The Fall of Neverdark

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Doran snapped his head around. “On the…” The dwarf shook his head. “I was at Syla’s Gate an’ The Battle for Velia too, ye know!”

  Russell ignored him and kept his attention on the Galfreys, who politely asked for anything warm.

  Doran had them follow him to a quiet booth nearer to the hearth when he heard the front door open again. He kept his smile to himself upon spotting the Warhog enter the tavern for the second time. The pig appeared to be checking for threats in the shape of Russell Maybury before making his way deeper into The Axe.

  “So!” Doran rubbed his hands together. “How’s the old offspring? Still flyin’ around I take it?”

  Reyna beamed with pride. “Inara is well. She and Athis are… well, they’re always busy doing something.”

  Doran cocked his head. “Dragorn business, eh? I’ve lived for nearly three centuries in a world where dragons were naught but old stories. I still can’t believe they’re back. I saw one ye know, ‘bout a year back it was. Just flyin’ over the Moonlit Plains…”

  An awkward silence crept over the booth as the Galfreys struggled to ask a question of their own. Doran knew exactly what they burned to ask just as he knew the sun would rise in the morning.

  Finally, Nathaniel leaned forward. “Has Alijah crossed your path?” he asked as casually as he could.

  The answer was far more complicated than the poor dwarf cared to handle. Thankfully, Russell tackled the question on his behalf.

  “He frequents The Axe,” the barkeep answered. “He was here… recently.”

  Doran’s face creased into confusion. “I’ve not seen the lad.”

  “You were drunk,” Russell stated, clearing up all of the dwarf’s recent memory loss with three words.

  Reyna couldn’t contain her questions any longer. “Is he okay?” she asked desperately.

  “Where is he?” Nathaniel added.

  “The boy don’t want to be found,” Russell replied softly. “Not yet, anyway. He’s always accompanied by that boy that was always with you as a child. Suppose he’s a man now… Vighon Draqaro.”

  “Vighon Draqaro?” Nathaniel asked skeptically. “I haven’t seen him since… well, maybe a decade or more.”

  “He looks out for your boy,” Russell assured. “Though I last saw Alijah in the company of an old friend of yours; Galanör Reveeri.”

  “He’s with Galanör?” Nathaniel looked at his wife.

  “What has he been doing?” Reyna continued.

  Russell put his hands up. “Alijah has asked for privacy. I shouldn’t even be telling you what I am. I just can’t stand to see you fret. He’s in good company and that’s what matters. He’s a bloody good shot and damn sure of himself; there’s nothing he can’t handle these days.” Russell placed one of his over-sized hands on Reyna’s shoulder before he left. “He will come home soon. He just needs more time…”

  The news of their son brought both joy and crushing sorrow, it seemed. Nathaniel squeezed his wife’s hand and they shared a look that spoke a thousand words. Doran’s dwarven mind battled with guilt, an emotion his kind weren’t familiar with. He had made promises to both of them and Alijah, a mistake of his own doing.

  “So…” Doran dragged the word out. “What brings the pair o’ ye to this neck o’ The Evermoore? I haven’ seen ye since…”

  “Whistle Town,” Reyna finished, tucking her hair behind her pointed ears. The elf blinked and any trace of a tear was consumed by her eyelids.

  “That were it!” the dwarf said, slapping his hand down on the table, happy to change the subject. “Troublesome little nest o’ Vorska, if I recall.”

  Reyna managed a smile. “The townsfolk still hail you as a hero.”

  Doran shrugged, hoping the heat from the fire covered his blushing cheeks. “Is that what this is abou’?” he asked. “Ye got another beastie for me to sink me axe in to?”

  Nathaniel’s voice cracked a little, but his eyes spoke of that resolve the old knight was known for. “Are you up for another adventure, old dwarf?”

  Doran pushed himself back from the table and sat against the green leather of the booth. “I’ve seen that look in both o’ yer eyes before. Sense tells me to stay well clear o’ yer adventures! Is this Illian business or Ayda’s?”

  “Illian’s,” Reyna answered.

  “Trouble?” he asked.

  “In the north,” the elf replied.

  Doran chewed over it. “Well, at least it ain’t south. The heat makes me armour chafe…”

  “So, you’ll come then?” Nathaniel pursued.

  The dwarf held up his hands. “Whoa, laddy! I didn’ say I was goin’ anywhere. A good ranger always gets all o’ the facts before takin’ on a job… This is a job, aye? Some king or queen’s payin’ us for this.”

  Reyna, fully composed once more, replied, “Queen Yelifer Skalaf will accommodate our needs.”

  “Skalaf?” Doran echoed. “Trouble’s in Namdhor, then.” The dwarf thought it over for a moment. It had been some time since he had travelled to the capital of the north. “It would be nice to see some mountains for a change.”

  Nathaniel cocked an eyebrow. “There’s a mountain right outside the tavern. King Weymund lives there…”

  “Bah! That’s no mountain, laddy. Just a fat hillock.”

  Reyna cut in, “We will be going a little farther north, actually.”

  “Farther north?” the son of Dorain asked.

  Russell arrived again with two plates of steaming hot pies and a tray of tea for his new guests.

  Doran looked from the tea to the barkeep. “I don’t drink this swill. Where’s the ale?”

  At that moment, his Warhog made himself known with a great clatter and a scream from the other side of the tavern.

  Doran pursed his lips and met Russell’s fierce yellow eyes. “Maybe just forget the ale… for now.”

  Russell sighed and stormed off after the hog. “PIG!”

  “So, farther north ye say. I suppose ye two are daft enough to head into Vengora in winter time. What’s got Yelifer’s skirt in such a bunch that she’d request the two o’ ye to enter those mountains?”

  Reyna put down her cup of tea. “A dispute, of sorts.”

  Doran ran his hand through his beard as he struggled to put together what the Galfreys weren’t saying. “Disputes are for talkin’,” the dwarf belched with a fist in his chest, “and for elves. No offence, me Lady,” he quickly added. “Dwarves are better at disputin’ with steel!”

  “That’s exactly why we need you, Doran,” Nathaniel said, yet to tuck into his pie.

  The dwarf frowned. “I’m all for goin’ out into the world with ye both, but I’m not cuttin’ off some lord’s head because they can’ agree with Yelifer, the old hag. Besides, between yer bow and yer sword, who’s goin’ to argue with ye?”

  “Doran,” Reyna began softly. “The dispute is between Namdhor and Dhenaheim.”

  The dwarf stopped eyeing Nathaniel’s pie and focused on the princess’s mouth. “Say that again…”

  Reyna glanced at her husband before continuing, “We don’t have all the information yet, but it seems an ancient mine has been uncovered by the Namdhorians and your fellow dwarves have taken up arms over its claim. There’s an unsteady truce right now, but it won’t hold for long.”

  Doran didn’t even have to think about what he did next. “Well, it was great seein’ ye both!” he said, finding the floor under his feet again. “Make sure ye take plenty of supplies with ye, it’s bloody cold up there…”

  The dwarf loved them both deeply, but he couldn’t look them in the eye as he made his way to the door marked private. He marched down the steps without a second look and did everything he could not to think about his reasons for staying put.

  “Doran!” Nathaniel called after him.

  A pair of rangers seated around the small fire gave the son of Dorain quizzical looks, but he ignored them both and made for the locker. Perhaps hitting something would distract him
.

  Before the dwarf could strike a mannequin or hurl his axe at one of the targets on the wall, the Galfreys followed him in.

  “Doran?” Nathaniel said his name with concern.

  Reyna dropped to one knee and took the dwarf’s rough hand in hers. “What’s the matter?”

  From anyone else, Doran would have taken the gesture and question as patronising, but Reyna Galfrey had a way of disarming everyone. She was also the most genuine person he knew. He squeezed her soft hand and turned away, looking to the tattered long coat displayed on the wall. He wished more than anything that Jonus Glaide was still here with him now.

  Of all the humans he had met since journeying south into Illian’s lands, Glaide had been his closest and most trusted friend. He knew all of Doran’s long tale and would provide him with the council he so needed. Alas, his friend had the audacity to leave this world without him.

  “Do ye know any more than ye’ve told me?” he asked quietly.

  “No.” Reyna walked around the dwarf to face him. “We thought you would—”

  Doran held up his hand. “Ye don’t know which clan they’re loggin’ heads with?”

  Reyna shook her head. “Only what we’ve told you.”

  Nathaniel offered, “You’re the only person in all six kingdoms who has any idea how to negotiate with the dwarves of Dhenaheim. We wouldn’t ask you otherwise, old friend.”

  “Ye wanna’ know how to negotiate with me kin? Ye don’t. Me advice is simple; send a raven an’ have them Namdhorians collapse the mine, collapse the whole mountain if they have to, an’ forget about whatever’s tickled their fancy. Dwarves throw words like war an’ battle around like Velians do picnics an’ parties! This’ll escalate if they don’t back off.”

  Nathaniel shook his head. “That’s not going to happen. We don’t know what’s in that mine that has Yelifer all caught up, but she won’t relinquish her claim on it. She’s already talking about marching her bannermen through The Iron Valley.”

  Doran’s eyebrows blended into his hairline. “If me kin sees them, The Iron Valley will flow with so much blood it’ll melt the snows!”

  “Then help us,” Reyna cut in. “The realm has known peace for thirty years. Shouldn’t one generation, at least, be able to live without picking up a sword?”

  Doran moved aside, unable to meet the princess’s emerald eyes any longer. If he hadn’t known her so well, the dwarf would have been sure she was placing him under a spell with those eyes.

  The curtain to Asher’s private alcove was half open, revealing his green cloaks and row of swords and daggers. That man, a good man, had died so that they all might live… what good was his sacrifice if the realm fell back into bloodshed before the Age was even out?

  Doran sighed. “I’ll go with ye,” he said softly. “To Namdhor that is. I’ll barter words with the war-witch o’ the north and see if we can’t solve this. But, I ain’t goin’ in no mine an’ I ain’t talkin’ to no dwarves. Namdhor. No farther.”

  Reyna beamed at him. “No farther.”

  Doran shook his bushy head. “This ain’t goin’ to end well…”

  14

  Status Quo

  Inara and Athis were as far south as they had ever ventured, having followed the spine of The Undying Mountains until they could see the vast blue of The Hox in the west. It was an ocean said to be larger than that of The Adean in the east, though The Hox was entirely unexplored.

  As enchanting a view as it was to see the crystal-like waves cresting under the sunlight, Inara was captivated by Paldora’s Fall, just north of their position.

  From their lofty vantage, the Dragorn was offered a view of the impact site in its entirety. The enormous boulders, which had once been a part of the star, as well as the ground, floated around the crater and reached for the heavens above. From here, she could see them slowly colliding into each other and floating apart, ever chained to the crater by magic.

  Through her bond with Athis, Inara had seen similar effects in the original Dragons’ Reach, found in the deserts in south Ayda. That place was an oasis of greenery surrounded by flat wastes, but the boulders and rocks at its heart were always floating, a result of the magical aura created by dragons congregating in large numbers.

  It is not the magic of dragons that has created such a view, Athis said.

  No, Inara agreed. My mother and father were fighting at The Battle of Syla’s Gate when the star fell. They said the whole world was rocked.

  The crystal from that star holds vast amounts of magic, Athis explained. As such, it is a dangerous place to visit. I dislike unpredictable magic.

  You dislike anything that might hurt us…

  Athis grunted in disagreement. I dislike anything that might hurt you. I am Athis the ironheart! My strong chest rebuked a spear hurled by Valanis himself in The Battle for Velia.

  Alright, alright! Don’t start naming all your achievements… again.

  Athis grunted, too secure in himself to feel stung by her words but irritated enough to consider banking sharply to the right. Inara laughed, having been the victim of this kind of response before. Falling off your dragon, however, was covered vigorously during training and Inara had often enjoyed her brief flights before Athis scooped her up, mid-drop.

  Come on, the Dragorn insisted. We hugged the coast all the way south. Let’s go north a little and take a closer look! Athis continued flying in his own direction. Athis! she tried again. Where’s your sense of adventure?

  We have our duty to consider, wingless one. We are yet to find any evidence of orc activity. We should continue our search.

  Well, maybe there’s activity near Paldora’s Fall…

  Athis sighed. Why didn’t I choose an elf?

  Inara rolled her eyes and smiled. We both know there is no choice, you old grump.

  The red dragon glided on the air currents and made for Paldora’s Fall. As they drew closer, it became apparent just how varied the giant boulders were, from the size of a person to the size of castles.

  Before they could get any closer, a shadow overcame them.

  Athis instinctively banked to the left and closed in his wings, dropping them like a stone. In a blur of motion, the shadow gave way to another dragon, who plummeted past them as if thrown from the heavens in the manner of a spear.

  Athis unfurled his wings and Inara felt her whole body press into his scales as the membranes filled with air.

  Looking down, beside Athis’s neck, Inara caught sight of a golden dragon climbing back up to their height. It wasn’t long before the sound of Edrik’s laughter found her ears…

  “Edrik!” she chastised.

  With the arrogant smile he had maintained all through their training together, the young man replied, “Just because we’re the predators of the sky doesn’t mean you shouldn’t look up every now and then!”

  Inara clamped her mouth shut before remembering to acknowledge the golden dragon between Edrik’s legs. “Aldreon…”

  Inara… the dragon replied.

  Athis had told her years ago that the differences between Edrik and Aldreon were surprisingly few. Most dragons, if not all - a fact skewed by Aldreon - were humble but confident creatures who respected those who respected them. Aldreon was just as arrogant and boastful as Edrik, too sure were they of their superiority over everything else.

  The golden dragon was the very definition of a bad egg.

  “Master Thorn filled us in on your errand,” Edrik continued as Aldreon circled them. “Have you found any trace of these orcs? Or are you enjoying the sights too much?” The young man gestured to Paldora’s Fall in the distance.

  “It seems the orcs prefer to move underground to avoid the light,” Inara explained. “We have not discovered any tunnels, at least none like the one Master Thorn and I came across in the ruins of Karath!”

  Sweeping his blond hair aside, Edrik shouted back, “Aldreon has spied a river just south of here! It stands to reason that even beasts as foul as orcs
require water to live! We suggest searching in that area!”

  It was quite the effort to keep her eyes from rolling, something the golden dragon would easily spot. “Athis and I were about to investigate the area around Paldora’s Fall—”

  Edrik and Aldreon were gone. The pair dived down and glided towards the river.

  Inara wanted to ignore the rude little boy and continue on her own way. The Dragorn could feel the magic of Paldora’s Fall rolling over her skin and calling to her.

  Remember, wingless one. Just because he was granted the title of Dragorn a few months before you does not make him your superior. Your opinions matter and he should hear them.

  How he was able to form a bond in the first place has forever been a mystery to me.

  Their souls are alike. How you feel about Edrik isn’t far from how many of my kin feel about Aldreon. Even dragons have their flaws…

  Not you, though, Inara replied, nestling into the dragon’s red scales.

  Athis glanced back at her. Any flaws of mine are opposed by your talents, wingless one. Now, let’s see if we can beat them to the river…

  The Crow stepped out of his carriage and craned his neck back to take in the ocean of blue sky above him. It had been an awfully long time since he had seen dragons gliding through the heavens but, on his journey through The Undying Mountains, he had seen one fly overhead twice.

  He looked back inside his carriage, where a small pyramid, the size of his hand, was smoking, its metal frame charred from the exertion. A relic of ancient times, the dwarder had hidden The Black Hand’s entire caravan from sight, mocking even the eyes of a dragon.

  Such a long journey had taken its toll on a relic that hadn’t been used for thousands of years. Still, The Crow was perhaps the only person alive who knew how to construct another.

  With the dwarder depleted of magic and the skies clear of dragons, now was the opportune time to disappear under the mountains.

  “Get everyone inside,” he ordered Morvir, his first servant. “The chest is to stay with me at all times.” He waved his wand over the small wooden chest and commanded it to float out in front of him, away from its carriers.