A Clash of Fates: The Echoes Saga: Book Nine

by Quaintrell, Philip C.

  “Hello, stranger,” she said with a coy grin.

  Asher spread his arms and pulled her in. There was a time when all he had wanted was the feel of her skin, the smell of her perfume, and the sound of her sweet voice. And, though he could not deny any lingering feelings towards her, he had found a place in his heart to be happy for her.

  There was also a part of him that still wanted to punch Nemir, her husband, right in the face. He felt that all too keenly upon spotting the elf emerging from the camp to greet them.

  Asher stepped back from Faylen and gave the elven captain a nod. “Nemir,” he said politely enough.

  “Asher,” the elf replied with a slight bow of the head.

  Awkward as it was, Faylen ploughed through and gestured to Avandriell. “Is this…”

  Asher couldn’t help but smile - he loved the way people marvelled at his companion. “This is Avandriell,” he declared with pride.

  “Avandriell!” Faylen repeated, clearly enjoying the way it sounded in her mouth.

  “She is magnificent,” Nemir commented, his stiffness easing.

  A contented smile ruled Faylen’s expression. “You are bonded to a female dragon. Somehow that seems perfect.”

  Perfect was a word that kept coming to the ranger when he considered any aspect of Avandriell. “She still has a lot to learn,” he said gruffly, which led his thoughts back to a dark place.

  “Does your life ever get dull?” The lighter tone was familiar, leading Asher to the angular face of Galanör Reveeri.

  The ranger flashed a smile and clasped hands with the elf. Like all the others, Galanör was grubby from head to toe, his elven demeanour - a regal stature - diminished by exhaustion. Still, Asher could feel the strength in his grip.

  “You walk with Fate, old friend,” Galanör said in his native tongue.

  Asher cast a cursory eye over the elf. “And you walk with only one blade. What happened?”

  Galanör placed his hand over the empty scabbard. “Trolls. Though I would gladly have given both swords if it would have saved more lives.”

  “I’m sure many more would be out on that field if it weren’t for you,” Asher encouraged.

  Galanör thanked him with a nod before joining Faylen and Nemir, who had both crouched down to greet Avandriell. “She is exquisite,” the elf complimented.

  “She gets that a lot,” Asher quipped, his sight lost to the sea of dwarves and elves.

  “Captain Nemir?” came a call from the thick of the camp.

  The captain ceased his interest in Avandriell and stood up to meet the approaching elf. They exchanged a brief conversation in their melodic language. The captain nodded, signalling the end of their discussion, before turning to Faylen. “I must see to something.” Husband and wife shared a gentle kiss before separating.

  The ranger was pleased to see that such affection didn’t sting him half as much as he had expected it to. Instead, he waited for Nemir to disappear back into the camp before asking, “Where’s Doran?” There was something about the way Faylen looked up at him that made Asher steel himself for the worst of answers.

  The High Guardian rose to reply, leaving Galanör to stroke the scales under Avandriell’s jaw. “He’s just south of here,” she said, easing some of the tension in the ranger’s muscles. “Asher…” Her tone pulled his eyes from the south and back to her. “It’s Russell. He transformed during the battle. The wolf fled but Doran seems to think that Russell will never return.”

  Asher sighed and dropped his head into his chest. “I had hoped to be there for his last moon,” he said with a heavy heart.

  “So it’s true then?” Faylen continued. “Russell will never return?”

  “His curse has been bearing down on him for some time. Being consumed by it is an inevitable conclusion for any Werewolf. I had hoped there was more time.” The ranger had really hoped he would be given the chance to say goodbye.

  Galanör returned to them, his arms folded. “The weight of it has robbed Doran of reason. He has barely said a word since the battle ended yesterday. I don’t think he’s slept either.”

  “He just stands there,” Faylen explained, “staring at the south.”

  Asher was about to speak when he sensed something from Avandriell. It was a craving, he knew, and not for food or water. He was naturally drawn to the sky, an ocean of freedom that the dragon had recently discovered. It was addictive. That much of her experience he shared. She let out a low squawk and flapped her wings. Many stopped what they were doing and simply watched her take flight, most completely unaware of who her companion was.

  “I told you she would get big!” Gideon called on his approach. “Though I have to say, I wasn’t expecting her to fly so soon.”

  Happy to busy his mind from the news of Russell, Asher turned to the old master. “You failed to mention the circumstances of her growth,” he replied.

  Gideon finally reached the trio and frowned at the response. “Ah, yes,” he recalled after some thought. “It can be somewhat dangerous in the wrong environment.”

  “There’s an Arkilisk out there who learnt that the hard way,” the ranger said dryly. “Had I not been with Adan I would likely be a pile of ash in The Evermoore.”

  Gideon looked past the ranger to set eyes on the Drake. “Of course… He can read the magic.” The old master’s eyes glazed over for a second, his thoughts consuming him. “My apologies, Asher,” he eventually said. “I should have mentioned the danger. Sadly, time eludes us again. The king calls for a council.”

  * * *

  By the time a fire pit had been constructed and The Rebellion’s council had gathered around it - absent Doran Heavybelly - the sun had dropped below the western horizon and the thick clouds had thankfully rolled away with it. Now, under a canopy of stars, Asher listened to reports from Faylen, Galanör, and Gideon about the end of the world. At least it sounded like the end of the world to him.

  The battle sounded bloody, claustrophobic, and unbalanced where numbers were concerned. Adding to the enemy’s might, they had guarded the dig site with Trolls, catapults, and ballistas. As tempting as it was to believe that he could have made a difference in the fight, the ranger knew losing odds when he heard them.

  He just liked to think that he could have saved the tree.

  Saved Avandriell.

  Her head was currently resting over his leg, her scales bright in the light of the flames. Asher stroked the top of her head, between her two horns, and watched her eyes get heavier and heavier. Could Fate be so cruel as to take her away from him? Why not? he mused. It had spent a thousand years learning new ways to torment him.

  The flat of his hand came to rest on her head and he simply enjoyed the rhythm of her breathing.

  “You can’t grasp the size of the tree,” Gideon was saying to Reyna. “It’s as big as any mountain and the fire has spread to the canopy. It would take a lot of magic to put out the flames and every second that goes by, we lose more of our connection to it.”

  Vighon leaned forward on his log. “What are the realistic repercussions of this?”

  Gideon glanced at Asher before answering the king. “Our ability to wield magic will diminish day by day until the tree is gone. We’ve already heard from Captain Nemir,” he said, gesturing to the elf seated beside Faylen, “that the healers among us are failing to aid common wounds. Even The Moonlit Plains,” he added, pointing at the luminescent grass beneath their feet, “will lose its enchantment. And we have no idea what will become of the Drakes, but they are half dragon and…” The old master took a long breath in an effort to conjure the words. “And the dragons of this world will die without magic.”

  Nathaniel turned to Galanör. “But not you,” he stated. “Your magic is no longer tied to the tree?”

  “Time will tell,” the elven ranger replied. “It seems likely given what Gideon told us of Alijah’s plan on Qamnaran.”

  “Sadly,” Gideon chipped in, “Galanör’s ability to retain his magic
cannot help us. No one person can save the tree, however powerful they might be.”

  “No!” Kassian said forcefully, shaking his head. “We’re talking like all hope is lost, like we’ve lost the war. This isn’t over yet. The tree isn’t gone and our enemy is still out there.”

  “He’s right,” Nathaniel added supportingly. “We can’t let magic die. There must be a way.”

  “What about the dragons?” Sir Ruban queried. “I have seen them put out the worst of fires.”

  Gideon was shaking his head before the captain had finished. “The doorway is barely large enough for a human to fit through.” The old master cast his eyes over Asher’s sleeping companion. “And Avandriell is too young and too inexperienced to fight a fire this big.”

  “So what are our options?” Kassian pressed.

  “Perhaps,” Sir Ruban suggested, “we should take the fight to Alijah while there is still enough magic in the world to aid us.”

  “Our options are few,” Gideon admitted. “But I don’t think we should even consider challenging Alijah and Malliath until we have a better understanding of the damage done to the tree.”

  “If we wait,” Sir Ruban countered, “do we not risk having no magic at all?”

  Vighon shook his head. “Regardless of the magic at our disposal, The Rebellion is in no shape to face Alijah and his Reavers right now. As much as I would like to make our enemy pay for what they’ve done, our priority is seeing to the wounded, gathering our strength, and investigating the damage to the tree. We aren’t going to beat Malliath without Ilargo and Athis and we’re not going to beat Alijah without magic on our side.”

  “What if you only need to beat one of them?” The question came from the shadows, beyond the firelight. There were none on the council, however, who didn’t recognise the voice of Inara Galfrey, no matter how weak it sounded.

  Gideon’s head whipped around. “Inara?”

  The Guardian of the Realm entered the light, her fatigue there for all to see. Inara waved away the concern of many and declined the offered seat from Vighon, choosing to stand instead.

  “What are you talking about?” Kassian asked her.

  Inara looked at Gideon. “Have you told them?”

  The old master appeared reluctant to answer her. “No,” he confessed.

  “Told us what?” Kassian blurted impatiently.

  “Malliath and Alijah are still bonded by one life,” Inara declared. “We have only to kill one and they will both perish.”

  Asher’s attention sharpened to a point, the old assassin in him demanding action. It was like a sweet voice in the back of his mind. Avandriell stirred and opened her jaw to yawn. The voice in the back of his mind then quietened and he reminded himself that he was a ranger, not an Arakesh. He was part of something here, something more important and bigger than himself. Besides, he had tried to kill Alijah once before using the methods of the Arakesh and it ended badly.

  He returned to stroking Avandriell’s head, discarding the urge to sink into the shadows and track his prey across the realm.

  Nathaniel adjusted his position on the small barrel. “What do you mean, Inara?”

  Asher listened intently as the Guardian went on to explain what she had discussed with Gideon the previous day. She detailed their findings and laid it out for those who might not be accustomed to the way of dragons and their companions. Ultimately, it came back to the ranger’s initial conclusion: focusing their efforts on killing Alijah alone would end the war.

  Throughout Inara’s speech, Gideon remained seated with his arms folded and his hand covering his mouth. The look in his eyes told Asher that he didn’t fully agree with his old student.

  “So we only have to kill one or the other?” Vighon questioned out loud and mostly to himself. “Focusing our attack on Alijah alone would improve our odds.”

  “It would if we knew where he was,” Asher announced, speaking for the first time.

  “I thought you could track anything,” Kassian quipped.

  “Not through the sky,” Asher replied dryly. “I agree this changes the way we view our enemy, but they’re in the wind and beyond our reach. There’s a reason Alijah and Malliath have fled rather than secure this site. They have only to wait now. When magic is gone,” he said, glancing at Athis and Ilargo, “so too are their greatest threats. Right now we have a foothold. We should take advantage of our enemy’s absence.”

  “Asher is right,” Gideon spoke up, though his words were directed at Inara. “We have access to the tree here.”

  “Until the doorway closes,” Inara countered. “The Drakes fled before we even set up the camp. Without their magic down there, the doorway will close.”

  “All the more reason to do what we can now,” Gideon argued. “I do not wish to return to Drakanan while Alijah and Malliath could follow us. I will not put the eggs at risk needlessly.”

  A tension filled the gathering until Queen Reyna shattered it. “I think we can all agree on our priority here. Nobody wants to live in a world without dragons, therefore we cannot allow magic to fade away.”

  “Are we all in agreement?” Vighon asked, looking from Inara to Gideon. “Magic is our priority? And only then, we take the fight to Alijah?”

  “Aye,” Inara voiced first. “As long as we are in agreement on our strategy,” she added, looking pointedly at Gideon.

  One member after another gave their aye in agreement, but it was Gideon’s response that drew Asher’s gaze. He watched the old master’s jaw clench as he agreed with the council and Inara’s stipulation.

  “Aye,” Asher finally said, the last to do so. He continued to watch the old master, vowing to speak to him later rather than in front of the council.

  “We cannot speak for the dwarves,” Faylen said.

  “I will speak with Doran,” Asher volunteered. “I don’t think he will be ready to leave the plains yet, but I wouldn’t rely on them staying too long - this land is too exposed for any dwarf’s liking.”

  Vighon gave Asher a look of appreciation before addressing the council again. “I would like to see this tree for myself. Though, I must admit, I have no idea how I might be of any aid.”

  “Perhaps,” Gideon began, looking across the fire to Adan’Karth, “we could try talking to the tree?”

  The king raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you need rest, Gideon.”

  “I agree,” Inara said pointedly, taking a seat beside Vighon. “But he isn’t wrong,” she added in a softer tone and without meeting her old master’s gaze.

  Vighon found the Drake across the fire. “You can speak to trees?” he asked incredulously.

  “The trees of this world are just as alive as you or I, good king,” Adan’Karth explained. “Though I fear their voices will fade soon.”

  “Why?” Inara questioned.

  “Magic has long been a part of Verda’s nature, just like the wind and the tides. Without it, much of this world will pale to shadows in the twilight.”

  Again, Adan’s words cut through the group and lowered morale, though he only lived to speak the truth and it could not be held against him. Asher was, in fact, rather proud of the Drake. He was the only one among his kin who was doing something to save the realm. And he had stayed by the ranger’s side day and night, enduring Asher’s every habit and bad attitude.

  “If there is any hope,” the Drake continued, “it may lie in the tree itself. I will gladly reach out to it, but I must pass through this doorway; my people can glean a lot from touch.”

  “I can testify to that,” Asher muttered, recalling his first visit to Ikirith, before the war.

  “I will take you,” Gideon volunteered.

  “I will come as well,” Kassian interjected.

  Gideon appeared reluctant. “We don’t know what’s over there. It might be safer to keep our numbers down.”

  Vighon raised a hand. “I want Kassian to go,” he said, raising a few eyebrows - the Keeper’s included. Since he wasn’t going to give his re
asons for the edict - nor did he have to - Gideon simply bowed his head. Kassian did the same, though his was more of a thanks than a sign of respect.

  “Urgent as this may be,” Reyna spoke up, “might I suggest a night of rest for all.”

  “I’m not going to argue with that,” Gideon replied, obviously exhausted.

  “I would see to some of the wounded,” Adan declared, rising from his seat.

  “I will assist you,” Galanör offered. “My magic should be put to good use.”

  Reyna reached out and touched the elven ranger’s arm. “Make sure you rest.”

  Asher patted Avandriell’s neck, rousing her before he stood up. He didn’t want to sit around. Being still felt wrong, even if he wasn’t in a position to do anything.

  “I will speak with Doran,” he repeated. Turning to leave, the ranger hesitated, aware that he was in the presence of the king. Vighon flicked his head, encouraging him to depart the group with a silent dismissal.

  Asher cast his eyes over Inara and Gideon. The old master was watching her, though it seemed the Guardian was determined not to look at him. The ranger wasn’t one for getting in the middle of things when it came to the emotions of others but, of all those around the fire, Inara and Gideon were The Rebellion’s - if not the realm’s - greatest hope. And though they might not need to be in harmony, they at least needed to agree on the same strategy.

  This was not the time or place, however, to call out either of them. He had other business to attend to.

  With Avandriell close by his side, the pair made their way across the camp. They weaved between dwarves huddled around fires and elves sharing out food. Every Centaur that crossed their path bowed to Avandriell. Though the night was getting on, the camp was far from quiet; the still air disturbed by the cries of so many wounded. Asher could see frustrated Keepers and elves alike as they struggled to enact their healing spells; a notoriously difficult magic to perform.

  The ranger hardened himself to it all, well accustomed to the consequences of war. Avandriell, however, was not so versed in the reality of battle for there was only so much she could take on from her mother’s memories. Asher had expected her to absorb his emotions on the matter but her individualism, it seemed, was a new development in her growth. More than once, the young dragon paused to look at an elf or a dwarf in pain.