city slope, there to join the rest of the lower town inside the keep.

  Pleasant as the interactions were, the undercurrent of Reavers spoiled the atmosphere. Joining the mages by the edge of the lower town, he looked out on the several hundred fiends that beat their chests like drums.

  Something wasn’t right.

  “Is it just me,” he began, “or are they—”

  “Getting faster,” Aphira confirmed. Though not the smallest among the Keepers, she was easily a whole head shorter than Kassian. He looked down at her and was reminded by the tone of her skin that she heralded from The Arid Lands. Namdhor must feel like hell to her.

  “When did this start?” he asked, feeling for the edges of the pipe in his pocket.

  “A few hours ago,” Aphira reported.

  Kassian held the pipe in his hands and between his lips. “Why would they get faster?” he pondered aloud.

  Aphira gestured down the line of Keepers. “Ayden thinks it’s some kind of countdown,” she remarked sceptically.

  “It is,” Ayden chirped up, defending his theory. “Why else would they do it?”

  Kassian paused with the tip of his wand resting on the rim of the pipe. Instead of igniting it, he removed it from his mouth altogether and stared at the Reavers. It was a countdown. The faster they beat the closer Alijah and Malliath approached.

  “I need to warn Vighon,” he concluded, searching for the nearest horse.

  “Wait!” came a call from farther down the line. “A rider from the east!”

  Kassian walked out onto the vale and squinted his eyes against the glare of the white snow. Indeed there was a rider, a single man on horseback, his saddle laden with goods. The Keeper turned to his right to watch the Reavers, concerned that they might attack the rider, but they appeared content to beat their chests and stare at the city.

  “Intercept him,” Kassian ordered.

  Two Keepers, Sadvik and Jorn, broke away and jogged out to meet the rider. He wasn’t the first to arrive at the city since it had been liberated, but he was the first to arrive on his own, from the east where The Black Wood resided.

  Once they were close enough for Kassian to take in the details of the rider, weary by the look of him, Sadvik called out in his thick Grey Stone accent, “He hails from The Black Wood!”

  From atop his mount, the traveller looked out on the Reavers with no lack of trepidation. “I don’t… I don’t understand,” he confessed.

  “The city’s ours now,” Kassian told him boldly.

  The rider’s eyebrows slowly rose into his head. “Truly?”

  “You come with news for The Rebellion?” Kassian probed, drawing his eyes down to the Keeper.

  “I come with more than that,” the rider divulged, revealing a black orb within his cloak. “Queen Drelda instructed me to give it to Vighon Draqaro himself.”

  Mentioning Doran’s mother robbed Kassian of any suspicion he might have been harbouring for the rider. “Come with me,” he instructed.

  * * *

  Out on her balcony, a cold dawn greeted the pale skin of Reyna Galfrey. The elf pulled on the blanket around her shoulders, determined to withstand the chilling wind and watch the sunrise. She had done just that for nearly two years, hoping each day that it would be the day she unearthed her son and freed him from the clutches of Malliath.

  It was crushing to know that it would not be this day nor any other. That which she dreamt her every waking moment would never come to pass.

  There was to be but one outcome.

  A blast of icy wind swept her golden hair across her shoulders and dragged a solitary tear from her left eye. She wiped it away before Nathaniel’s warm a
rms wrapped around her and his chest pressed against her back. He buried his face into her neck and she welcomed the heat of his breath. That, and so much more, she had missed in his absence.

  “I don’t have to see your face to know you suffer,” he whispered.

  “I failed,” she uttered, her words almost snatched away by the breeze. “I could not save him.”

  Nathaniel squeezed her a little tighter. “It was never up to you to save him,” he told her. “Nor me. We’re his parents. We were only to love him.”

  “It wasn’t enough,” Reyna replied, her vision lost to the expanse of the north.

  “Do you regret your choice?” Nathaniel asked softly.

  Reyna didn’t answer straight away, though she had already given that very question much thought while the moon still held sway. “No,” she said firmly. “I made my choice. I stand beside Vighon. I will see this through to whatever end.”

  “We will see it through together,” Nathaniel articulated. “From now on, nothing comes between us.”

  Reyna finally turned around to see her husband’s face. He looked just as he did when she had met him, nearly fifty years ago. She knew every line in his skin, the feel of his lips, and every speck of colour in his eyes. He was the most extraordinary man she knew. Their roots went deep.

  “Together, my love,” she promised.

  Nathaniel flashed her one of his confident smiles and she couldn’t help but feel uplifted by it, as if everything was going to be alright. She responded by crushing him in her embrace and he kissed her on the head, where he paused to inhale her perfume.

  “What’s that?” he asked from over her shoulder.

  Reyna pulled away and followed his gaze into the keep’s courtyard below. It was packed with people from the lower town and their numerous supplies, but her elven eyes caught two servants guiding a pair of horses away while Kassian Kantaris escorted a stranger through the main doors.

  “A messenger?” Reyna pondered.

  Nathaniel frowned. “Surely it is too soon. The raven we sent to The Black Wood should still be in flight.”

  “It could be news from Qamnaran, from my mother!” Reyna concluded with her first dose of enthusiasm. “Get dressed!”

  The Galfreys hurried about their chamber in a bid to collect their clothes, though Nathaniel’s haste only seemed to slow him down. Reyna rolled her eyes, always amused by the clumsiness of humans. Finally attired, they made their way through the passages and ancient halls of The Dragon Keep, careful to weave through the makeshift camps of those that had taken refuge there.

  Reyna bowed her head to the two guards standing outside the double doors of the throne room. They only possessed half the armour of a typical Namdhorian soldier and they had no promise of coin for their service, yet they still manned their positions to protect their king.

  Inside, the throne room was a hub of activity. Servants were in the process of placing a long table between the pillars with its head in line with the throne. Kassian was off to the side, conversing with two of his Keepers and the stranger he had escorted inside. Despite the activity, Reyna was drawn to the throne itself, where Vighon was seated with his eyes closed.

  He was holding a diviner.

  Kassian caught their entrance in the corner of his eye and broke away to greet them. “A rider from The Black Wood,” he quickly explained. “Queen Drelda sent him after speaking with Faylen.”

  “What news?” Reyna blurted, her eyes shifting back to Vighon.

  “That’s all he knows,” Kassian replied.

  “He came alone?” Nathaniel enquired wearily.

  “Disguised as a merchant,” Kassian confirmed. “The Rebellion has no idea we’ve taken the city.”

  Reyna shared some of her husband’s dismay, hoping, as he had, that whoever came from The Black Wood would do so in the company of battle-hardened dwarves.

  “That’s not all,” Kassian continued. “The Reavers outside the city - they’re beating their chests even faster now.”

  “He’s getting closer,” Nathaniel reasoned.

  “It would seem so.”

  Reyna was inclined to agree, though her attention was held by potential news from Qamnaran. “What’s all this?” she asked, observing the table and chairs being put into place.

  “Vighon wants to—”

  “His Grace,” Nathaniel corrected. “Or the king,” he suggested. “I know they’re just words but they hold weight for those around us.”

  Kassian shifted on the spot, struggling with the need to roll his eyes. “The king wants to set up a meeting between us, Sir Ruban, and the contingent on Qamnaran. My Keepers here can link the new diviner to theirs.”

  Reyna displayed her confusion. “Then why is the king speaking alone?”

  “That was the message that accompanied the rider. Faylen wanted to speak with the king alone before we link all three diviners.”

  Reyna’s stomach turned to quick-sand. “Why would she do that?” she said aloud without meaning to.

  Kassian pulled a face that always preceded his usual sarcasm. “I would say it isn’t for us mere mortals to understand… but look who I’m talking to.”

  Vighon stood up from his throne, ending every conversation in the chamber. “Empty the room,” he commanded.

  There was a brief pause before the servants turned to leave and the Keepers gestured for the rider to accompany them. Kassian, however, made no move to follow them. “Vig… Your Grace, my Keepers are required to connect our diviner to the others.”

  “The meeting will wait,” Vighon told him. “Faylen wishes to speak privately with Reyna and I would not deny her. Clear the room.”

  Kassian held back any remark he might have had and simply departed the throne room. Nathaniel, on the other hand, remained as grounded as a statue, a stance the king did not protest.

  “Please.” Vighon gestured to his throne, inviting Reyna to take a seat as well as the diviner.

  The elven ambassador was brimming with questions but she dared not voice a single one. Instead, she walked towards the throne and ascended the few steps to meet Vighon. Only then did she notice Sir Borin the Dread, previously hidden by one of the pillars. They were, perhaps, the only things large enough to conceal the Golem and his wide frame. Thankfully, his grotesque features were also concealed by a cumbersome bucket-like helmet and a mis-match of armour and leathers.

  “Here,” Vighon said, presenting her with the diviner.

  Reyna accepted the black orb and seated herself on the furs that lined the throne. Cupping the diviner in both hands, the elf gave her husband one last look before closing her eyes and allowing the orb to pull her mind therein.

  Faylen’s familiar features were there to greet her among the shadows and liquid-like smoke. How long had it been since they spoke?

  “It’s been too long,” Reyna said in her native tongue.

  “Indeed,” Faylen agreed. “I do not like to measure your absence in years.”

  “How do you fair?” Reyna asked. “Do you suffer any injuries?”

  “Nothing I cannot overcome,” the High Guardian replied.

  A heavy silence hung between them, fuelling Reyna’s fears, of which there were many. “I know Alijah still lives,” she finally said. “There are Reavers here.”

  “Yes, Vighon informed me of your situation.” The fact that Faylen didn’t go on to make any comment on their miraculous taking of Namdhor spoke volumes to Reyna.

  “Faylen,” she said softly. “Tell me.”

  Though her ethereal form made it impossible to tell, it appeared the High Guardian wiped a tear from her cheek. “Your mother faced Alijah alone, inside the tower. Whatever magic was wrought upon it, the island could not bear it. The tower fell into the sea… with Adilandra inside. She’s gone, Reyna. I’m so sorry. She’s gone.”

  Reyna remained perfectly still, numb almost, as Faylen informed her of the events surrounding her mother’s death. The fact that so many survived because of her mother’s eff
orts didn’t pass her by, but she was unable to make comment on it. One of the hardest parts to come to terms with was the absence of any body to recover.

  “I will never see her again,” Reyna grieved.

  “I’m so sorry,” Faylen said again, her voice saturated with sorrow. “I should have… I should have been by her side. That was my duty.”

  Another silence filled the space between them, a dark depression that threatened to rob the world of all light. Reyna didn’t know what else to say. It hurt. She wanted to lay waste to everything. The pain made her want to lash out. She wanted to scold Faylen for failing to protect her mother and she wanted to throttle her son for causing her death in the first place.

  But where would that get her? There would be more pain, more hurting, and heartache. Reyna wasn’t sure she could take any more. Alijah would reap what he had sown, but Faylen deserved no blame, for who could deny Queen Adilandra? She had been a demon on any battlefield and it was no surprise her last act aided the survival of thousands.

  But, right now, in the most painful of moments, Reyna wasn’t sure she could have sacrificed her mother even for thousands of others.

  “You did as she commanded,” Reyna stated, her tone even. “That was your duty.” Just saying the words helped her to get past the gnawing anger.

  Faylen adjusted herself, taking on a more rigid form. “This isn’t how I wanted to do this. I never imagined I would have to,” she added sombrely. “Time and menace are against us, however, and it is still the future we must consider.”

  Reyna relinquished some of her grip on the pain and rage that simmered beneath the surface, allowing her to find a tether with which to pull back her focus. “What are you talking about?” she asked gently.

  “Elandril - all of Ayda - is absent its queen. That burden falls to you now, Reyna.”

  In and of itself, Faylen’s decree was entirely logical and not at all a surprise. But Reyna was speechless. The obvious conclusion had escaped her and, even now, after it had been said aloud, the elven princess faltered to grasp its true meaning.