Alijah pinched his nose and massaged his eyes. “Something about a rising… or maybe it says lifting. No that can’t be right… Maybe it’s talking about…”
“You’re mumbling,” Vighon interrupted, his hand running up and down the blade.
“I think it says something is going to be risen in the heart of a fallen star.” Alijah shrugged. “I know, it sounds ridiculous. There’s also mention of a dragon and something forgotten or maybe lost. The glyphs are just…” He held out his hands, too tired to think of the words.
“You’ve been looking at it all night and that’s all you’ve found?”
Alijah took a breath, all too aware that Vighon knew exactly how to get under his skin. “I just need more time with it.”
Vighon nodded along. “So, it’s probably fair to say that you can’t read the ancient language.”
Alijah pointed his finger, his retort ready…
But the light crunch of fresh snow found his ears
The sound was too distant for Vighon’s ears and the blundering fool continued to speak, ignorant to the volume of his own voice. Only when Alijah’s hand went for his bow did the northerner stop and, credit to him, he knew not to ignore Alijah’s senses.
“What do you hear?” he asked.
Alijah focused, aware now of more than one person’s footsteps slowly pressing into the snow. His left hand slid up his back and unhooked the folded bow.
“Alijah!” Vighon hissed. “We don’t all have the ears of an elf. What is it?”
Meeting his friend’s dark eyes, he said, “We have been hunted…”
Vighon put down his whetstone and reached for his rounded shield instead. “It’s about bloody time.”
Alijah shot his friend a look before flicking the switch on the handle of his bow, expanding the limbs with a snap.
Before either had walked out into the snow, he had an arrow nocked as an echo of his mother’s words rang in his ear. He couldn’t pull on the string of any bow without his mother’s guidance flooding back to him. It pained him to think of her, he missed her so much, but she was easily the best archer in all of Verda and it would be folly to ignore her council.
The falling snow and the twilight of dawn made it hard to see anything beyond the trees. But he knew they were out there. Outlanders. The wild people of the wood who refused to leave their forest and enter the civilised world, unlike their ancient cousins a thousand years ago. They weren’t as big as the barbarians in The Iron Valley or as savage as the legendary Darkakin, but they were killers all.
“How many?” Vighon asked, hefting his one-handed sword and shield.
“Ssh!” Alijah turned his ear to the wall of trees and closed his eyes.
Never aim with just your eyes, his mother had said. Feel the direction of the wind on your skin. Inhale the scent on the breeze. Listen to the world.
Alijah released his arrow to the sound of a satisfying thud, quickly followed by a garbled yelp and the crunch of snow after the body hit the ground. It was a show of superior skill, something Alijah had been told was respected by Outlanders and often led to them abandoning their prey.
He had been told wrong.
A dozen faces slowly emerged from the snow, as if The Wild Moores itself was giving birth to them. The expected rush and attack never came, however, with the Outlanders creeping ever forward. If it was a fear tactic, Alijah decided it was a very good one…
The men and women spreading out around the tree-line wielded crude axes and jagged swords. From head to toe, they were all attired in a mismatch of animal skins and furs, though they all revealed their dirty faces and tattoos. It was the black fang tattooed below their eyes that caught Alijah’s attention. At this point, he was beginning to doubt the information he had been given about Outlanders, but he had heard it from his father himself that the fang tattoo was the mark of a hunter clan.
Vighon turned his head to Alijah while keeping his eyes on the Outlanders. “I’ll be lucky if I see thirty winters sticking with you…”
“The only reason they found us is because you just had to have sausages for lunch,” Alijah quickly replied.
Without another word, Vighon drove his sword into the ground, dropped his shield, and unclipped his fur cloak. Alijah would have closed his eyes in despair were he not fixed on six of the Outlanders who appeared to have chosen him as their prey.
“Why do you always have to do this?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Beside him, Vighon continued to go through his stretching regime, pulling on the muscles in his arms and legs. “Stretching is important before a fight and you don’t always get the chance,” he replied.
Alijah kept his bowstring taut and the end of his arrow resting at the anchor point behind his mouth. “You’re mad, do you know that?”
With an almost playful tone to his voice, Vighon replied, “We’ll see who has a sore back by the afternoon.”
There should have been a question as to whether either of them would live to see the afternoon, but they had both survived worse than this. It was a cocky attitude Alijah was sure would get them killed one day. Just not this day.
Almost as one, the Outlanders took note of the cave behind the two men and shared a terrified look. A moment later, they turned and scrambled through the forest as if the dark mouth of the cave would consume them whole.
“Clearly my reputation has spread to The Wild Moores,” Vighon commented.
Alijah shook his head, ignoring the remark. “They were scared of the cave. Clearly, the tribes of the Outlanders don’t remember The Echoes fondly. We should leave before more arrive. Hadavad needs to see this scroll.”
“I’ll just fetch the horses then,” Vighon said sarcastically. “Oh, that’s right, you made us leave them in Lirian.”
Alijah flicked his bow and collapsed the limbs. “You can’t bring horses into The Wild Moores. Everybody knows that.”
Vighon sheathed his sword on his hip and reattached his cloak. “Why? Because of the scary Outlanders?” He glanced at the trees. “They ran away at the sight of a cave.”
Alijah wasn’t convinced they were safe yet. “We can’t stay here forever. Eventually, they’ll band together and find confidence in their numbers.”
“How many can there be?” Vighon asked.
Both men suddenly looked at each other for from across the clearing there was no mistaking the wild cries echoing through the trees. Judging by sound alone, the rest of the tribe was descending on the clearing and rapidly.
“Get your things!” Alijah hooked his bow to his back and dashed back into the cave to gather his pack, to which he strapped the ancient scroll.
Vighon slung his shield over his back before collecting his own pack. “It took us two weeks to reach this cave…”
Alijah looked up at the rising sun. “That’s because we didn’t know where to find it. We follow the dawn. We’ll be at the banks of The Unmar by dusk.”
“If we don’t stop,” Vighon said, catching his eye.
Alijah turned to the clearing, where the cries for blood were growing louder. “Do you want to stop?”
With that, they ran into the east as the first salvo of arrows impacted the ground and the trees around them. It was going to be a long day…
4
Dragons’ Reach
With nothing but the clouds above her and the ocean beneath her, Inara Galfrey felt truly alive. As cold as the winter chill was, especially at such dizzying heights, the warmth emanating from Athis was enough to keep her comfortable, allowing them to fly together for hours.
Inara hugged the dragon’s red scales and Athis briefly rose above the cloud bank, offering a view of the heavens, before diving back towards the waves of The Adean. Were her mentor not sharing the sky with them, Inara would have cheered and hollered with glee. As it was, Gideon Thorn, the leader of the Dragorn and praised hero of The War for the Realm soared below, astride Ilargo, whose green scales glistened under the midday sun.
Athis st
raightened his great wings, filling the soft membranes with the wind so that he might glide down and allow Inara to hear the waves. With the world outstretched before them, her sense of adventure drove her desires, daring her to fly into lands unknown with Athis and discover new realms.
Where would you have us go? Athis asked, deep in her mind.
Inara smiled, comforted by the fact that they would be forever connected. West, I think. Beyond The Hox.
Athis didn’t seem convinced. As long as we can go beyond The Hox. That sea is infested with monsters even dragons dare not hunt…
Have I found a place that brave Athis the ironheart dare not fly?
The red dragon glanced back at her with one of his rich blue eyes and huffed. You can’t fly anywhere without me, wingless one…
Inara laughed and rubbed her hand over his smooth scales. Nestled between the spikes on his back, she could see his magnificent wingspan spread out beside her. Following the spikes that ran up his neck, a head of horns gave way to the white walls of The Shining Coast, Illian’s eastern edge.
Athis caught the air currents to lift them a little higher, where the white cliffs met the fields of Alborn, a blanket of green that stretched to the foreseeable horizon.
Inara looked back over her shoulder and squinted into the distance, just making out the coastal city of Velia. It had been some time since she had made this particular trip, heading south down the coast, but every time she did, Inara would look out for her parents’ house.
I can see it, Athis said with a hint of smugness.
You always see it first! Inara pushed her boots into the dragon’s scales and stood up to better see over his flapping wings.
There it was, not far from the edge of the cliff, a fairly modest two-storey house with stables and a few fields of sheep sprawled out before it. Of course, her parents wouldn’t be inside. They never were these days. Instead, they were a few miles farther south and awaiting her very arrival. The thought of seeing them soon brought a wide smile to her angelic face.
It didn’t take Athis and Ilargo long to cover those extra miles, breaking through a patch of fog to reveal the lone tower built into the cliff face.
Carved from white stone to fit in with its surroundings, Dragons’ Reach rose high above the fields with a crown of silver-pointed spikes. Supporting pillars jutted out from halfway up the tower and provided reinforcement for the oval platform that extended out of the Reach, at its highest level.
Far below, Inara could see a battalion of Velian soldiers and a caravan of supplies that typically followed a king or queen around. In this instance, she knew it to be King Rayden, who had arrived with such an entourage since the tower sat within Alborn’s borders, the country of Rayden’s ancestors.
Inara looked for Gideon in the skies around her, feeling his presence on the periphery of her mind. Through their bond, shared with the dragons, her mentor spoke through Ilargo, to Athis, allowing her to hear his voice with perfect clarity.
You should go first, he said. Your parents are inside…
Inara appreciated her mentor’s sentiment. It had been a few months since she had seen her parents and they would get very little time together on this trip. Also, the arrival of Gideon Thorn tended to capture the attention of any room he was in. It couldn’t be helped, she knew, and Gideon often found it more of a hindrance than anything, but he was the Gideon Thorn, the first Dragorn in a thousand years and the first human Dragorn in ten thousand years.
Having been born four years after The War for the Realm, Inara had only heard the tales of his prowess in battle and the heroic way he and Ilargo had entered The Battle for Velia, at the end of the war. There weren’t many who hadn’t heard the stories of Gideon, Asher and her parents. Even her grandmother, Adilandra Sevari, was the queen of the elves, ruling over the city of Elandril, on the other side of The Adean. Inara felt as if she had an awful lot to live up to…
We will have our time, Athis said.
Doubtful, she replied. There is no greater deterrent to war than the Dragorn. Our numbers grow every year. Who would be stupid enough to cause trouble with dragons for peacekeepers?
Athis banked out to sea, adjusting his angle of approach. We have had cause to step in many times over the last ten years together. Just last year we tracked down those slavers hiding in The Narrows.
I’m happy with all that we’ve done, Athis. And I’m incredibly privileged to be living in a time of peace. It’s just… I’ve been brought up on the stories of the war. My mother was on top of Syla’s Gate when it fell for goodness’ sake! My father held off the Darkakin atop Velia’s walls! They fought alongside Asher, the Asher, and were even there when Valanis was beaten. My grandmother forged the first alliance between man and elf, not to mention arriving at The Battle for Velia with an army of dragons! And then there’s Gideon…
She didn’t need to list her mentor’s deeds. Athis had met Gideon before she was even born, before Gideon was even a Dragorn, in fact. I just… I feel I should be doing something more. It feels like a weight on my shoulders.
On our shoulders, Athis corrected.
Inara couldn’t help but smile and pat his hard scales. Then I’m glad yours are a lot stronger than mine.
You always think this way before you see your parents, Athis observed.
It was impossible to argue with the observations of a being who shared your very soul. Well, they’ve given me a lot to live up to.
Athis arched his wings dramatically and brought all four of his legs up as he landed on the platform, presenting the occupants of the highest room with his chest of hardened, slate grey scales.
The dragon folded his wings in and ducked his head, allowing Inara to see the dragon-sized arch in the wall. She had only been to the tower once before since meetings such as this were uncommon, but her parents were always guaranteed to be present.
“Inara!”
Her mother, Reyna Galfrey, was the first to greet her, as always. The elven ambassador, or princess, depending on which side of The Adean she was on, embraced Inara in a tight hug that any human would find uncomfortable.
For Inara, the discomfort came from the number of eyes on her, with the chamber filled with royalty from across the realm. There was nothing any of them could do, however, to stop the Galfreys from greeting their daughter.
It felt like a lifetime before her mother stepped back, revealing a face as youthful as her own. Reyna’s long blonde hair flowed over her shoulders, decorated with braids, and tucked behind her pointed ears. Her blonde hair and green eyes provided the starkest of differences to her daughter’s dark hair and blue eyes, but her high cheekbones, typical of an elf, had been passed on to Inara.
“Let me get a look at you.” Her father, Nathaniel Galfrey, pulled her in for an embrace of his own, before planting a kiss on her forehead.
As always, his eyes ran over her, checking for injuries, but he always glanced at her rounded ears. He had always been especially satisfied with the knowledge that he had given Inara her human ears.
“It hasn’t been that long, Father.” Inara embraced him again and pushed up onto her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.
Despite being human from birth, her father had yet to age a day since the end of The War for the Realm; a lasting gift imparted to him by the hero, Asher, in his dying moments.
At the time, it hadn’t been known what the ranger had done, releasing some of the raw magic that flowed through his body into her father’s. With the appearance of a thirty-year-old, it was now assumed that Asher had given Nathaniel the life of an immortal, allowing him to live with Reyna forever.
That same magic had been Asher’s downfall, a power he couldn’t contain, but Inara would be eternally grateful for his lasting gift.
“Athis…” Her mother ran a hand up and down the scales between the dragon’s vibrant blue eyes, whose entire head and neck fitted through the arch.
“Uncle Tauren!” Inara regretted the affectionate call as soon as she spotted t
he array of monarchs and leaders seated around the semi-circular table, facing the arch. Still, Tauren Salimson, High Councillor of Tregaran and esteemed leader in The Arid Lands, was like family to Inara.
“It has been too long, Inara,” Tauren replied in his exotic accent.
It had been some time since he had called her by one of the affectionate names he had used when she was growing up and, it seemed, she would never hear him use one again now that she bore the title of Dragorn.
“I have missed your tales,” she said.
Tauren brushed a hand through his greying curls. “My stories pale by comparison to that of a Dragorn, I think. I fear you would find them boring now.”
Inara squeezed his arm. “Never.”
Tauren had played his own part in The War for the Realm, and as much as Inara had enjoyed hearing of it, she also enjoyed hearing of his life on the streets of Karath, fighting slavers in The Arid Lands. Back then, of course, he had been known as The White Owl.
“Inara Galfrey!” King Rayden had left his seat in the middle of the table to greet her, an unusual thing for one accustomed to others coming to him. “It is an honour, as always.” The king of Velia took her hand in his own and kissed it gently.
“The honour is mine, King Rayden,” she replied with the bow of her head, just as her mother had instructed her so long ago.
Rayden was young by kingly standards, with only a few years on Inara. In truth, he was closer in appearance to her father, Nathaniel.
Unlike Rengar, Rayden’s father, the current king of Velia and ruler of all of Alborn was much loved by his people, though Inara suspected it had helped to have her parents and Gideon around to advise him. She also suspected that the king wanted to take her as his bride.
A union that could never be, she thought.
Beyond Rayden, the semi-circular table was lined with the ethereal images of the other monarchs who ruled over the six kingdoms of Illian.
Inara recognised Weymund of house Harg, king of Lirian and ruler of all of Felgarn, recently taken to the throne after his mother’s abdication.
The Fall of Neverdark Page 5