The Fall of Neverdark

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Gideon raised Mournblade and tried to track both Asher and Russell. The werewolf had one hand over his gut wound while the other did its best to drag him through the snow, away from his attacker. There was a lot of blood pooling under him and melting the snow.

  Asher began to walk towards Gideon and the Dragorn found himself taking steps backwards. He was facing Asher, or at least something that looked like Asher. Fought like him too.

  Was this really the ranger he had met thirty years ago? It couldn’t be. In the caves of Kaliban, Valanis’s fortress, Gideon had witnessed the death of Asher himself.

  “You can’t be him!” Gideon yelled. “I saw Asher’s final moments! You can’t be him!”

  The man wearing Asher’s face continued his stride, his sword held casually by his side. Gideon didn’t want to fight him, but not because he was afraid, but because he knew he would kill him. Be it the real Asher or not, with Mournblade in hand Malliath’s rider stood no chance of surviving.

  He needed answers, not blood.

  Asher burst into action. His broadsword appeared to swing wildly at Gideon, but at the last second, the old ranger turned his attack into one of finesse. The edge of his blade twirled left and right before coming at Gideon from above and then below.

  Mournblade’s magic reacted and assumed control of Gideon and his actions.

  The two passed each other in a flash of sparks and quickly turned back to face the other. Their blades whistled through the cold air and connected again and again in that ancient song of battle. Asher was a fighter of many styles, coming at Gideon with the brutality of a savage and then the deadly grace of an assassin of Nightfall. It only convinced Gideon all the more that this really was the Asher.

  As this dawned on the Master Dragorn, his intentions towards Asher changed, and, in so doing, affected the will of Mournblade. With the desire that he survived the fight, Mournblade changed its style and saw Gideon revert to form one of the Mag’dereth, a non-lethal form of combat.

  Asher did his best to seek out every vulnerability and opening, lashing out with limb and blade alike. Still, Mournblade batted his attacks away and Gideon fell upon his training to defend against the blunt assaults.

  A sharp pain exploded inside Gideon’s thigh and he dropped to one knee, bringing his head under Asher’s blade by an inch. Colossal shadows fell over the fighters as the titans of the world collided overhead. Malliath and Ilargo were entangled in a melee of jaws and claws, all the while their wings flapping furiously to keep them aloft. Hot blood rained down between the snow fall wherever they fought.

  Another stab of agony ran through his gut as the dragons slammed into the ground. Ilargo’s bulk flattened an entire burning house and Malliath’s tail swung around to demolish a row of flaming shops.

  Asher planted a boot in Gideon’s chest and kicked him down the street. His broadsword came down in both hands but Mournblade shot out and intercepted the blade before it could decapitate the Master Dragorn. Gideon pushed back against Asher’s might until he was able to find his feet and meet his foe face to face.

  “It can’t be you…” Gideon said through gritted teeth.

  Asher had no reply, at least no verbal reply. With their swords mashed together, Asher reached out and gripped the back of Gideon’s head, holding him firm for a headbutt. The blow opened a cut over the Master Dragorn’s eyebrow, creating a trickle of blood to flow over his face.

  Unfortunately, Ilargo suffered the identical blow.

  The dragon roared several streets over and Malliath took advantage. The black dragon swiped one claw across his jaw, a blow felt equally by Gideon, and barrelled into the green dragon, launching both of them farther north, across Lirian’s central gardens.

  Staggering backwards, Gideon tried to shake off the wounds inflicted by Ilargo’s fight as well as the wounds he received from Asher. He clenched his fist and called upon his magic to surge through his body and rejuvenate him.

  Asher, however, was already swinging his next deadly blow.

  Gideon forewent his spell of healing and opted for something with a little more kick to it. Asher’s steel blade was slicing through every snowflake on its way to Gideon’s neck when the Master Dragorn flicked his fingers. The wave of energy fractured the light into a variety of colours before hammering into Asher.

  His black cloak wrapped around him as he skidded and rolled through the snowy street. Somewhere to the north, Malliath roared and Ilargo pressed his attack with a solid tail to the face. Gideon was pleased to see this mirrored on Asher’s face as he tried to stand. The blow knocked his head to the side and left a purple bruise that ran up to the black-fang tattoo under his left eye.

  If it hurt him, there was no sign of it.

  Gideon took deep breaths to try and centre himself before the fight began again. If Asher could feel Malliath’s wounds, then it stood to reason that it would work the other way around and give Ilargo a better chance.

  “I don’t want to kill you,” he told Asher as the man strode towards him, “but I do want to hurt you.”

  Asher came at him with a thrust, an attack Gideon knew he was feigning since thrusting should always be reserved for a killing blow against a crippled enemy. Knowing this, the Master Dragorn made no attempt to bat the blade away but, instead, dashed to the side in time with the twirl of Asher’s sword. The opening across his ribs was too much for Mournblade to ignore. In keeping with its master’s wishes, the blade lashed out in Gideon’s hand and split Asher’s dark leathers until it tasted blood and took a slice of rib for good measure.

  Malliath roared and Asher fell to the side.

  Now Ilargo!

  The green dragon pounced, splintering an ancient tree on his way to Malliath. Ilargo sank his claws in and took the black dragon into a violent roll across the eastern side of Lirian. His powerful jaws clamped down again and again, drawing blood from multiple wounds.

  Gideon watched as Asher thrashed about, each bite making itself known. From the look on his face, Gideon decided his enemy did feel pain after all. That he could work with.

  The Master Dragorn advanced with Mournblade held high. Asher growled and rose up to meet the challenge, despite his continued pain. Gideon danced around him, whipping his scimitar high and low to both parry and attack. Blood splattered across the white snow and Asher collapsed to one knee.

  Resting his scimitar against Asher’s neck, Gideon asked through ragged breath, “You will tell me the truth! You cannot be him!” Asher looked up at him, his blue eyes reflecting the surrounding fires. “Who are you?” Gideon demanded.

  He answered in the same gruff tone the old ranger had always spoken with, “I am a Dragon Knight.”

  That statement cut right through Gideon’s thoughts, distracting him.

  Elsewhere, Malliath succeeded in wrapping his tail around Ilargo’s, flattening it to the ground. The black dragon constricted his coiled muscle and held Ilargo in place, preventing the green dragon from taking another bite. With his longer neck, Malliath sprung forward and fastened his maw around Ilargo’s throat.

  Gideon’s moment of distraction turned into a moment of asphyxiation. The Master Dragorn stepped back and gripped his own throat as if someone had their hands around his windpipe.

  Asher groaned but managed to stand, his broadsword glistening in the flames.

  Without a word, he swung his blade.

  26

  A Red Raven

  The world came back to Alijah in broken fragments. Sounds first. He heard familiar voices. His orientation then informed him that he was flat on his back. Blinking brought with it the pain of bright sunlight and confusion.

  “What’s happening?” he asked, feeling Vighon’s hands gripping his arm and sitting him up.

  Alijah blinked hard and forced the world to take shape again. Four faces and a dragon looked down on him with concern.

  Then he remembered.

  Just before the dawn, Alijah’s body had erupted in pain. Claws raked at his skin and teeth
sank through to his muscles. The sudden attack had thrown him from Vighon’s horse, where he immediately curled up into a ball of agony.

  A quick inspection proved he had come to no actual harm; he hadn’t lost so much as a drop of blood.

  “You fell off Ned,” Vighon said.

  “No he didn’t,” Inara replied flatly. “He was in pain before he fell.”

  Alijah looked from his sister’s scrutinising gaze to the passive expressions on his companions’ faces. If their knowledge of the truth was obvious to Alijah, it was blatantly obvious to Inara.

  “What are you not telling me?” the Dragorn demanded.

  Vighon helped Alijah to find his feet again. His friend gave the subtlest of shrugs and Hadavad and Galanör remained silent. It was clear to see that his companions would not say anything without his permission, but it was also clear that they felt Inara should know.

  “I’m fine,” he said, squeezing Vighon’s arm as thanks.

  “What’s going on, Alijah?” Inara persisted.

  Looking to the north, Tregaran was the size of his hand in the distance. There would be no chance of distraction in the time it would take them to travel the remainder of the journey.

  “The Crow cast some kind of spell,” he blurted, hoping to get it over with. “When he bonded Asher to Malliath… he connected me in some way. I feel everything they feel.”

  Inara’s mouth dropped open and her features froze. In fairness, she had learned an awful lot about her brother in a very short amount of time; none of it good.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

  Alijah hated being questioned by his sister. “Because it’s none of your business.” Hearing his reason said out loud made the rogue feel a little petty.

  Inara looked away, shaking her head. “Forcing a bond between a person and a dragon should be impossible enough, but binding another… This Crow knows magic that simply shouldn’t exist.” The Dragorn stopped and held a silent conversation with Athis. “If you were in pain,” she continued, “that means Malliath or Asher were as well.”

  Galanör nodded along with the assessment. “So who has been fighting with them?”

  “And injuring them,” Hadavad added.

  “It could only be another dragon,” Alijah suggested. “Maybe a few…” He rubbed his aching ribs.

  Inara raised her eyes to the sky. A dragon as dark and large as Malliath would be easy enough to spot in the desert sky. Alijah could see the depths of her concern, beyond their current safety. She was already thinking about what she would do if Malliath attacked them again, knowing that her brother felt every swipe of Athis’s claws.

  “Why would the leader of The Black Hand go to so much trouble?” the Dragorn mused. “It couldn’t have been easy binding a third person into the spell. Why you, Alijah?”

  That was a question Alijah had been asking himself, though a part of him felt he knew the answer… he just couldn’t get the words out.

  “The Crow knew who you were,” Hadavad answered for him. “How he knew your identity is a mystery, but I would say he wishes to use your name against you.”

  “My name?” Alijah had a love and hate relationship with his family name.

  “Whether you like it or not, Alijah, you are a Galfrey. You are connected to the Dragorn by blood.” The mage looked from brother to sister. “Even Gideon Thorn would hesitate to strike at Malliath or Asher if he knew it would bring harm to you.”

  “I don’t like it,” Vighon commented, pulling on the strap of his shield. “This Crow fella knows a lot. It’s starting to feel like he’s a step ahead.”

  Hadavad looked to argue that comment, but Athis distracted them all as he looked up sharply and turned to the north.

  “Riders from Tregaran,” Inara explained.

  The faintest wisps of a sand cloud rose on the horizon, trailing the riders. At their speed, it didn’t take long for them to reach the companions, revealing the riders to be Knights of the High Council, cloaked in yellow astride pale horses.

  In the sight of Athis, however, the well-trained horses became nervous and forced their riders to take better control. Inara looked at the red dragon and he sniffed loudly before taking off into the sky, his wings battering them all with a great gust.

  The lead knight jumped down from his horse and bowed his head. “I am Kel Nast-Aram, Master of the Knights of the High Council. The people of Tregaran welcome the Dragorn…” the knight looked over the others. “And their companions.”

  Inara bowed her head in return. “Thank you, Kel Nast-Aram. Has High Councillor Tauren Salimson returned yet from his journey north?”

  The question went over Alijah’s head. What journey had Uncle Tauren been on?

  The knight hesitated, possibly wondering how Inara knew of Tauren’s movements. “High Councillor Salimson returned two days ago.”

  “We would see him immediately,” Inara replied firmly.

  With their new escort, the companions trotted through the streets of Tregaran, the new capital in The Arid Lands.

  Tregaran was walled off, like every city in southern lands. The buildings were a lighter tone than the sand on which they sat and mostly topped with flat roofs.

  Like every big city, it was loud and bustling with people. The bazaars and market stalls filled the streets. All offered shade by the colourful fabrics that stretched from one side of the road to the other.

  If it wasn’t for Kel Nast-Aram and his knights clearing the way, it would have taken them most of the day to break through the crowds and reach The Council Tower in the north of the city. Their horses were taken care of and the escort of knights halved once they were inside the tower, where every hallway was guarded by Tregaran soldiers.

  “Uncle Tauren!” Inara stopped herself from running at him when she noticed the other councillors behind him. The Dragorn bowed her head and the others did the same.

  “Please, please,” Tauren waved the formalities away. “You are my guests here…” The High Councillor’s eyes drifted past Inara and landed on her brother. “Alijah?”

  “Hello, Uncle,” he replied with a muted tone. Alijah hadn’t considered Tauren when he exiled himself from the family. He immediately regretted calling him by the affectionate name they had given the southerner as children, but it was the only name that came forth when he greeted the family friend.

  Hadavad stepped forward. “Hello, old friend.”

  Tauren paused, dragging his eyes from Alijah to look the mage up and down with a scrutinising gaze. “Hadavad? Is that you?”

  The mage smiled and reached out to embrace the councillor. The two men laughed at some untold joke and embraced again as comrades from the war.

  “I apologise, Uncle Tauren,” Inara interrupted, glancing over the other councillors. “We come with grave news.”

  Tauren ran a hand through his curly grey hair and met Inara’s eyes with some intensity. “Is this about what we discussed at Dragons’ Reach?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Alijah looked from one to the other, curious as to what had been discussed at Dragons’ Reach. The half-elf also tried to bury the jealousy that rose up to cloud his thoughts. Growing up not far from the white tower on the coast, Alijah had dreamed of becoming a Dragorn and being privy to the prestigious meetings inside Dragons’ Reach. A privilege reserved for his sister apparently.

  Tauren beckoned them to follow him and the other councillors. “Come, tell us everything.”

  The sun was reaching for its rest by the time the companions found themselves in the home of Tauren Salimson. The impromptu meeting had gone from the discovery of orcs in the ruins of Karath to the arrival at Tregaran’s southern gate.

  Inara told of her dangerous encounter alongside Gideon Thorn and Alijah himself had told of events inside Paldora’s Fall.

  They had been vague regarding the prophecy, however, and how they came to be travelling south in the first place.

  The High Council of Tregaran had listened intently to
it all and finished the meeting with orders for Kel Nast-Aram. The city guard was to double overnight and the watch towers were to keep a weather eye on the sky. Malliath had never been seen by the people of Illian, but every dragon was capable of devastating a city.

  Avoiding Tauren’s embrace was an impossibility for Alijah. The southerner’s smile couldn’t be denied, neither could his hospitality. The councillor’s home was large, yet its interior and decoration were humble, befitting of a man who had grown up on the streets.

  Meeting his wife and son was awkward for Alijah, who only wanted to distance himself from what felt like an extension of his own family.

  Isabella, Tauren’s wife, hugged Alijah, filling his nose with her familiar perfume. The scent brought back memories of his childhood and the family’s visits to Tregaran, a time when they were all happy.

  “It is so good to see you,” Isabella greeted him with a smile as broad as her husband’s. “I don’t think you’ve met Salim.” Isabella moved to the side and introduced their son.

  “Named for his grandfather,” Tauren cut in, placing a hand on the boy’s tiny shoulder.

  “Hello,” Alijah said. “And how old are you?” It felt like the appropriate question to ask, if not the only one he could think of.

  The little boy didn’t have an ounce of timidity. “I’m four and three quarters!” he announced happily.

  Tauren displayed a proud smile. “Come, we shall eat together.”

  Alijah did his best to take part while balancing his reservations about sharing a dinner table with his sister again. He caught her looking at him more than once, though he also caught Vighon looking at Inara twice as much. Throughout it all, however, Alijah didn’t miss Tauren’s apprehension simmering under the surface. The news of orcs and their great numbers, coupled with the return of Asher and his bond with Malliath, had put the councillor ill at ease.

  When the meal, or meals, came to an end, Vighon busied himself playing with Salim and his toys while Galanör found some quiet place to meditate or whatever the elven ranger preferred to do. Inara was deep in discussion with Isabella and Hadavad was chewing off Tauren’s ear. It was the perfect time to slip away.