At last, every Dragon Rider was returned to their rest.
“Good to see ye gettin’ stuck in, lad!” The familiar voice turned Gideon to King Doran, who was yanking his axe out of a Reaver’s skull. “Now, get back up there an’ end this madness!”
57
A Clash of Fates
A crack of lightning flashed through the narrow slits in the dark passage, bringing momentary life to the faces of a dozen Darklings. They had been waiting in silence, motionless in the shadows, while their prey moved ever closer. But Inara had seen them now and they knew it. As one, they burst forward, their nightmarish shrieks bouncing off the cold stone.
Inspired by the storm outside, Inara extended her hand towards the creatures and let loose a staccato of lightning bolts. The searing energy cut through them as if they were old parchment. For those that escaped the barrage, there was only fire. The jet of flames erupted from between her hands and engulfed the passage from wall to wall.
Nothing moved after that.
Inara looked down at the burning bodies, the flames reflected in her eyes. They were people once. Men and women who had likely committed petty crimes and been sent to The Bastion instead of the cells, there to be transformed into the tools of a wicked necromancer.
The ringing of duelling swords pulled Inara from her reverie and turned her to the northern passage, a hall that led deeper into the fortress. Firefly was freed of its scabbard, its steel flashing in the firelight, but Inara had to lean against the nearest wall before she could investigate.
Everything hurt. Between their physical battle and intense exchange of magic in the sky, Inara was aching from her bones through to the cuts and bruises that marred her skin. She knew there would be more fighting and more spells required before the end, for everything inside The Bastion was hostile.
Inara gritted her teeth and took a steadying breath. Nothing was more hostile than her. She poured that belief into her muscles and forced herself to push away from the wall and find her brother. One stroke of Firefly could end it all.
Taking to the northern passage, Inara spared a moment’s thought for her companion. Even now, she could feel Athis locked in battle with Malliath, their claws and fangs ripping each other to pieces. She wanted to offer him encouragement, to bolster his strength, but the red dragon’s mind was in a primal place.
Following the sound of ringing swords, Inara pushed through her injuries and quickened her pace. She soon arrived at an archway that opened up onto the gallery of a vast chamber that possessed two more levels above and one below. Thick chains hung from the ceiling and rusted manacles lay strewn across the ground floor, easily seen without any railing around the gallery. To the left of the chamber was a pair of enormous rattling doors that were continually blasted by the ferocious winds outside.
All manner of great beasts could have inhabited the chamber. And, by the look of the Giant and Troll bones littering the ground floor, Inara guessed that Atilan had once experimented on a number of them in the vile chamber. Having taken it all in with barely more than a glance, the half-elf was guided by sound to the battle below.
Galanör was leaping from atop the Giant’s skull, Stormweaver gripped over his head in both hands. He tore through the Reaver from shoulder to groin, which was not a killing blow, but enough to knock it back into Aenwyn’s sweeping scimitar. That was a killing blow. The head flew from its body and crashed amongst a pile of smaller bones.
Aenwyn didn’t stop there. The elf launched her blade as if it were a spear and impaled an incoming Reaver in the head. Before it had dropped to the floor, she was already nocking an arrow in her bow and firing at the next fiend. Galanör didn’t hesitate to retrieve Aenwyn’s scimitar and wield it alongside Stormweaver. A flurry of steel was brought to bear on the remaining knights from Erador’s ancient past.
Inara decided to lend Firefly to the assault on the last of them and stepped off the edge of the first storey. She would have landed with her usual elven grace, but recent injuries forced her to drop into a roll and almost collide with what looked to be a large femur bone. By the time she had corrected her stance, Galanör had cut down two of the three Reavers and kicked the last towards her. Inara had only to thrust out her sword arm and stab the knight in the back of the head.
“Inara!” Galanör sounded relieved. “Are you hurt?”
“Nothing that can keep me down,” Inara replied firmly. “You two look to be on top of things,” she added with a glance at the armour-clad bodies around them.
“We were separated from the others,” Aenwyn informed her, ridding Inara of her next question. “There are Darklings everywhere.”
Inara flicked her head over her shoulder. “I’ve already had the pleasure.”
“Are Gideon and Asher with you?” Galanör asked, looking up to the floor she had come from.
Inara shook her head. “We too were separated.”
Galanör looked despondent. “I fear this was his plan all along; lure us in to the mountains and then divide us.”
“We wouldn’t be the first to be devoured by The Bastion,” Inara remarked darkly.
“So dramatic, Sister!” Alijah’s voice came from every corner of the chamber, setting off the warrior instincts in the trio.
Backs together, they held up their blades and bow and frantically searched the shadows. There was no sign of Alijah, only the slight rattle of a chain from the upper levels.
“The Bastion is where power is forged!” Alijah continued from everywhere. “If you don’t have what it takes to survive, then these walls will become your tomb!”
“Show yourself!” Galanör commanded.
“I’m right here.” Alijah’s whisper turned all three of them around, but then an amused bout of laughter turned them back to the upper levels. “Would showing myself make a difference, Galanör?” The question preceded his appearance on the highest floor.
Aenwyn released her arrow without any hesitation. It sailed through the air with such speed and accuracy that no man could rightly stand against it. But Alijah was no ordinary man, if he could be called a man at all. He casually waved his hand and disintegrated the arrow in a cloud of fiery ash.
“Clearly not,” Alijah said, answering his own question. “Shall we move on to the part where you all die?” he asked smugly.
“You’re acting as if you’ve already won!” Inara called up to him. “We saved the tree, Alijah! Magic thrives in us! You can’t stand up to us all!”
Alijah tensed his jaw before pursing his lips. “Did that victory make you feel mighty, Sister? Destroying that tree was going to be a mercy!” he hissed. “In the absence of magic, every elf and Drake would have had eternity ahead of them! But now you and your rebellion have forced my hand! Now, I will have to eradicate them all! That blood will be on your hands!” the half-elf accused.
“The only blood on my hands will be yours, Brother,” Inara assured.
Alijah took a breath, taking the measure of her, perhaps. “We shall see,” he finally replied.
Athis’s mind suddenly came alive inside Inara’s and it was full of warning. He’s coming! the dragon blurted desperately.
Inara’s eyes flitted to the large doors on the other side of the chamber. “Shields!” she yelled, raising one hand.
Her warning was punctuated by a deafening crash. Both doors were blown inwards, the force of which tore them clean from their hinges. Behind them came Malliath’s gargantuan head and neck. With his jaws already ajar, the Dragon’s fiery breath was quick to create an inferno. The first to be alerted, Inara was the fastest to enact her shield spell, its fringes just wide enough to protect Galanör and Aenwyn until they erected shields of their own.
The fire washed over their magic and tried to creep in at the sides, but the elves extended their shields and kept it at bay. Facing Malliath, Inara’s efforts took the brunt of it. Ancient and massive as he was, the force of Malliath’s fiery breath was considerable; more than enough to test Inara’s magic, having used
so much of it already. To her left, Galanör began to falter - the least schooled in the way of magic.
“Hold it!” she growled through gritted teeth.
As the heat inside their collective shield began to intensify, Malliath’s jaws clamped shut, leaving a cloud of dark smoke in the air. Unfortunately, Inara realised, he was just taking a breath. Her hand tightened around Firefly’s hilt as she started to draw on the magic stored in the crystal pommel.
But the next attack never came.
Claws as big as a man bit into Malliath’s sides and dragged him from the chamber. The black dragon roared in pain and writhed about, his bulk smashing through the stone archway. Athis the ironheart had him now. The red dragon sank his fangs into the back of Malliath’s neck and forced the behemoth away from The Bastion. Returning to the storm, their battle was renewed.
Inara lowered her hand and her shield with it. Through the smoke, she turned her head up to the highest tier of the chamber in search of Alijah. He appeared in a haze as he staggered away and disappeared through a door.
Galanör stepped forward, crossing the line from untouched stone to a charred and rough surface. The waves of heat rising from the floor were blown away in the mountain wind forcing its way into the chamber. “We have to go after him,” the elven ranger declared, tossing Aenwyn’s scimitar back to her.
Inara raised her hand to halt him. “We must tread carefully. He is likely baiting us into the next trap.”
“Of course he is,” Galanör replied. “But what choice do we have?” He placed a hand over the satchel clipped to his belt. “Our plan only works if we can get the—”
“Don’t say it!” Inara snapped, before the word Crissalith left his lips. “Assume the walls have eyes and ears in this place.”
Galanör gestured his understanding. “We still need to pursue him, regardless of the risk.”
“We’ve come too far to do anything else,” Aenwyn added.
Inara nodded her agreement before releasing a short sigh. “Do you still have the crystal Gideon gave you?” she asked.
A moment of confusion passed over Galanör’s face. “I do. It’s the only one of the three I have left.”
“Good,” Inara replied, her tone clipped. “Give it to me.”
The elf hesitated as his hand moved to the pouch on his belt. “You have a plan for it?”
“I do,” Inara said, noting the blue gemmed ring on his finger. “I’ve been here before, remember. I think I know where he’s going. I can get us there first.”
“A portal will drain you,” Aenwyn pointed out with obvious concern.
Inara sheathed Firefly on her belt and tapped the crystal pommel. “I have reserves to call upon. Besides, it’s like you said - we’ve come too far to do anything else. The best we can do now is get ahead of potential traps and lay one ourselves.” The Guardian held out her hand to Galanör, waiting for the crystal.
Galanör removed the crystal from its pouch and moved to drop it into Inara’s waiting palm.
Inara didn’t catch it.
Instead, she flipped her hand and let the crystal continue its fall to the floor. The moment her hand was above Galanör’s, she snatched at it with a vice-like grip, ensuring the pressure was intense enough to keep his fingers extended. Her free hand whipped up like a viper and called the Hastion gem to her grasp with a touch of magic.
Before the crystal had even hit the floor, Inara took advantage of Galanör’s surprise and yanked him forward. At the same time, she put all of her weight behind the elbow she drove into the centre of his chest. The air from his lungs was instantly expelled in one sharp breath. She then released his wrist and threw a knotted fist into his jaw, taking him off his feet. Aware that she needed to continue her momentum, the Guardian dropped into a crouch, scooped up the crystal, and rolled across the floor to meet the elf as he landed.
Coughing and wheezing for breath, Galanör was helpless to stop Inara from removing the satchel on his belt and clipping it to her own. As she attached that last clip, an arrow tip came to rest beside her head.
“What are you doing?” Aenwyn demanded, her bow string pulled taut to her cheek.
Inara held out her hands, one still closed around the crystal, and slowly backed away from Galanör. “Saving your lives,” she answered.
Confident that Aenwyn would never actually fire on her, Inara flicked her wrist and sent the crystal to the floor. It landed perfectly between the two elves and tore a circular portal through the stone. Taken by surprise, Aenwyn released her arrow high into the air as she fell through beside Galanör. Inara didn’t allow the portal to linger, a drain on her energy, and closed it the second they were clear of the abyss. Though she could no longer see them, the Guardian knew they had just dropped into The Bastion’s throne room.
The drain in energy was immediate and unforgiving. Inara felt her knees buckle and the charred floor rise up to greet her. The urge to vomit was overwhelming, though not so powerful as the urge to simply lie down and give in to sleep. Before oblivion claimed her, and it was coming for her, the Guardian gripped Firefly’s crystal pommel and absorbed the magic therein. Strength returned to her bones and her stomach settled, as did her spinning mind.
Rising to her feet, Inara took a breath and clenched one of her fists. The crystal pommel hadn’t restored all of her magic, that much she could feel. She could only hope it was enough.
Now to finish her hunt.
* * *
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The incessant noise turned Alijah’s gaze to the floor. His brow furrowed in confusion. Blood was worming down his hand and dripping from the tips of his fingers. But where had it come from? The question began to evaporate before he could even finish the thought. He blinked and the blood was nowhere to be seen and the small puddle beside him was gone, concealed from his eyes.
He pushed off from the cold wall, barely able to wonder why he had been leaning against it in the first place. Before he could turn the next corner, however, a fissure was ripped open in his mind. He staggered to the other wall and reached to steady himself. He saw flashes of lightning and glimpses of Athis and a smaller dragon coming at him with fangs and claws.
Then there was pain. Lots of pain. Alijah cried out, sure that a dozen blades had pierced his skin. Then came the rage and the fury. It rose up in Alijah and manifested itself in the form of a savage roar that resounded through The Bastion.
When his outburst came to an end, he was in an entirely different part of the fortress with no memory of how he got there. But he knew where he was. In the pouring rain, under a wrathful sky, Alijah looked out on The Vrost Mountains from The Bastion’s highest platform, a balcony that had seen its circular edge weathered and broken in parts.
How had he found himself here? Why did he always end up here?
His mind was unable to hold on to any question, let alone answer it. A thundering drum beat inside his head, drawing his hand up to nurse it. When it came away, the rain was washing blood from his palm.
“What is happening to me?” he whispered, staggering towards the jagged edge.
An ear-splitting roar defied the storm and turned Alijah to the sky. Malliath swooped out of a dark cloud and clubbed Athis around the face with his tail. The red dragon was taken from flight for a moment before his senses returned and his wings kept him from smashing into the mountainside.
Focus! Malliath’s voice cleared through his mind like a purging forest fire. Return to the fight. Kill them all!
Alijah’s pupils shrank to points. He could no longer see the blood on his hand nor feel the pain that had racked his body. His emerald Vi’tari blade was free of its scabbard and in his other hand, catching the rain. Playing over and over again in his mind, he saw himself killing his parents and Inara, their blood on his sword. Malliath desired Vighon and Asher and so he would deliver them to his companion.
The king of Verda turned around, set on his course, only to be confronted by an obstacle in the form of an old Graycoat.
“Hello, Father.”
Nathaniel Galfrey stepped out of the doorway and into the rain, his sword already in hand.
Alijah tilted his head, taking the man in. “Is this the part where you throw down your sword, tell me you won’t fight me, and try to make me see sense?” he asked mockingly.
Nathaniel continued to approach his son. “No,” he stated boldly. “I fear you are beyond all sense now.”
Alijah straightened up. “Then you have come to kill me,” he concluded with an edge of surprise in his voice.
Nathaniel came to a stop just short of his sword’s reach. “I’ve come to make sure you don’t suffer.”
The half-elf raised an eyebrow and glanced at his father’s blade. “And you’re going to do that with your sword?”
The old Graycoat looked down at the weapon in his hand. “This is the best I can offer you, Son. There are those who want to save you, to give you a chance at redemption. I know it’s all your mother thinks about. Hell, even Gideon wants a second chance for you. And there’s a part of me that wants that for you more than anything. But if they save you, if you find some way out of this madness, you will be brought before the realm for your crimes. You will be made to suffer.
“Humans, elves, dwarves. They’re past wanting you dead now. They want you to hurt. They want you to feel some of the pain you’ve unleashed on their lives. And they’d be right to,” he added, tears mixing with the rain on his face. “But I love you too much to let that happen.”
“A lovely, lovely speech, Father,” Alijah responded patronisingly. “But I am the realm,” he continued darkly. “The crimes committed against it are judged by me. And, right now, one of its greatest criminals stands before me with no more than the training of a simple Graycoat. There’s a reason you’re the last,” he added with a look of wickedness.
“This isn’t you,” Nathaniel stated with a shaking head. “Those aren’t my boy’s words. Whatever you are, you killed my son.”
A Clash of Fates: The Echoes Saga: Book Nine Page 65