A Clash of Fates: The Echoes Saga: Book Nine

by Quaintrell, Philip C.

  They’re lining up for another attack run!

  Ilargo agreed with Gideon’s assessment and spat a ball of fire across Godrad’s flight path. The undead dragon veered away to escape the flames and shot over the battle. Forced to race along the sloping banks of the southern mountain side, Godrad’s left wing skidded through the snow before he launched back into the air.

  Angling up behind them, Ilargo homed in on his prey. Gideon felt the drag try and pull him free from his saddle as he held on with one hand. In the other, his Vi’tari blade grew hungry.

  Gideon, Ilargo began as he climbed higher, those clouds are unnatural. They are forming too fast.

  The old master narrowed his eyes at the black sky beyond Godrad and Vilyra. His human sight wasn’t comparable to his companions, but he could see the clouds moving in over the valley with great speed, swirling into themselves over and over again.

  Gideon grimaced at the nightmarish spectacle. Flashes of lightning erupted within and thunder rippled through the mountains.

  Malliath, he seethed.

  * * *

  High above The Vrost Mountains, Asher swore at the top of his voice. After being engulfed by a storm cloud, a staccato of lightning had erupted from within and blasted past his head.

  Where did this come from? he demanded.

  It’s Malliath! Inara replied, frustration in her tone. The spells etched into his body only come to life at a certain altitude!

  Before the half-elf finished her explanation, Asher lost sight of both her and Athis, taken by the storm. The conditions worsened after that, with the temperature plummeting and torrents of rain drenching them. The lightning increased, as if the clouds were at war, their bolts hurled across the heavens.

  Avandriell banked towards Athis’s last location but found no trace of them. I can’t see anything! she fumed.

  Asher shared her exasperation, but it wasn’t Athis and Inara he was searching for. Somewhere in this gargantuan storm was its equally gargantuan maker.

  Your spell is slipping, Avandriell warned him.

  The ranger could feel the biting cold creeping in even as his companion told him as much. He recited the spell Gideon had taught him, going through the ancient words a couple of times before enforcing them with his will. A sensation of warmth swelled from within him and pushed the cold away. Now he just wished he knew a spell to keep the rain out of his eyes.

  Avandriell’s muscles suddenly tensed, giving Asher a fraction of a second to interpret her immediate action. He interpreted wrongly. Avandriell tucked in her left wing and her entire body followed. The ranger should have leaned with her, keeping them streamlined as one, but he shifted his bodyweight in the opposite direction. Having instantly lost his grip on one of the handles, Asher’s legs took off into the sky and tried to take the rest of him with them. It was then, in that desperate moment, that he saw them.

  Duelling gods.

  Athis and Malliath thundered past, locked in a battle of claws, fangs, and beating wings. Lightning flashed all around them as their blood was added to the rain, their tails whipped around to club the other, and their Riders hurled spells of destruction through it all.

  In the same moment Asher witnessed their collision of wills, he lost sight of them altogether. Avandriell dived down through the cloud and arched her back to ascend once more, giving the ranger a few seconds to find his place on the saddle again.

  I sense doubt in you, she blurted on her way up.

  Is that really a fight we can get in the middle of? Asher voiced his concern as plainly as he could.

  It’s the only fight worth getting in the middle of, Avandriell countered.

  I’ve spent most of my life assessing opponents, Asher told her, his head close to the saddle. I know fights I can’t win.

  Avandriell flew through a pocket in the storm clouds, offering them a larger vista. Is that fear I detect in your voice, Ranger?

  Asher groaned - she had too much of her mother’s confidence in her, confidence earned after years of fighting for her order. Don’t confuse fear with weakness; it’s kept me alive and my enemies dead for decades.

  I have seen your memories, Avandriell replied, banking to the west to continue her hunt. I have seen you acknowledge certain death and still throw yourself into the fight.

  I’ve earned the right to go with my gut and trust my skills and experience to claim victory. You’re up here with nothing but Thessaleia’s memories of battle. There’s a difference!

  Avandriell spared a moment to lay a single golden eye on him. Remember who has the wings, she quipped. Her attention was quickly snatched by a glimpse of Athis and Malliath, one giving chase to the other. So quick was their passing, however, that Asher could only guess at who was winning.

  Can you speak to Athis? he asked.

  No, Avandriell answered, flying towards them. They’ve closed off for battle.

  Asher was processing the inevitable fight between them all, visualising it as he did before most violent encounters. How exactly are we going to get in the middle of this? he questioned. Their size alone increases our chances of being swatted out of the sky by either of them.

  Avandriell pierced the next cloud, missing an explosion of lightning by a mere second. As I said; I’ve seen your memories. Combined with my mother’s, I see only one way of striking at our enemy.

  That sounds like a violent combination of memories to call upon, Asher opined. Before he could enquire of her idea, he saw the scenario play out in her mind. Initially, he was dismayed to see that it had been his time as an assassin that Avandriell had recalled, but she reminded him to embrace all that he was and all that he had been - only then could he ever move forward.

  His hands gripped to white knuckles, the ranger lowered his head and gritted his teeth. Do it.

  Avandriell weaved between the lightning and pierced cloud after cloud until she heard the roars of larger dragons. Get ready! she advised.

  Like a knife shooting out of the dark to take its victim in the back, the bronze dragon speared through the last cloud and slammed into Malliath’s back. Her claws sank in, crunching through her enemy’s scales and into the rough hide. With a roar of her own, Avandriell quickly raked her way towards Malliath’s left wing and clamped her jaws around his scapula, a technique Thessaleia had used to disable enemy dragons from flying.

  Avandriell soon discovered, however, that the strength of her bite was not that of her mother’s. Rather than lose his ability to fly, Malliath became enraged and twisted his body into an erratic flight pattern. With no intention of giving up the fight, Avandriell beat her tail again and again, hammering the black dragon’s side. Between the frantic beating of her wings, Asher caught sight of Alijah in his saddle. That was his target.

  Leaping from the safety of his companion’s back, Asher found himself navigating the various spikes that lined Malliath’s back. His progress towards the half-elf was slow as every other step required him to brace against the spikes to avoid being thrown into the sky.

  “You should have stayed on the ground!” Alijah called to him, having turned around while Asher was clinging to a spike.

  Asher’s brow furrowed into a hardened scowl. “And you should have stayed in Erador!”

  The ranger reached for the silvyr short-sword poking over his shoulder and wondered how he was going to advance while Malliath was writhing. Alijah, accustomed to such aerial acrobatics, had no problem finding the required footholds and closing the gap between them.

  Kill him and Malliath goes down too! Avandriell encouraged, her fangs scraping against the behemoth’s bones.

  Though he didn’t need the reminder, Asher visualised his silvyr blade thrusting forwards and sinking into Alijah’s heart. It would be quick and efficient, just as he had been taught.

  Asher hesitated, catching movement in the corner of his eye. Approaching from Malliath’s right, at a slightly lower altitude, Athis intercepted the black dragon’s flight. As one dragon flew under the other, Inara launc
hed herself up from Athis’s back and crashed into Alijah, taking them both over the side and into a cloud.

  “Inara!” Asher shouted after her.

  Predicting the inevitable, Avandriell released her grip on Malliath and let her wings catch enough air to lift her off. Burdened with a human mind, Asher came to her conclusion too late.

  Malliath dived.

  The ranger wrapped two hands around the nearest spike and held on with all his strength. It wasn’t enough. His fingers lost their grip and he was swiftly left behind as Malliath continued to drop through the clouds in pursuit of his companion.

  Avandriell! Asher bellowed her name across their bond.

  I’m coming! she replied desperately.

  Asher could do nothing but fall through the heavens, blind to what awaited beneath every cloud. Avandriell! he called again, concerned that any number of mountain tops were rushing up to greet him.

  Hold on! she cried.

  The ranger fell through a pocket in the storm, an area of empty sky waiting to be filled with lightning and rain. Only it wasn’t empty. There was another occupant inhabiting the pocket and it was flying up, directly beneath him.

  Avandriell! The ranger passed on the image of Malliath rising towards him, his mighty jaws extended to swallow him whole.

  There was no response from Avandriell, leaving Asher to watch his fate grow ever closer. Within seconds, they were close enough that he could see Alijah safely returned to his companion’s back.

  I’m too far away! Avandriell’s tone spoke of her agony. Like Asher, she knew this would be his end.

  Deciding he wouldn’t die feeling helpless, the ranger gripped the hilt of his broadsword.

  What are you doing?

  With seconds left of his life, Asher gave his last words. I’m going to ram it down his throat.

  Malliath’s wet fangs glistened and his tongue curled at the air in anticipation. Perhaps that was why he forgot to mind his surroundings and missed the hulking red dragon flying into his side. With Inara astride, Athis barrelled into Malliath and sent them both careering to the north, their lashing tails missing Asher by just a few feet.

  The ranger turned his head to watch the dragons continue their battle, but the storm soon took them in, leaving only a pair of silhouettes as more lightning erupted within the clouds.

  There you are! Avandriell’s voice preceded her by a couple of seconds. After falling through a rain cloud, the bronze dragon appeared by his side as the snow-covered mountain tops came back into view. Lining themselves up, now under the pouring rain, Asher reached out and found his place astride his companion.

  Perhaps you were right, she remarked. That particular battle is beyond us.

  Something about the way Avandriell emphasised her last word made Asher question her current flight path. You’re taking us back into the mountains, he concluded. Why?

  You’re not ready for an aerial battle yet, the dragon quickly replied.

  You’re not going back up there alone!

  Yes I… Avandriell trailed off, her head turning to the right. Asher followed her stolen attention and discovered Malliath dropping out of the storm, closely followed by Athis the ironheart.

  They look like they’re heading back to The Bastion, Asher said.

  Avandriell banked in their direction and took after them. The lashing rain prevented the ranger from seeing anything more than a few feet in front of his companion’s head. He felt her body shift one way then the next as she navigated the mountainous terrain, weaving her way back to that wretched fortress.

  When, at last, it returned to Asher’s view, there was no sign of Athis or Malliath, nor their Riders. The main doors were blowing wildly in the wind.

  They must have gone inside, Avandriell considered, her bronze head searching the black sky as she came in to land. You must go after them, she insisted.

  Asher climbed down to stand beside his companion. You can’t go back up there, Avandriell. With or without me, you’re not powerful enough to face Malliath.

  Avandriell arched her neck and puffed out her hardened chest, adopting the most regal of stances. Learn this lesson, Ranger, and learn it well, she said, leaning down to bring her golden eyes to his face. You can’t stop me.

  Asher was taken aback having expected her to spout some nugget of wisdom passed down from Thessaleia. Taking advantage of his surprise, Avandriell bounded away and leapt back into the sky.

  “Avandriell!” he cried aloud, his face turned up into the rain.

  Go, Asher, she urged. You have your fight and I have mine.

  The ranger growled as he pulled free his two-handed broadsword. If you survive, I might just kill you myself…

  * * *

  Deep in the bowels of The Bastion, a place that had long been kept by the dead, Vighon Draqaro slammed into a wall as he tried to navigate the corner at speed. With his shield between him and the stone, the northman pushed himself off and renewed his mad dash to escape the horde of Darklings.

  Not far in front, Reyna and Nathaniel led the way through the labyrinth, their swords lashing out left and right as Darklings burst from the side passages. Vighon held his shield out in front of him and rammed his way through a pair that emerged to separate him from Nathaniel. Their rotten skulls cracked and twisted out of shape but, even knocked to the floor, the Darklings didn’t give up their savage attack.

  Vighon gave a sharp yell as one gripped his ankle and brought him down. He instinctively kicked out and put a boot in what remained of one of their faces. It didn’t free him of its grip but it stopped the fiend from biting his leg. The second Darkling scurried across the floor and leapt for the king, its bony fingers sharpened to points. The sword of the north flashed from up to down, its fiery blade of silvyr slicing the Darkling in two.

  The other Darkling, the one intent on taking a chunk out of his leg, was clawing its way back to him. Vighon would have prepared himself to vanquish the creature but, unlike the Darkling, he could see what was coming. Sir Borin the Dread brought his large boot down on its head, and nothing remained between his foot and the stone floor.

  “Vighon!” Nathaniel shouted from further down the passage, his eyes looking beyond Sir Borin.

  The northman quickly picked himself up and saw the incoming Darklings scrambling over each other to reach them. “Pick up your feet, Sir Borin!” With the Golem thundering behind him, the king ran after the Galfreys.

  Reyna was waiting for them at the next corner. The elf nodded for them to continue after Nathaniel as she brought her bow to bear, an arrow nocked on the string. The enchanted weapon launched the arrow with enough force to reach the far end of the passage, where Vighon had slammed into the corner. On its way, the missile burst open a dozen Darklings, reducing them to rotten debris. Yet still their numbers swelled from every passage until the undead were crawling along the walls and ceiling.

  “Go!” Reyna shouted, nocking another arrow with great speed.

  This time, she didn’t aim for the Darklings. The arrow went high and struck the ceiling a few feet in front of the horde. Vighon felt the explosion rock the fortress while his ears were overwhelmed by the sound of the passage collapsing on itself under tons of stone. He came to a halt after reaching Nathaniel and the pair turned around to see Reyna emerge from the dust.

  “That’s only bought us some time,” she said. “They’ll find another way through to us.”

  “Any idea where Galanör and Aenwyn are?” Nathaniel asked, his chest heaving.

  Vighon shook his head. “We got separated when the Darklings came through that wall,” he told them.

  A sudden noise echoed from further up the passage. Reyna was aiming her bow before Vighon had even taken his eyes from her.

  “We can’t stay here,” Nathaniel stated gravely.

  “We should ascend to The Bastion’s upper levels,” Reyna suggested.

  Vighon wasn’t going to protest. “You know your way around here better than I do - lead the way.”

>   Nathaniel eyed the towering Golem. “Perhaps he should take the lead. Just in case.”

  The northman agreed. “Sir Borin,” he began, gesturing down the passage. “You will lead us that way.”

  Behind the Golem’s thundering steps, the trio began their journey up through The Bastion. Shrieks and howls reverberated through the fortress and, here and there, they even heard the clash of swords. They quickly surmised that, somewhere in the maze of black stone, Galanör and Aenwyn were fighting Reavers. Try as they might, however, they could never locate the source of these sounds.

  “This is useless,” Vighon fumed, turning down another empty hall. “We just have to survive up here while all of our forces are fighting for their lives in the valley. We should be down with them if we can’t face Alijah. And who knows how that battle is going,” he added with a quick nod at the ceiling.

  “We have no choice in the matter,” Reyna whispered. “Alijah has proven adept at anticipating our moves.”

  Leaving Sir Borin to continue walking, Vighon stopped in the passage and turned to face the elven queen. “Where are we even going? Nowhere in here is—”

  The king’s last word was stolen from him, drowned out by an almighty crack of stone as the wall ahead was blown in. Behind that force was Malliath the voiceless. His horned head forced its way into the The Bastion in a shower of debris and dust and, in the chaos, his jaws snapped around Sir Borin and yanked him from the passage.

  Vighon ran to the jagged hole in the wall with Reyna and Nathaniel in tow. Outside, amidst a raging storm, Malliath whipped his head up and clamped his jaws, tearing the Golem in half at the waist. Before his legs could fall to the ground, the black dragon opened his wicked maw again. With the entirety of the Golem now in his mouth, Malliath chewed vigorously, turning Sir Borin into pulp before gulping him down.

  Then, rain bouncing off his glistening scales, Malliath turned his purple eyes on the three sovereigns of Verda.

  “Run,” Vighon uttered. “Run!” he yelled.