Doran swore.
Weaponless, he now faced an angry Troll that had the power to crush him with a single hand. The dwarf braced himself, entirely unsure what he was going to do.
The answer was nothing.
He felt the pressure of a large boot pressing down between his shoulders before he saw Russell leaping over his head. The old wolf gained enough height to face the Troll at eye level, his battle hammer held above him in both hands. Using the flat of the hammer, Russell buried the weapon right between the monster’s inner eyes. The force behind his blow was strong enough to crack the rocky hide and direct all four of its eyes inwards.
As Russell landed back on his feet, the Troll staggered backwards, one enormous foot after the other. Its balance came into question as it wavered one way then the other. At last, it grunted, shook its head, and locked its eyes on Russell with renewed fury. It took two confident strides when Kelabor and a trail of Centaurs burst from the fray, galloping straight past the Troll. Without faltering a step, Kelabor casually swung his sword and slit the monster’s throat, taking advantage of both his height and the soft patch of skin under the creature’s jaw.
Blood ran freely down the Troll’s jagged chest before it fell to its knees and then flat onto its face. The Centaurs hollered victoriously into the night and circled around, forming a temporary defensive line around the War Mason.
“Where in the hells ’ave ye been?” Doran shouted over the melee.
Kelabor only shot the dwarf a look. Then he was gone and his Centaurs with him as they pushed deeper into the battle. With them gone, the Reavers closed in again.
“Doran!” Russell removed the dwarf’s axe from the Troll’s arm and tossed it to him. The War Mason regained his grip just in time to cleave the first Reaver’s head from its shoulders. He shoved the next aside and buried his weapon in the knee of the third, dropping it with the other. Then he hacked repeatedly until he was confident neither would ever rise again.
With laboured breath, he made his way back to Russell’s side. The old wolf had already found Andaljor’s hammer and he held it out for Doran to take. His weapons back in his hands, the dwarf glanced up at the moon. It was so close to being full now. One more night and the curse would have its time.
“Are ye with me?” Doran croaked.
Russell’s jaw was set, his yellow eyes cast over the dwarf. “Until the end.”
Together, they turned and faced the next wave of enemies. With so few allies around them, the pair were soon forced to ascend the Troll’s back. The climb slowed the Reavers down just enough to give them the edge, but their elevated position informed every fiend in the area of where to find them. Doran would never have admitted it aloud, but he could really have done with Galanör and his blades showing up right about then.
“Doran…”
The War Mason retrieved his axe from his enemy’s head and kicked it off the Troll before following Russell’s gaze. There above them, three fireballs were lighting up the night’s sky as they arced towards the south. Doran tracked them to the distant plains. Upon impact, their flames illuminated the greatest thing Doran had ever seen.
Reinforcements.
Captain Nemir, Faylen’s husband, led his fellow elves across the plains with scimitars raised. He had behind him every elf who had survived Malliath’s attack on The Shining Coast and they all looked hungry for battle.
A flicker of hope dared to bring new life into Doran’s aching bones. “Keep swingin’!” he growled to himself.
And so he did.
19
A Larger Tapestry
Viewing the world from the heavens, Gideon looked down and ahead of Ilargo to discover the southern edge of The Evermoore. The great forest dominated the landscape below, running from east to west with seemingly no end in sight. The Moonlit Plains, however, tinted orange in the setting sun, rolled across the realm like a blanket, taking Gideon’s vision to the furthest horizon.
Were they to continue their journey through the night, they would arrive at the battle having completed two days of constant flying. Though Ilargo, nor Athis, would ever admit to it, neither could face the likes of Malliath and two Reaver dragons after such an exertion. They had already battled strong winds that had blown off The Vrost Mountains, determined to force the dragons ever westward.
We should rest here tonight, Gideon suggested, aware that Ilargo was connected to Athis. There is a cliff just east of here, above the trees. It looks big enough for both of you.
We can’t afford to stay long, Inara cautioned through their shared bond. Alijah has a head start.
We will leave before the night is over and finish our journey under the stars, Gideon reassured.
Both dragons banked towards the clearing without a verbal response, a testament to their fatigue after days of flying across the world from Erador to Illian with barely a stop in the middle. Gideon harboured a real fear for his companion’s life but, as strange as it still felt, he kept the thought to himself. A lot of his worries stemmed from the fact that, after years of imprisonment, he had only just got his eternal companion back and he didn’t want to lose him again.
Adding to the waning shadows of the trees, Athis and Ilargo flew low over The Evermoore before gliding on the currents to bring them up to the rocky bluff that stood a little taller than the surrounding forest. It was slightly pitted in the centre, offering the riders some shelter from the wind, but the dragons still curled around the area offering a wall of muscle and scales.
Gideon patted Ilargo on the neck before making his way down the angled rocks and boulders. Meeting Inara there, they quickly set up a small camp with blankets and a fire to cook their food. They did all this in silence, their actions born of muscle memory more than anything. They had both camped in the wilds of the world and with far less than they had now.
They ate and drank, watching the stars creep over the sky. As the temperature dropped, Inara carved some small runes into the ground around them and the fire. Gideon recognised the spell and even remembered teaching the younger warrior how to enact it. When she was finished, an invisible bubble surrounded them, trapping the heat inside. Trivial as the spell was, it still made the old master proud.
“Did you ever think about me?” Inara asked, cutting through the sound of the crackling flames.
Gideon looked at her, across the fire, well aware of what she was talking about. “Every day,” he assured. “And twice as much after Alijah captured me.”
“What did you think?” Inara continued. “When your thoughts dwelled on me,” she specified.
Gideon could see how awkward Inara felt asking the question. “For my years in Dragons’ Reach, I longed for your opinion on everything. You’ve always seen things so clearly. But, most of all, I think I missed your laugh. Something I haven’t heard since our reunion.”
Inara’s mouth twisted. “There hasn’t been much to laugh about of late.”
Gideon looked down at his food. “I suppose not.” The old master took a breath before meeting her eyes again. “I worried about you,” he confessed. “I knew you could take care of yourself - you were the most dangerous thing in all of Illian. But I worried you were lonely. I knew the order was a part of your identity. I feared that you were living in hope that every day would be the day we returned.”
“I did,” Inara replied quietly.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered before finding his courage. “I am sorry,” he repeated boldly. “I convinced myself that… Well, I don’t know what I told myself. I’ve made one bad choice after another and leaving you behind to guard Illian on your own is right up there with the worst of them. You should never have had to shoulder that responsibility. If I could change things I would.”
Inara stared at her old master and Gideon felt the weight of her gaze through the licking flames. “I forgive you. Just like I forgive you for keeping the Dragorn bond a secret,” she added sincerely.
Gideon swallowed, unable to say anything in light of the absolu
tion of his failures. Inara’s strength and humility were boundless - as he well knew - but to experience it was like having his chains removed all over again.
“I also forgive you for taking the extra piece of bacon,” Inara added, her tone bringing some levity to the conversation.
Gideon managed an amused smile and flicked his finger over the bacon on his plate. The telekinetic spell launched the strip of meat across the fire and into Inara’s waiting hand. Her grin broadened as she consumed it in three quick bites.
“I do not deserve your forgiveness,” Gideon uttered.
“And yet you still have it,” Inara replied.
Gideon nodded his appreciation but failed to look at her as he busied himself with his water. He had nothing to offer in return for her kindness even though he knew Inara expected nothing.
“I’m surprised you haven’t asked me yet,” Inara announced.
The old master was taken aback by the confusing statement and, for the life of him, couldn’t understand what she was referring to.
“It must have crossed your mind,” Inara continued as if he was in on it. “We discovered an entire cavern full of dragon eggs. The bond you now have with Ilargo aligns with the ancient ways. You must have thought about the Dragon Riders. I’m just surprised you haven’t asked me to join you yet,” she finally clarified.
Gideon opened and closed his mouth, unsure how to respond. “I would be lying,” he began, “if I said I hadn’t considered it.”
“Why would you only consider it?” Inara questioned with a frown.
Gideon was tempted to laugh at his own miserable history where leadership was concerned. “I haven’t exactly succeeded in that particular area. You might recall your recent trip to Dragons’ Reach.”
Inara was shaking her head. “You’re a leader, Gideon. It’s in your bones.”
Now he was shaking his head. “The qualities of leadership are not enough to build an order of dragons and Riders from the ground up. I brought too many potential Riders too soon to The Lifeless Isles. Our numbers swelled beyond my ability to teach with any significant instruction. There were too many young Riders and too many young dragons.” Gideon paused and took a moment to think about all those that had perished in the orc invasion. “Elandril started the Dragorn and kept the order alive and relevant for thousands of years. I lost it all in a few decades.”
“You said it yourself; you tried to rebuild an order designed by elves for elves. The Dragorn was never meant for humans. And when Elandril started the order, he was closing in on five hundred years. You don’t even have a century to your name yet. You’re too hard on yourself. What really matters is the cause of all the strife you put yourself through - you just want to protect people. I can see that hasn’t changed in you, nor in Ilargo. And like Asher said: you always get back up. He believes that’s what makes you dangerous but he’s wrong. That’s what makes you wiser. This isn’t some fairy tale, Gideon. This is real life. When we fall, we pick ourselves back up and try again. There are none in the realm with your experience or better prepared to find Riders for those eggs.”
Gideon couldn’t help but get carried away in Inara’s speech. “It would certainly take longer. Those eggs will only respond to a particular kind of warrior and they aren’t in abundance.” He shook his head in a bid to rid himself of the fantasy. “No. I had my chance at it all. Now there’s blood on my hands. I don’t deserve a second opportunity.”
Inara held her tongue for the moment and stoked the fire. “The world is going to need some hope to cling to, something to assure it that evil will never return. Dragon Riders have ever been that promise, whatever form they took.” She leaned forward. “It’s because of your past, because of your failures that you are the leader Drakanan needs. You could build something new that bridges both orders.”
Gideon smiled weakly. “I think the world is going to have all the hope it needs in you… and Vighon.” Inara’s eyes flicked up from the flames and fixed on the old master. “So there is something there,” he concluded. “I thought so but I wasn’t sure.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Inara said, in a clipped tone.
Gideon held up his hands. “I’m happy for you both. I’m glad you’re coming to terms with your bond; you’re doing better than I am and I have a few years on you. My emotions were pretty focused while I was imprisoned but, since you rescued me, I’ve struggled to understand my own mind. I feel like I’m back in my first year at Korkanath.”
“You’re struggling too?” Inara asked in disbelief.
“Of course! I’ve always known I was Gideon Thorn, Master Dragorn. Now I’m just a man with greying hair and the emotional control of a young teenager. Did you know your mother is very attractive?”
Inara put a hand up. “There is a line, and you just crossed it.”
Gideon laughed. “I apologise. I’ve known Reyna for decades and never once considered her appearance. And that’s just some of it. I get angry over small things and upset over nothing. I have thoughts that I want to keep to myself and not share with Ilargo. I know he is the same.”
Inara looked confused. “I haven’t seen any of this since we left The Tower of Jain.”
Gideon shrugged. “I still have my decorum to fall back on. We’ve also been dealing with the end of the world as we know it.”
Inara gave a soft laugh that never made it over the sound of the flames. “Well, it’s nice to know I’m not alone.”
Gideon smiled. “I don’t think you’ll ever be alone, Inara Galfrey.”
The Guardian bit her lip and frowned. “We both have to survive first, Vighon and I.”
The old master could see that it was hard for her to talk so openly about it. “You’ve both forged futures through the darkest of times. You will again.”
A look of deep sorrow shadowed Inara’s features. “It’s hard to see that future when it lies on the other side of killing my brother. If that’s even possible.”
Inara’s words set off a chain reaction in Gideon’s mind, taking him down a path he had tried to take before, in the halls of Drakanan. “Do you recall, before we discovered the bonding chamber, I was telling you about—”
“Your last conversation with Alijah,” Inara cut in, eagerly. “You said it was your worst argument. Something about The Crow.”
“Yes. As I said in Drakanan, I had a lot of time to think. The one thing that kept coming back to me was The Crow’s part in all this. One day, I decided to voice my opinion to Alijah. He took it badly and he made Ilargo suffer for it. The next time I saw him was two days ago.”
Inara tilted her head. “What burdened you so much that you felt the need to discuss it with Alijah?”
“I think a part of me wanted to anger him,” Gideon confided, “to make him feel small and used.”
Inara narrowed her eyes. “Tell me, Gideon.”
The old master adjusted his position on the ground, allowing him to better see her across the flames. “I think The Crow lied to us.”
“About what?”
“Well, maybe lied is too strong a word. I believe he was hiding the truth behind the truth.”
Inara raised an eyebrow. “Now you’re making about as much sense as The Crow himself.”
“What was the last thing he ever said?” Gideon asked, already aware of the answer.
“Monsters only beget monsters,” Inara replied flatly. “I spent years pondering over what he meant,” she admitted. “Then Alijah invaded and I saw the monster for myself.”
Gideon disagreed. “But that doesn’t make sense,” he argued. “Sarkas claimed to have seen a future where peace existed across all of Verda. He went to great lengths to ensure Alijah became the king he is right now, including the orchestration of events that brought him and Malliath together. Yet, in his final moments - after declaring himself a monster - he told you that monsters only beget monsters. Why would he allude to Alijah being a monster if he was supposed to be the one to bring about peace and unity?”
“The Crow was a very twisted man,” Inara opined with a shrug.
“His methods were twisted, yes, but I can’t believe his vision was this. Consider everything we know about The Crow - Sarkas. He grew up under King Atilan’s reign, a notoriously selfish and greedy man - a tyrant. And Sarkas himself lived in The Citadel, his life dominated by the mage priests of The Echoes order. He knew real oppression. Why would he bring about a future that ensures the realm is ruled by another of their ilk? He had to know that Malliath would be a corrupting influence on Alijah besides his own tormenting in The Bastion.”
Appearing agitated, Inara asked, “What are you getting at, Gideon?”
“It’s not just what he said,” the old master pointed out, “but who he chose to say it to.”
“How so?” Inara questioned.
Gideon paused, wondering how to put it. “I don’t think Sarkas orchestrated millennia of history just to ensure Alijah’s birth. I think he also did it to ensure yours.”
Inara’s face dropped. “What are you talking about?”
“Alijah wasn’t the only person born that day,” Gideon explained. “If Sarkas saw the future, he saw your birth too. I think he always meant for Alijah to become the man he is. Look around; he has brought the realm together. There’s never been this kind of unity before, not between all the races. That’s the truth he told. The real truth, behind that, is Alijah’s role in all this.”
Inara looked away, her mind pulling on the thread. “You think Alijah was meant to be the monster that united the realm with a common enemy. And that I’m the one who…”
Gideon leaned towards her. “You’re the one who slays the monster and brings real lasting peace to the realm. The truth behind the truth.” He gave her a moment to absorb his theory.
“And you shared this with Alijah?” Inara asked incredulously.
“I wanted to hurt him, but I was also hoping he could see the logic in it. He didn’t. And, like I said: there was pain.” Gideon looked at his old student. “What do you make of it all?”
A Clash of Fates: The Echoes Saga: Book Nine Page 23