Before he had even taken his first step, the northman knew this was the end - they weren’t faster than a dragon, especially this dragon. In that briefest of moments, Reyna had come to the same conclusion as Vighon and didn’t even try to escape. Instead, she aimed an arrow at the ancient beast, intent on doing as much damage as possible before death took her.
The fate of all three, however, was altered at the last possible second. To Vighon’s eyes, Avandriell came from nowhere as she rammed into the side of Malliath’s head, forcing him away from the hole in the wall. The smaller dragon grappled with the much larger horned head, her claws scraping and her jaws gnashing. Malliath roared and moved back from The Bastion so that he might swat her away but, by then, Avandriell had succeeded in dragging her claws down and over his left eye.
Vighon recoiled from Malliath’s next roar, a sound so loud and fierce it could have cracked the sky. Avandriell pushed off from his face and beat her wings with all haste. Malliath did not require so much effort to take off in pursuit of her, his enormous wings buffeting the wind and rain towards the fortress.
Only seconds later, Athis cut through the sky behind him. Vighon leaned out of the hole to follow the red dragon, looking to see if Inara was with him, but the storm battering the mountain side concealed everything.
A strong hand gripped the king’s arm, turning him back to the passage. Nathaniel let go of him to return both hands to his sword and face the six Reavers striding towards them. Reyna adjusted her aim, sighting the fiends down the length of her arrow. Vighon looked back at her when she failed to release the devastating missile. The elven queen’s attention had been snatched away, her head tilted to one side and a look of concern growing on her face.
The northman stole a glance at the approaching Reavers, checking the time they had left. “What’s wrong?” he asked her urgently.
Following her gaze to the hole in the wall, Vighon moved back to the threshold where the wind attempted to steal his cloak. Besides the raging storm, there was another sound carried in the wind, a terrible cacophony of shrieks and screams. Daring to poke his head through the gap, Vighon looked upon the black stone above the hole.
“Darklings!” he warned, stepping back and raising his fiery blade.
Nathaniel bent his knees, bracing himself into a defensive stance. “We sure could do with a Golem right about now,” he remarked.
Vighon never thought he would miss Sir Borin and he certainly didn’t have time to miss him now. A violent clash turned the northman to the head of the passage, from where the Reavers were still advancing. He had to look twice when he realised that it had been caused by a familiar ranger. Asher had charged out of a side passage swinging his broadsword.
Reyna didn’t hesitate to burst into a charge of her own, lending her bow and scimitar to the fight. Vighon was close behind her, his flaming sword held high. By the time they reached the Reavers, Asher had cut down three of them and savagely maimed two others. Reyna challenged a one-armed Reaver, easily besting the disadvantaged fiend with a clean swipe across its neck. Vighon met the remaining two, one of which took searing silvyr through the visor, leaving the last to be kicked back and decapitated in a wide swing with the sword of the north.
Asher straightened up, his breath ragged. “Where’s Galanör and Aenwyn?” he questioned, no doubt wondering where their secret weapon was.
“We lost them,” Reyna told him, half-turning to face the hole Malliath had opened in the fortress wall. “Because of them,” she said with disdain as thirty or more Darklings poured into the passage.
“Where’s Inara and Gideon?” Vighon asked quickly.
“We got separated,” Asher said, making for the side-passage from which he had emerged.
“Wait!” Reyna blurted, looking back at the Darklings. “Where’s Nathaniel?” she asked with panic in her voice.
Asher and Vighon scanned the passage but only a glance was required to determine Nathaniel’s absence. “He was with you?” Asher checked.
“Only a moment ago,” Vighon confirmed.
“We need to find him!” Reyna was taking a step towards the Darklings when Asher grabbed her by the arm.
“We need to keep moving,” he told her to the sound of terrible shrieks and growls. Reyna protested but allowed the ranger to drag her away. “This way!” he commanded. “Quickly!”
Vighon was right behind the ranger. “He was just with us!”
Asher paused at a junction before dashing to the left. “Nathaniel can take care of himself.”
The northman’s frustration wasn’t going anywhere, just as Reyna’s concern wasn’t. “Where are the others?” he asked, hoping to piece together something good from this mess.
“Gideon went after Vilyra and Godrad, down into the valley.” The ranger stopped in the new hallway to take in the various doors that lined the walls. “In here!” he instructed, opening the second door on the right. After everyone filed in, he gently closed the door, bade them to be silent, and braced himself with his sword pointed at the wood.
The Darklings were soon scurrying down the passage, their bony fingers and limbs clattering against the stone. They had slowed down, suggesting they were on the hunt again, their prey momentarily lost. It felt like a lifetime waiting for them all to move through and disappear elsewhere in the fortress, especially since Asher had failed to inform them about Inara’s whereabouts.
They took a collective breath when silence reigned beyond the door.
“I think they’re gone…” The ranger trailed off. “Where’s the big one?” he asked, referring to Sir Borin.
“He was eaten by the bigger one,” Vighon replied.
Asher accepted the loss of the Golem. “He was a monster, but at least he was a useful monster.”
Vighon shook his head and all talk of Sir Borin away. “Where is Inara?” he asked specifically.
Asher gestured at the walls. “Somewhere in The Bastion.” The ranger ran his thumb over a cut in his eyebrow and inspected the blood. “Alijah returned and Inara gave chase,” he elaborated. “I haven’t seen either of them since. They could be anywhere in here.”
“Then we need to find them,” Vighon asserted, making for the door. “Nathaniel too.”
“We didn’t lose Nathaniel,” Reyna corrected, speaking for the first time since realising the old Graycoat was missing. “He’s gone.”
“Gone?” Vighon echoed.
“Yes, gone,” Reyna repeated. “He’s gone for Alijah, just as I once did.”
“We need to find Galanör,” Asher said, cutting through it all. “We need to help him get the Crissalith as close to Alijah as possible.”
Vighon wanted to argue his point and even throw some of his kingly weight around, but it was Inara’s voice in his head that reminded him of their duty. “Well we’re not going to do that in here,” he said, opening the door. “Let’s get that Crissalith and end this.”
* * *
Under sheets of rain and blasting winds, The Rebellion’s forces met their enemy with grim determination. If this was to be their last stand, if victory was to elude them this day, then they would make it such a stand as to inspire countless rebellions to echo down through the generations and challenge the house of the dragon.
More to the west of the battle, well behind Reaver lines, Doran Heavybelly was making his last stand worthy of history’s note. With the axe and hammer of Andaljor, he swung with abandon, crushing and hacking at the fiends. Thaligg and Thraal had finally found him at the cost of their Warhogs’ lives. Now, the trio fought back to back to back, parrying and countering while trying to avoid killing each other.
Of course, the stakes had been raised when the dragons entered the fight. Most of the time, they were dark wraiths that cut swift lines over the top of the battle, their presence never anything more than a threat. But, like now, the undead dragon, Godrad, would occasionally spit fire across the battlefield, lighting up the night. It never lasted long, thankfully, the dragon’s attacks eve
r halted by Gideon and Ilargo.
Doran elevated himself on top of a dead Reaver, killing another with his axe as he did so, and witnessed Ilargo drop out of the sky and dig all of his claws into Godrad’s back before dragging him away from the battle. After chasing Godrad away, Ilargo didn’t waste the opportunity to turn his head and breathe fire across the ranks of Reavers closing in from the northern flank. The king cheered him on, though he would have liked the pair to be in the middle of slaying the one who controlled the enemy.
“Watch out!” Thaligg cried as he barrelled into the son of Dorain.
The Reaver’s spearing attack went over them and met Thraal’s shield before the stout dwarf buried his axe in its head. Doran and Thaligg staggered back to their feet, defending themselves with every movement. It wasn’t enough. Doran could feel his bones aching from all the impacts and his focus was slipping. It didn’t help that, with only one eye, he had to turn his head so much to take in the full range of enemies.
The king cried out when his axe was beaten down by a Reaver’s sword, its curved edge only an inch from his boot. Bringing his hammer to bear, Doran tried to put all of his strength behind the mighty swing. Fortunately, there was no need. Pig came blasting though and slammed into the attacking Reaver, giving the dwarf some space.
Doran laughed. “Good boy!” he hollered, reaching to retrieve his axe.
That moment of triumph and luck was darkened by an agonised cry. The king turned around to discover Thaligg staggering away from his opponent, a spear through his chest.
“NO!” Doran raged.
Thraal, Thaligg’s brother, beat him to it and chopped the Reaver down to one knee before sinking his axe down through its head. He then joined his dying brother and used whatever time Doran and Pig could grant them to say farewell. Their words were lost to the king, his ears filled with battle. Between blows, he glimpsed the brothers clasping arms. A last glimpse revealed Thaligg lying on the ground, his eyes lifeless.
Thraal let loose an angry roar and threw himself back into the fight. His grief brought new life to his muscles and kept the pain at bay. Such raw hatred would lend him strength, but Doran knew it would only be temporary. He moved in behind Thraal to keep the Reavers off his back, but the knights of Erador were only one of their problems.
The other was falling out of the sky.
* * *
Gideon braced himself flat to his saddle, a touch of magic added to his grip. He could see the battlefield expanding in his view, a writhing creature that rippled from one side of the valley to the other, as Ilargo rushed down to meet it.
Hold on! the green dragon cried.
Gideon could feel every ounce of Ilargo’s strength directed to his grip on Godrad. Trapped under Ilargo’s claws, the undead dragon was powerless to do anything but be rammed into the ground. Scores of Reavers were flattened beneath the weight of both dragons and a tidal wave of dirt and snow was thrown into the air.
Though his grip withstood the intensity of the impact, Gideon’s breath was taken away. Worse still, he didn’t have time to recover before Godrad fought back and Ilargo was forced to shift his weight.
Move! Ilargo warned him.
The old master leapt from his saddle as Godrad’s tail hammered down across the green dragon’s back, eliciting a pained roar from him. Still trying to catch his breath, Gideon landed and flowed into a roll to avoid the grappling dragons, their every movement crushing more Reavers.
Keep him this side of the valley! Gideon instructed, fearful of the rebel forces who could get caught beneath the winged titans.
Ilargo speared his head upwards and clamped his jaws around Godrad’s neck. With the weight of his body behind him, the dragon shoved the undead beast further west, away from the clashing armies. In their absence, the Reavers quickly moved to swarm Gideon Thorn.
As they closed in, the old master held his hands close together. He called on the limited magic he had at his disposal and let it build in the gap between his palms. Then, when the fiends were within a few feet of him, he swept both hands out wide and unleashed his spell. The Reavers were tossed back and high in an arcing wave, their armour crumpled into their bodies and their bones shattered.
In the space it afforded him, Gideon took Mournblade in hand. He had seconds to prepare himself for battle. Quietening his mind, he heard his breath fall away, then the sound of the wind, and the rain hitting his leathers. All that remained was the rain striking the steel of his Vi’tari blade. The elven scimitar had been by his side for years - it was the only sword he had ever wielded. They were one.
The first group of Reavers to descend on him took the old master through forms one to three of the Mag’dereth. When they lay still on the ground and the next wave fell upon him, he was moving through form four to the most violent form five. This was a dance with Death. His scimitar flashed in every direction, cutting in at every angle, while his body moved like a snake, coiling in and out of encounters. His feet barely touched the ground as he weaved through the Reavers, dropping them with single strikes of precision.
To his left, a light as bright as the sun banished the night when Ilargo’s fiery breath blew in the wind. Their positions had reversed now, with Godrad’s jaws locked under Ilargo’s neck and manipulating the direction he faced. Gideon could feel Ilargo’s frustration and rage mixing together. His front claws came up and sank into Godrad’s face, tearing and shredding what there was of the dragon’s rotten features. When the tendons between his jaws were severed, Godrad lost some of the strength in his bite and Ilargo was able to free himself from the fangs.
Gideon knew what was coming. Do it! he urged, ducking under an incoming spear.
Ilargo needed no encouragement to destroy his undead kin. With Godrad’s head still under his own, Ilargo used his front claws to prize open his enemy’s mouth, stretching it beyond any dragon’s natural capacity. Then, with unrelenting fury, he lowered his own head towards the open maw and exhaled a jet of fire. The hungry flames spread throughout Godrad’s innards and escaped through the jagged holes that marred his body.
Only when Godrad’s body grew limp did Ilargo release the flaming beast. The ground shook, the last impact Godrad would have on the realm.
Emerging victorious, if bloodied, Ilargo roared into the night and unleashed his fiery breath on the surrounding Reavers. It was the light of his flames that revealed Vilyra only a second before she brought her twin swords down on Gideon. Through his eyes, Mournblade felt the incoming attack and shot up horizontally to intercept them.
Vilyra’s boot spear-headed her second attack and slammed into Gideon’s chest, taking him clean from the ground. His spine protested against the impact, but the knock to the back of his head dulled its intensity.
He naturally rolled onto his front in an attempt to get up, but he saw Vilyra dashing towards him out of the corner of his eye. It was instinct that caused him to raise his hand towards her, the spell echoing from long ago into his mind. Only his level of power held him back, though the telekinetic blast still succeeded in pushing the Dragon Rider back several feet.
It was enough to give him time, a precious thing on a battlefield. On his feet again, Mournblade gripped tightly in his hand, Gideon had nothing but a grimace for Vilyra. She was the last on a short list of ancient heroes who needed putting back in the grave.
Her leaping attack appeared frenzied, her blades coming in at wild angles, but Gideon could see the fighting style emerging through it all. Maintaining the fifth form of the Mag’dereth, he kept up an aggressive response and pushed her back step after step. Soon, the area was beginning to flood with dwarves, humans, and elves as they took advantage of the hole Ilargo had punctured in the Reavers’ line. Gideon welcomed them, thankful to have his back protected.
We must return to The Bastion! Ilargo insisted, his tail sweeping through hordes of Reavers.
Gideon cried out in pain when one of Vilyra’s blades stabbed into his shoulder and the other sliced along his thigh. Spinning
on his heel, the old master flourished his scimitar behind his back and deflected her next attack while positioning himself to face the Dragon Rider in form four, a style that balanced defence evenly with attack.
Would you like me to intervene? Ilargo enquired, snatching a Reaver from his shoulder and spitting it back onto the battlefield.
Gideon responded by countering Vilyra’s low strike with a twist of his own, a flick positioned just right to send the weapon flying from her hand. He then advanced with a strike to her left and right, all the while pushing her back. He found gaps in her defence three times but his every slash had no effect on the Reaver.
Might I suggest aiming for the head, Ilargo chimed in, his voice strained as he unfurled his wings to banish the fiends crawling all over him. This was not to be our fight, he reminded his companion.
Gideon was too ensnared by his duel to reply or even contemplate another fight. He was forced to step on a dead dwarf and use the height to bring a strong two-handed blow down on Vilyra. She blocked it, as he had expected her to, and then came at him with a counter strike he had predicted after scrutinising her style. That counter strike was delivered across his waist after she had ducked to one knee, but Gideon had already tucked his knees up to his chest and leapt over himself and the sweeping blade. Before he landed beside her, Mournblade was lashing out to take her arm.
The limb fell to the ground, added to a field of other limbs and bodies. It didn’t seem to bother Vilyra, her sword still grasped in her remaining hand.
The head, Gideon! Ilargo reminded.
Like a banshee, she flung herself at the old master. He shifted his shoulders one way then the next, avoiding every stroke of her blade by an inch. Using her aggressive advance to his advantage, Gideon shifted his whole body to the side, pivoting on his heel, and brought Mournblade around in a cutting arc. He felt the brief resistance as the edge of the steel passed through her neck, though the pelting rain prevented him from hearing her head hit the ground.
A Clash of Fates: The Echoes Saga: Book Nine Page 64