The Fall of Neverdark

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Seeing him this way put a lump in her throat. He was the Gideon Thorn, Master of the Dragorn, and hero of The War for Realm. He was said to be the greatest warrior in the world and coupled with Ilargo, the most powerful too.

  Beside the bed stood Mournblade, propped up inside its scabbard. Inara couldn’t help but pick it up and slide the steel from its sheath. The metal was perfectly clean, as all Vi’tari blades were, regardless of whether Gideon had struck his foe. She slid the blade down when thoughts of Asher flooded her mind.

  Gideon’s wounds were proof that the Master Dragorn had fought Malliath’s resurrected rider. His return would create a jumbled mess of emotions for everyone…

  Gideon’s hand snapped up and gripped her wrist, startling Inara.

  “Master!” The half-elf crouched down beside the bed and gripped his hand.

  “Inara…” His voice was croaky. “You look more hurt than I feel,” he said with a crooked smile.

  “Don’t move,” she warned as the Master Dragorn tried to sit up.

  Gideon waved her concern away and struggled on his hands to sit with his back to the headboard. Inara couldn’t help but wince with his every movement.

  “Is it as bad out there as it sounds?” he asked.

  Inara nodded solemnly. “There isn’t much of Lirian left. Athis has put out the fires but…”

  “What are you doing here?” Gideon asked.

  “I was in Tregaran when the raven arrived from King Weymund.”

  Gideon nodded with a hand supporting his ribs. “He sent one to every kingdom. They need to be warned about Malliath and…” The Master Dragorn looked up at her, searching for recognition on her face.

  “I’ve seen him too, Master. Asher has returned, bonded to Malliath no less.”

  “You’ve seen him?” Gideon said with some alarm.

  “I faced him in The Undying Mountains.” The memory refreshed the fight in her mind. “He killed Edrik and Aldreon.”

  Gideon closed his eyes and let his head rest back. Inara gave him a moment to absorb that, aware that he would take on the death as his responsibility.

  “They fought bravely,” Inara continued. “Malliath and Asher were just too powerful. We’ve never had to fight another dragon before.”

  Gideon finally opened his eyes, glazed with tears. “He called himself a Dragon Knight.”

  “You spoke to him?” Inara took another look at her master and instead of just being thankful he survived, she was curious as to how he survived. “What happened?”

  Gideon glanced at her before inspecting his injuries. “I was flying to meet you in The Arid Lands when Ilargo and I came across Malliath, heading north…”

  Gideon’s recollection took him back to the battle…

  The dragons had ceased their thrashing and Malliath had his jaws wrapped around Ilargo’s throat. Outside The Pick-Axe, the Master Dragorn stepped back from Asher and gripped his own throat as if someone had their hands around his windpipe.

  Asher recovered from Gideon’s attacks and managed to stand, his broadsword glistening in the flames. Gideon was gasping for air, brought to his knees with the feeling of teeth sinking into his skin.

  Without a word, Asher swung his blade.

  It was the perfect horizontal swipe, clean and precise. The steel, however, never touched Gideon’s neck. With less than a second before the blade cleaved the Dragorn’s head from his body, Russell Maybury barrelled into Asher.

  The fact that his gut wound hadn’t killed or incapacitated him was a testament to the strength of the supernatural creature that lived within him. Gideon only hoped it would be enough; he didn’t have long before Malliath choked the life from Ilargo and himself.

  The two men tumbled down the street, rolling through the snow as they grappled for superiority. To Gideon’s eyes, the entire event had taken place through bleary eyes.

  Russell cried out in pain under the barrage of punches that Asher buried into his gut wound. Eventually, the werewolf relented and Asher rolled over, adding an extra back-hand to Russell’s face.

  The backhand angered Russell, pushing him to a place that was more animal than man. With a growl that no man could replicate, Russell caught Asher’s next punch with one hand and reached for his throat with the other.

  Asher’s response was that of a desperate gargle, a response mirrored by Malliath. The relief to Gideon was instantaneous, as both he and Ilargo took a deep breath. He could feel Ilargo shake his head to orientate himself before lashing out at Malliath again.

  Gideon rubbed his throat and dug his hand into the snow to retrieve Mournblade. Looking at Asher and Russell locked in a battle of wills, surrounded by a burning Lirian, and overshadowed by Malliath’s vengeful return, Gideon couldn’t believe his eyes.

  How was any of this really happening? Was he really about to plunge Mournblade through Asher’s heart?

  The Dragon Knight, as he called himself, fell into a roll, bringing Russell with him. The two contested each other’s strength, but Asher possessed a larger repertoire of martial arts. The old assassin manipulated and twisted Russell’s hold until he had an arm locked around the werewolf’s throat.

  Gideon made to help but stumbled under the weight of his own injuries. His ribs felt broken and his arms barely had the strength to lift his Vi’tari blade. The sound of clashing dragons roared over the fires, explaining his new assortment of wounds.

  Malliath had gained the advantage again and laid into Ilargo, throwing the green dragon around like a rag doll. Ilargo was thrown and dragged across the city, mauled and bitten into submission. A killing bite for the redeemer of men would have been inevitable, were it not for a meaty fist slamming into Asher’s face, knocking the black dragon away.

  Gideon groaned through the pain and looked up from the snowy ground. Russell wasn’t giving in. The werewolf had broken the deadly hold with sheer strength and now had the Dragon Knight in a hold of his own.

  “You’re not Asher…” Russell was applying so much pressure that his muscles trembled. “My friend died! I won’t let you wear his face, monster!”

  Had Gideon blinked, he would have missed Russell’s mouth change shape. An elongated snout and jaw of razored teeth replaced his human features before he clamped down on Asher’s neck.

  Whatever Asher was, be it man or something more sinister, he still felt pain.

  His cry filled the night, quickly drowned out by Malliath’s. Both Ilargo and Gideon were flat on the ground, helpless to do anything but watch.

  The glint of a dagger caught Gideon’s eye, but his cry of warning came too late. Asher plunged the dagger over his shoulder and into the gap between Russell’s shoulder and neck. The werewolf roared and immediately backed off with the dagger still protruding from his neck.

  Asher stumbled away and Russell fell to his knees, his features entirely human again. Mirroring Asher’s staggering retreat, Malliath came crashing through the buildings. The black dragon wasn’t without injury, though the gash on his throat was obvious by the amount of blood flowing over his scales.

  The Dragon Knight managed to pick up and sheath his double-handed sword before Malliath flapped his wings. The dragon struggled to gain any height for a moment and rained blood down on them all.

  Before Gideon collapsed into oblivion, he watched Malliath scoop Asher up between his claws and ascend above the inferno.

  “Then I woke up here,” Gideon finished.

  It was quite the tale to hear, and all the harder to think that her master had been beaten. Inara realised just how lucky she had been to have survived her encounter with Asher and Malliath.

  “What happened to Russell?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. “Does he live?”

  “Oh, Russell is just as stubborn as every other ranger I’ve met, retired or not. It’ll take more than a sword to the gut or a knife to the throat to put him down. He’s the one who brought me up here.”

  Inara found some relief in her master’s answer. “I didn’t s
ee him on my way here.”

  Gideon attempted to shrug and ended up wincing in pain. “He’s probably out there, helping the survivors as best he can. He’s a little stronger than most.”

  “I’m just glad you both survived,” Inara added.

  Gideon hesitated. “It was him, Inara. It was Asher. There are monsters out there that can look like people, damn convincing ones. That was no monster we faced. He’s back…”

  Inara knew the truth of Asher’s return, but to say it out loud was to admit that the world she knew was upside down.

  “The Black Hand brought him back.”

  It was a simple statement and, judging by Gideon’s expression, it was a revelation more than a surprise.

  “That’s why they were excavating Vengora…” he replied absently. “They wanted his bones.”

  “I’ve met Hadavad,” Inara continued. “I know about you helping him and Galanör.” The Dragorn tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

  After another moment of consideration, Gideon looked at Inara. “I didn’t withhold this from you because I don’t believe you are capable, Inara. Some things are for the council only. I would be accused of favouritism if I were—”

  “I understand.” Inara cut in firmly. “Did you know Alijah was working with them?”

  Gideon sighed. “It sounds like you’ve had quite the journey since I left you.”

  “Did you know?” she asked again.

  Gideon clamped down on his pain and struggled to the edge of the bed, where he finally managed to stand and face her on shaky legs. “I knew they were travelling through Syla’s Pass,” he admitted. “I gave them the crystal to open the portal from here actually. They were investigating Paldora’s Fall—”

  “Have you always known?” Inara pressed, seeing through his evasion.

  “Yes.”

  Inara took a step backward and turned to the window for something other than her master to look at. “We’ve worried about him for four years…”

  “I know,” Gideon replied softly.

  “You haven’t just lied to me,” Inara spat. “You lied to my parents. They trusted you, I trusted you…”

  “Alijah’s mind is a far more complicated place than yours or mine,” Gideon explained. “He doesn’t know who he is yet. He needed the space. I asked Hadavad to take him under his wing and give him some purpose.”

  “Don’t talk like you know him,” Inara retorted. “If you knew where he was you should have brought him back to us. He didn’t leave because he couldn’t find purpose. He left because he’s…” The half-elf stopped herself and turned away again, wiping the tear from her cheek.

  “Whatever his reason for leaving,” Gideon continued, “he has been doing good. Alijah has helped Hadavad to uncover more about The First Kingdom in the last four years than he did in five hundred. He has a gift for finding lost things, Inara.”

  “He’s lost himself,” Inara corrected. “He needs his family.”

  Gideon appeared to have reached his limit for standing and sat back down on the bed. “I have to treat you as a Dragorn before I treat you as Galfrey,” he said with an edge of authority in his tone. “I haven’t always done that; a failing of mine, not yours. In this matter, you have to accept my judgments.”

  Inara could feel Athis agreeing with the Master Dragorn’s words. In truth, she could see herself agreeing too, but she didn’t want to. Her master, her friend, and mentor had kept more than one secret from her. To stop the thought of it from crushing her, Inara allowed some of Athis’s feelings to bleed with her own, offering a greater resolve.

  The Dragorn bowed her head. “My first duty is to that of the order and my master.”

  “Your first duty is to that of the realm, Inara. I realise that having your brother in the middle of all this complicates things, but a time may come when you have to choose between him and the people of Illian.”

  That was a hard truth she couldn’t swallow right now, but thankfully Athis was there to pour his will into her own. “We will serve the realm above all else, Master.”

  Gideon appeared somewhat satisfied with her answers. “Now, having only heard part of your tale, I am beginning to have this horrible feeling that everything is connected. Tell me everything you have learned since our parting.”

  Inara considered the events of Paldora’s Fall, the orcs fighting alongside The Black Hand, and the bond forged between Alijah and Malliath.

  She took a breath. “It’s worse than we feared…”

  Part III

  10,000 Years Ago

  Standing outside his master’s bedchamber, Sarkas began to wonder if it would have been better to have lost his hearing all those years ago.

  Master Vyran was entertaining a female guest in his private chamber. It always sounded like they were having fun until the screaming started, and there was always screaming.

  Sarkas couldn’t bear to look upon the women when they left his chamber, all bloody and bruised. After years of becoming accustomed to the sound of pain, both others’ and his own, Sarkas had found coping mechanisms. One such mechanism was pouring himself into his secret studies.

  Escaping the girl’s torment, Sarkas decided that tonight would be a good opportunity to study the spell books in Master Vyran’s quarters.

  Sarkas opened the desk drawer and saw the slender black wand just lying there, under-utilised and itching to be unleashed. Just holding it made his skin tingle. In the beginning it had seemed fantastical and other-worldly to use the wand. He had never felt more powerful or in control of his life than the day he levitated a quill off the desk. That was in the beginning.

  Now he hungered for more. In only a few years, Sarkas had exhausted the books in Master Vyran’s personal possession, many of which had referred to the various ways one could retain the hair on their head.

  He needed more. Sneaking off in the dead of night to experiment with new spells left him exhausted and drained. This had a negative impact on his duties and often resulted in punishment. The last time Sarkas had experimented with a fire spell, he had attempted to conjure the flames without the wand, hoping to rid his need of it. That hadn’t ended well. Beside the burn in his palm, he nearly caused damage to the wand itself. That would have resulted in an investigation and his ultimate death.

  After further study, Sarkas now knew it was because of the Demetrium in the wand’s core. Without that special element, any human with a natural talent for magic would struggle to wield such a force with any precision.

  That had only spurred him on, however, making him see that the magic already existed inside of him; he just needed the right tool.

  Since the screams had yet to even begin, Sarkas decided he had plenty of time until his master would call upon him. The hesitation he had once displayed had been replaced by the courage magic offered him.

  With the wand in hand, Sarkas snook out of his master’s quarters. The door closed with barely a creak, an act that had required several months to perfect. Turning to his left, Sarkas was immediately stopped in his tracks by Edun, the first servant to the Lord Crow himself.

  His expression was of both disappointment and apprehension. It was a face Sarkas had become accustomed to since his intrigue into magic had taken a hold of him.

  Using the sign language they had developed as children, Edun signed, “You’re going to the forbidden section, aren’t you?”

  Signing back, Sarkas replied, “I have nothing left to learn from the books up here. The spells in the forbidden section might have what I’m looking for.”

  Edun shook his head in dismay. “You shouldn’t even be going down to the library in the first place. The holy texts are for priests only, Sarkas!”

  Sarkas sighed. “There’s nothing holy about them. I’ve told you what they really talk about in their meetings. There is no Kaliban; only a profit margin.”

  Edun’s eyes dropped to the floor. Of all the brothers, Edun had had the most trouble coming to terms with the truth of Kaliban
and The Echoes. In the beginning, Edun had tried to justify the horrors they were exposed to as his service to Kaliban. The truth stung them all.

  “What are you looking for?” he signed, his eyes betraying a curiosity there.

  “A way out, Edun! That’s the only thing I’ve ever searched for. I’m trying to find a way to get us all out of this hell.”

  Edun sighed, his defeat beaten into him over twenty years of servitude. “There’s no refuge in magic, Sarkas. Only pain and suffering. What are you going to do? Levitate every object in The Citadel until they release us? They’re more powerful than you. They always will be…”

  Sarkas refused to believe that. “For now,” he signed back. “The books in the forbidden section were brought to The Citadel from Erador. From Erador! I heard Master Vyran talking about them; they were brought to Illian from the temple at the base of Mount Kaliban. Even the council don’t consult them; they treat them like dangerous relics.”

  Edun was quick to sign back, “There’s a reason for that, Sarkas! Those books contain spells that come with a price.”

  Now that Sarkas did agree with. He fully intended the council, if not the entire Echoes’ order, to pay that price.

  Having wasted too much time already, Sarkas pushed past Edun, knocking him in the shoulder as he tried to slip through the tight passage. Edun tensed, reaching for his shoulder.

  Sarkas paused, looking back at his brother. “What is it?” he signed, looking at Edun’s painful shoulder. A dark patch began to show through his robes and Sarkas reached out for him in alarm.

  “Leave it!” Edun signed.

  “What did he do to you?” Sarkas regretted knocking his brother in frustration, always forgetting that the Lord Crow was the most violent of all their masters.

  Edun hesitated. “I smiled at his… companion. I had seen her before in the lower chambers.”

  Sarkas gritted his teeth and placed the tip of Vyran’s wand to his brother’s wound.