The Fall of Neverdark

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “Have you told anyone?” Ellöria asked.

  “Inara knows.” Alijah’s response was almost a whisper.

  “Is she mortal as well?” Vighon asked without thinking.

  Alijah moved to retrieve his cloak and weapons. “If she was we’ll never know. Once Inara bonded with Athis, his life force became her own.” The rogue turned to Ellöria. “My grandmother had you keeping an eye on me to make sure I’m safe, yes. After what I saw in Tregaran, I don’t think it matters whether I’m mortal or not; no one is safe anymore. I take it I can trust you to keep this between us?”

  Ellöria considered his request. “You are third in line to the throne and therefore in higher standing than myself. Unless Queen Adilandra asks me specifically about your mortality, I will guard it as you have asked.” The Lady of Ilythyra bowed her head and Alijah reciprocated.

  “You have both survived quite the ordeal,” Ellöria continued. “There are only a handful of elves still living who can say they have fought against the orcs. I suggest you find some rest.”

  Vighon waited until the elf had disappeared from the gardens before asking, “Are you alright?”

  Alijah finished strapping his quiver up. “I’ve known about this for a while now. I’ve come to terms with the years I have.”

  “That’s why you left, isn’t it?” Vighon’s question halted Alijah in his tracks.

  Without turning back, he said, “There’s no need for them to suffer.”

  Vighon hated to see his friend in such turmoil. “Alijah—”

  The rogue turned on him before he could say anymore. “It doesn’t matter, Vighon. Think of everything that’s happened since we found that prophecy. Asher, Malliath, Tauren… Tregaran is gone. The world is being plunged back into chaos and war. My mortality grows more trivial by the hour.”

  Vighon took a breath. “I was just going to say; nothing has changed for me. We will still fight together or die together. Brothers…” That took the edge off Alijah, softening the rogue somewhat.

  The half-elf held out his hand and the two clasped forearms before pulling each other in for an embrace.

  “You’re blue,” Vighon observed.

  It took Alijah an extra second to understand. “You’re talking about my face, aren’t you?”

  The northerner chuckled to himself. “You look ridiculous…”

  The two shared a quiet laugh before Alijah went in search of water to clean his skin. It took Vighon some time to find rest that night, his mind wondering about a life in which the two friends grew old together. Would they still be fighting, laughing, and up to no good in their old age?

  Images of the orcs and the smell of Tregaran burning plagued Vighon, reminding him that dreaming of old age was a fool’s game.

  They would be lucky to see another winter…

  33

  A Precious Gift

  Inara stood to the side as King Weymund’s court mage, Theatred Atherlarde, directed the servants about Gideon’s room, rearranging the furniture according to the Master Dragorn’s specifications. An oval table was moved from the corner into the space at the bottom of the bed and seven chairs were situated around it.

  Theatred removed a diviner orb from within his colourful robes and placed it in the very centre of the table.

  Having rested for a couple of days, Gideon was finally able to walk from his bed to the chair at the head of the table unaided. Inara didn’t miss his wince, however, when he put his shirt back on. The bruises and cuts had all but gone, but some of his bones were still mending.

  With a great sigh, the Master Dragorn took his seat and looked to the mage. “If you would be so kind, Theatred.”

  The court mage bowed his head and stamped his staff into the floor, evoking the magic within the diviner. Four of the available six chairs were suddenly occupied by the ethereal form of the Dragorn council.

  Inara took an extra step aside to make certain she didn’t create an ethereal projection of herself.

  A chorus of greetings went around the table, followed by questions of concern for Gideon’s wellbeing. The Master Dragorn reassured them that he was healing and asked about the empty chairs.

  Ayana Glanduil, the only elf on the council, glanced curiously at the other councillors before turning back to Gideon. “Garin and Jorla have flown to Tregaran. Have you not heard? The city has fallen.”

  Inara felt the room wobble as reality tried to tilt on its axis and swallow her whole. She reached out for the nearest solid object that would keep her upright. Athis flooded her with his bolstering aura and the room corrected itself almost immediately, but nothing would be able to shift the pit opening inside her gut.

  He’s a survivor, the dragon declared with some force.

  “Fallen?” Gideon echoed.

  “They’ve all fallen,” Rolan Baird clarified. “Tregaran, Ameeraska, Calmardra… The orcs have claimed them all.”

  Inara took a deep breath, wishing more than anything that Athis could be inside the room with her. Alijah, Vighon, Hadavad, Galanör… They were all in Tregaran. Uncle Tauren! Visions of the city being overrun by orcs consumed the Dragorn’s mind.

  He’s a survivor, Athis reminded her again. They all are, Tauren included.

  Alise Trubek leant forward in her chair. “When the orcs attacked you in the ruins of Karath, you said they numbered in the hundreds. In a single night they torched three whole cities, Gideon. There must be thousands of them.”

  Gideon sat back, rocked by the news. “Garin and Jorla have gone to Tregaran?” he confirmed.

  “Along with Flint and Morkas,” Ayana replied. “We sent Roddick and Alessandra to Calmardra and Galwyn and Aled to Ameeraska.”

  “We received the red raven from Lirian,” Rolan said, “but I thought you would have received word from at least one of the southern cities.”

  Gideon shook his head. “It’s chaos here. King Weymund is in the process of sending what remains of his people south, to Vangarth.”

  “They might be better going north,” Alastir Knox, the youngest among the council, suggested. “These orcs were first discovered in the south and now The Arid Lands have been invaded…”

  “I’m inclined to agree,” Gideon said. “Get word to Garin and the others; have them escort any survivors north. Those in Ameeraska and Tregaran will find shelter in Grey Stone. The people of Calmardra should follow the coast to Velia.”

  Gideon had drawn up plans before Inara was even a Dragorn, detailing the evacuation process for every city should it be attacked.

  Focusing on such rational thoughts was quite a strain. Inara couldn’t stop looking at the door, tempted to simply run out, find Athis, and fly as fast as they could to Tregaran.

  “We should take this fight to the orcs,” Rolan added determinedly. “Every Dragorn, every dragon. We could wipe them from the face of Verda for good.”

  “We have no idea where they are, Rolan,” Ayana countered.

  “We could attack the cities they’ve invaded,” Alise said.

  “You’re assuming they intend to hold them,” the elven councillor replied. “From what we know about orcs already, they despise the surface world. I don’t believe they attack our cities just to make them their own.”

  Alastir looked down the table at Gideon. “If they do intend on keeping the cities they sack, they will do it from an underground position.”

  Gideon winced as he lifted his hand to end the topic. “Since last we spoke there have been… developments.” The Master Dragorn half turned his head to regard Inara. “I told you all of The Crow who appeared to me in the library…”

  “The Black Hand?” Alise’s ethereal face scrunched into confusion. “Are they involved in this?”

  Gideon nodded. “He has played his hand, just as he said he would. Before Malliath came to Lirian, he faced Inara and Edrik in The Undying Mountains.” He took a breath, chewing over his words. “Edrik and Aldreon are dead.”

  Alise put her hand over her mouth and Rolan ran a han
d through his thick hair. They were the first fatalities the order had suffered since The Dragon War, a thousand years past. Inara could still see Edrik’s neck snapping in time with Aldreon’s…

  “There’s more,” Gideon continued. “Inside Paldora’s Fall, he used the darkest of magic to resurrect…” The Master Dragorn still struggled to believe it himself. “He brought Asher back.”

  There was visible shock around the table. “The Asher?” Rolan asked.

  “Of course,” Ayana said. “The excavation above Grey Stone, in the mountains.”

  “I’m afraid so.” Gideon took a breath. “It seems they were searching for Asher’s bones all along, but it gets worse. Somehow, The Crow has enslaved Asher to his will and bonded him with Malliath the voiceless.”

  Alastir’s ethereal eyes went wide. “Asher was with Malliath when he attacked Lirian?”

  “Impossible,” Ayana argued. “Such a bond cannot be forced, that kind of magic simply doesn’t exist.”

  “Not only that,” Gideon continued, “but this Crow has found a way of binding Alijah Galfrey into the spell. He feels everything they do.”

  “Inara’s brother?” Alastir questioned.

  “Why would The Crow do this?” Ayana asked the question that had been plaguing Inara.

  Gideon sighed. “The Crow’s motivations are something of a mystery for the time. His knowledge of ancient magic is all we know right now.”

  “That and his ability to see the future,” Rolan replied seriously. “He said one of us would die that very night.”

  Gideon challenged his perspective. “Edrik and Aldreon’s death doesn’t prove that The Crow can see the future, only that he knew Malliath would outmatch them.”

  Alise added, “As Gideon pointed out, I think it is more likely that The Black Hand have access to ancient magic and spells heralding from The First Kingdom.”

  Rolan shook his head. “And I think it’s time we stopped underestimating our enemy.”

  “Enough.” Gideon ended it there.

  Ayana continued the meeting with a more harmonious tone. “How exactly are The Black Hand intertwined with the orcs?”

  The Master Dragorn’s response was simple. “The Black Hand are in allegiance with the orcs. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were the reason for the orcs sudden return.”

  Silence filled the room as the councillors stared at each other across the table.

  “How did we not see this coming?” Rolan asked incredulously. “There was no word from Hadavad?”

  “The last I heard was from Galanör,” Gideon explained. “Though, since then, Inara has met with him.” The injured master hesitated. “There appears to be a prophecy…”

  That piece of information had them all shuffling in their seats and asking questions at once.

  “The information I have is very limited,” Gideon said. “It currently resides with Hadavad and Galanör.”

  “We need to examine it as soon as possible,” Ayana pointed out.

  “Where was it found?” Alise asked.

  “In The Wild Moores,” Gideon replied. “They believe it to have come from the same place as The Echoes of Fate prophecy.” That set the councillors off again. “Its words have little weight until we can compare it to the original prophecy,” he said a little louder.

  “Where is the mage now?” Rolan asked. “We can send someone to retrieve it.”

  Gideon glanced at Inara. “The last time they were all seen was in Tregaran, in the company of High Councillor Tauren Salimson.”

  Alastir replied, “We shall have word sent to Garin and Jorla.”

  Rolan sighed. “If there is a new prophecy, then it came from The Echoes, another First Kingdom thorn in our side. I’m starting to think we should have prioritised The Black Hand ourselves instead of using the old mage.”

  Inara stood a little straighter. That was another remark against Gideon’s leadership. It was no surprise hearing it from Rolan, who had always favoured a slightly different approach when it came to the role of the Dragorn. Peacekeepers was to be their way, however, not tyrants who used fear to force peace upon the realm.

  Gideon pinched his nose. “The First Kingdom and all of its secrets can do nothing but wait to be uncovered. In the meantime, we have their descendants to worry about and their new allegiance with the orcs.”

  “Agreed,” Ayana offered her support, moving the conversation on.

  “Going forward,” Alise added, “we should assume the orcs have an army comparable to that of the six kingdoms.”

  “Combined?’ Alastir clarified.

  “That remains to be seen,” Gideon answered. “For now, let’s escort all the survivors north. The orcs have dealt the first blow; The Arid Lands belong to them for now.”

  “We’re just fleeing north?” Rolan challenged again.

  Having had years of dealing with Rolan Baird, it was clear to see that Gideon’s patience was wearing thin. “Ameeraska, Tregaran, Calmardra, and Lirian have been reduced to ash in a matter of days. That’s a lot of broken families and no homes. We will ensure any and all survivors reach a place of safety. Then, we will convene a meeting with the rulers of Velia, Grey Stone, and Namdhor.”

  “Convene a meeting?” Rolan repeated. “We need their armies marching south as we speak. What remains of the Lirian army?”

  “If a counterattack is to be organised, Rolan, we will need the kings and queens of those three kingdoms to be in open discussion—”

  “They will have already received the red ravens,” Rolan interrupted.

  Gideon shook his head. “They won’t grasp the need for an allied front right now. We need to be the ones who—”

  Rolan interjected again. “We need to be the ones who remind the orcs where they belong. They should have stayed lost in their mountains and—”

  “This is not a discussion, Rolan.” Gideon’s tone was absolute. “Our first priority is always the people.”

  “We still need more information about our invaders,” Alastir commented. “The orcs’ motives for attacking The Arid Lands are not certain.”

  Alise agreed. “For all we know, they won’t go any farther than the desert.”

  Inara didn’t agree, but she could see her own feelings reflected on Gideon’s face. The Dragorn decided to stay out of the meeting, lest Gideon be accused of favouritism again…

  Gideon replied, “The Black Hand are working with the orcs. They didn’t resurrect Asher and take control of Malliath for nothing. They were sent to Lirian. I fear The Arid Lands are only the beginning.”

  “We will see the survivors to safety,” Ayana said.

  “And begin a patrol pattern,” Alise added. “We’ll make sure there are Dragorn guarding the border between The Moonlit Plains and the desert.”

  “What about this prophecy?” Rolan asked, speaking up for the first time since Gideon had silenced him.

  “I will find Hadavad and bring it back to The Lifeless Isles,” Gideon answered.

  Alastir flexed his ethereal fingers on the table top. “What should we do if we come across Asher and Malliath?”

  Inara knew the answer she would give, but the young Dragorn had never known Asher as others did and she had no love for Malliath. Killing them over saving them felt the most logical choice.

  “If lives are in danger,” Gideon commanded, “then all Dragorn are to intervene. If he is spotted away from the population, you are to track him and wait for reinforcements.”

  The councillors nodded in agreement and wished the Master Dragon a speedy recovery before Gideon gave Theatred the nod to end the conversation. Their ethereal forms lost their cohesion like smoke dissipating into the air.

  Gideon sighed heavily. “Thank you, Theatred. I would appreciate it if you could ask King Weymund to come by my chamber. He should be made aware of the dire situation in The Arid Lands.”

  Theatred bowed his head, collected the diviner orb, and left the chamber in a rustle of robes.

  Gideon sat back and tur
ned to regard Inara. “The Arid Lands are gone… On my watch, three whole cities, four including Lirian, have crumbled under foreign invasion.” He sounded broken to Inara.

  The young Dragorn felt selfish for asking, but there were only a handful of people she needed to know about. “Do you think Hadavad and the others made it out?”

  Gideon met her eyes with an apologetic expression pulling at his features. “I’m so sorry, Inara, I didn’t think. I’m sure Alijah is fine. In fact, of everyone south of The Moonlit Plains, Alijah and the others are the only ones I would bet on surviving. As we speak, Tauren will be leading them and any survivors to safety. He’s done it before…”

  Inara nodded, but her features betrayed her real concern. “If something had happened to Alijah, I would know it.”

  “I’m sure you would,” Gideon agreed. “We will fly south tomorrow,” he said with confidence. “We will find them.”

  Tomorrow felt like an awfully long time away, but Inara could see that the Master Dragorn needed another night of rest and recovery, even if Ilargo was fit to fly.

  “So,” Gideon changed the subject, “how did you find your first council meeting?”

  Inara could see the distraction for what it was and she welcomed it all the same. “With all due respect, Master, why did you appoint Rolan Baird to the council?”

  Gideon smiled wistfully. “When I was first assembling the council, when the order was younger, I didn’t just want people who saw everything as I did. Rolan had a way of seeing things from a different perspective; something I valued… at the time. He has become rather impatient of late.” Gideon reigned his comments in. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t speak ill of the council. They all offer something the order needs. With the threat of mass invasion on our doorstep, I am sure Rolan’s perspective will be much appreciated.”

  Inara could only hope that the orcs intended to stop at The Arid Lands, even if she knew in her heart that it was only just beginning. “I should go, Master. Russell Maybury has asked if Athis and I could help him recover some of his belongings from The Pick-Axe before the people move on.”