The Fall of Neverdark

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “Well met,” Galanör greeted as he climbed down from his horse.

  Gideon offered his old friend a warm smile. “It’s been too long since we met in person.” The two clasped forearms and fell into a tight embrace.

  Their journey together, thirty years previously, had been the subject of countless bedtime stories for Inara and Alijah. Since becoming a Dragorn and having the opportunity to learn from Gideon himself, Inara had come to hear his version of such tales. They were far more gruesome and life-threatening than the version her mother had told them. It was almost enough to put her off ever crossing The Adean and visiting Ayda.

  Inara was faced with Vighon before she could greet her brother. As before, there was an awkwardness between them that should have been left in the past. Indeed, to Inara, the feelings they had once shared for each other were long buried, but it seemed Vighon still held a more intimate place for her in his heart.

  The northerner moved to embrace her until a sharp gust of air bombarded the man from above. Athis loomed overhead and made one distinct sniff of the air, conveying his feelings.

  “They’re not going to eat the horses, are they?” he asked, his eyes darting from one dragon to the next.

  They do look tasty… Athis’s tongue licked his front teeth as he eyed Vighon’s horse.

  Inara answered his question in the hopes that it would prevent her from laughing. “The horses are safe,” she assured.

  Vighon swallowed hard and settled with offering her a friendly nod. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “And you,” Inara replied. “I’m glad to see you made it out of Tregaran. We heard what has happened.”

  Alijah pulled his green cloak about him and purposefully came to a stop beyond Inara’s reach. Like Vighon, he bore a few new cuts and bruises, but all three of them looked to have escaped the southern city largely unharmed.

  Inara wanted to tell her brother how good it was to see him safe. What she really wanted to do was hug him and pretend for a moment that everything was as it had been, before he left. Back when they thought they would both live forever…

  Alijah met her eyes briefly. Inara was sure she could see some trace of relief there. He could claim to have no family, but his feelings would forever betray him.

  “Where is Hadavad?” Gideon asked.

  Galanör glanced at Alijah before replying, “He has chosen a different path.”

  “A different path to what?” Gideon asked.

  “Hadavad’s reasons remain his own,” Galanör explained. “He claims to be in search of answers.”

  “Somewhere to the east,” Vighon added.

  Gideon paused as he regarded the northerner. “You must be Vighon Draqaro.”

  Vighon stood a little straighter. ‘I am,” he declared.

  “Gideon Thorn.” The Master Dragorn held out his arm and the two clasped forearms. “Well met.”

  Gideon casually scanned Alijah from head to toe. “Hadavad has been a mysterious person since before any of us were born. If there’s one thing he’s proved good at; it’s finding answers.”

  Galanör replied, “It was his suggestion that we travel north to find you.”

  “What chance,” Gideon remarked. “We were travelling south to find you.”

  “Perhaps we should find some shelter before going any further,” Inara suggested.

  “I’d say we’ve got our pick of the town.” Vighon gestured to the empty buildings.

  The Stags Inn was the closest and offered a number of chairs and tables. Vighon moved to kick the door in.

  “What are you doing?” Inara interjected. “This is someone’s property.”

  With his boot in the air, the northerner paused. “I was just…”

  Inara ushered him out of the way. “Let’s assume everyone’s coming back.” The Dragorn waved her palm over the lock and used a simple spell to open the door.

  Somewhat flustered, Vighon stepped aside and waited for everyone else to enter the tavern before he followed. Inara rolled her eyes when the northerner proceeded to help himself to a jar of dried food behind the bar. Beating her to it this time, Galanör deftly unhooked the small pouch of coins on Vighon’s belt and left it on the bar top. Vighon followed the elf with an exasperated look, but he offered no protest.

  Inara was pleased to be in a gathering at last that didn’t consist of kings, queens, and council members to her own order. The Dragorn took a seat beside Gideon and did her best not to watch Alijah the entire time. Seeing him twice in as many days after losing contact for four years made him food for the eyes. It would take some time to get used to his beard, but more than anything, it was his demeanour that Inara struggled with the most. Sat opposite her, the fun, outgoing, and carefree brother she had known appeared trapped inside his own mind, haunted almost.

  Gideon didn’t wait for Vighon to finish rummaging behind the bar. “Since you’d already used the crystal I gave you, I’m assuming you come by Ilythyra.”

  Galanör pulled back his blue hood and ran a hand through his short hair. “Lady Ellöria was most gracious considering the strain we put on her home.”

  “There were survivors then?” Inara pressed. “From Tregaran?”

  A sombre moment passed between the three of them, even giving Vighon pause.

  “Inara…” Alijah’s voice croaked. “Tauren didn’t survive.”

  Those three words knocked Inara back in her chair and brought tears to her eyes. Gideon cupped his beard and looked to Galanör, who could only nod solemnly.

  “He was slain by an orc,” Alijah continued.

  “What of Isabella and Salim?” Inara asked desperately, unsure if she was ready for the answer.

  “They’re safe,” Alijah replied quickly. “We left them with the others in Ilythyra.”

  Gideon released a long sigh and stood up from his chair. The Master Dragorn rubbed his eyes and paced the bar. Inara blinked hard and wiped away the only tear to have broken through.

  Galanör said, “I’m sorry for your loss, Inara. I know Tauren was like family to you.”

  “He was a good man,” she managed, clearing her throat to stop it from cracking.

  “He was a hero,” Gideon proclaimed, his back to them all. “An entire generation were born free from slavery because of him.” The Master Dragorn dropped his head. “Now it’s all gone…”

  “All gone?” Vighon echoed.

  Inara caught the confusion pass between the three companions. “Did word not reach Ilythyra? The orcs have taken Ameeraska and Calmardra as well.”

  “What?” Alijah and Galanör asked at the same time.

  “The Arid Lands have fallen,” Inara clarified. “There are refugees fleeing north up both coasts. Velia and Grey Stone are taking them in.”

  Alijah and Galanör could do nothing but stare at the table. Vighon walked around the bar and slumped into one of the chairs, his manner one of defeat.

  The elven ranger looked over to Gideon. “I thought… I hoped Tregaran was a random event.” Galanör sat with a disquieted agitation not usually seen in his kin. “Are we being invaded?”

  “It would seem so,” Gideon whispered, bracing himself against the bar and letting his head fall between his arms.

  “How did no one see this coming?” Alijah jibed. “I thought the all-seeing Dragorn were to protect us from everything.”

  “Alijah…” Inara imparted her feelings by tone alone. “Until very recently, no one knew orcs still existed.”

  Gideon’s stare looked to penetrate the tavern walls. “Someone knew…” he insisted.

  The Master Dragorn was a thousand miles away, his arm folded over his chest and a hand cupping his jaw. Inara had never seen him this way before.

  “Master?”

  Gideon snapped out of it immediately. “Why did Hadavad send you to find me?”

  “To help me,” Alijah said without meeting the master’s eyes.

  “Your bond with Malliath and Asher,” Gideon reasoned.

 
Inara could see Alijah closing himself off even more. There was once a time when she could have looked upon his face and known everything he was thinking. Looking at him now, he was a blank slate.

  In the absence of any response, Galanör offered, “It’s only a matter of time before another city suffers the same fate as Lirian. It was felt that our best course of action would be to break the bond between Alijah and this… Dragon Knight.”

  “Agreed,” Gideon said. “Evil though it may be, this spell has brought Asher back into the world. Our enemy may see him as a weapon, but I see it as a second chance. If we can free him, we will.”

  Inara was about to ask how they go about breaking an impossible spell when the ground shook. The tankards and glasses rattled and smashed, dust rained down from the beams above, and somewhere in the street a window shattered.

  “Those are getting worse,” Vighon observed.

  “Wait,” Inara had a thought. “The orcs are using tunnels underground to reach the cities. What if that’s what the tremors are?”

  Galanör looked down. “They’re tunnelling…”

  That would mean they are beneath us, Athis warned in her mind.

  Gideon met her eyes across the tavern, having heard something similar from Ilargo, no doubt.

  “New plan.” The Master Dragorn strode across the tavern with his hand bracing Mournblade. “Inara, you and Athis are to escort the people of Vangarth and any survivors of Lirian. Get them safely to Grey Stone.”

  Inara had a few points she wanted to raise immediately, but her master turned on the others.

  “Galanör, Vighon, the two of you will accompany them by ground. Be wary of these quakes.”

  “Hang about!” Vighon raised his hand. “I don’t take orders from you.” The northerner looked at his two companions for support and found nothing. “Do I?” he asked Alijah.

  “Hadavad received his orders from Gideon,” Alijah explained. “So, aye, it would seem we do take orders from him.” Vighon looked to have some follow up questions, but Alijah waved them away. “What am I doing?” he demanded of Gideon.

  The Master Dragorn glanced at Ilargo through the dusty window. “You’re coming with me.”

  “Wait.” It seemed Vighon blurted the command involuntary. “Where he goes, I go.”

  Gideon offered an apologetic smile. “Not this time, Vighon. We’re going to The Lifeless Isles. Alijah will be safe there, you have my word.”

  Alijah’s face broke into confusion. “I don’t need protection, Vighon’s not my keeper,” he protested.

  “Bodyguard is probably closer…” Vighon added.

  Alijah’s mouth opened and Inara expected a stream of expletives and one of his brattish rants about the people who cared for him.

  In a surprisingly calm tone, he replied, “Vighon, go with Galanör and Inara to Grey Stone. Your sword will be of great value should the orcs attack. Gideon is right; no harm can come to me on The Lifeless Isles.”

  Vighon resembled an abandoned pup, unsure of what he was to do next. “Then you’ll come and meet us in Grey Stone?” he asked, looking from Alijah to Gideon.

  “If we find a way to break the bond,” Gideon answered diplomatically. “I would say your farewells. We may be some time.”

  Shortly after, they gathered outside again. Galanör and Gideon held a private discussion that Inara was too far away to hear, even with her ears. Vighon and Alijah embraced, squeezing each other tightly before pulling away and patting each other on the arm.

  For just a moment, it was like stepping into a memory for Inara. As children, the three of them had been inseparable, always off on some adventure around the farm or making trouble on one of their parents’ trips. Alijah and Vighon had always shared a stronger bond of friendship, at least until they stopped being children. Then, other feelings rose to the surface and her bond with Vighon became the stronger.

  You made promises to each other, Athis said, sharing in her memories.

  It was the youngest of love. We thought we would be together forever. I told him I would become the queen of Ayda and he would be my king, the first human king of the elves. Inara internally scoffed at the idea now, seeing how naive they had been.

  Recalling her farewell to Vighon, the day she left for The Lifeless Isles, was painful. She had been sixteen, Vighon nineteen. He hadn’t taken it well. It had been easier for Inara, as the bond between her and Athis had already taken hold and started the process of pushing Vighon out.

  “We will see each other soon,” Alijah promised him. “Leave some orcs for me, eh.”

  Vighon nodded along. “Try not to fall off,” he jested, looking to the sky.

  The approaching crunch of snow turned Inara’s attention to Gideon, who had left Galanör to tend the horses.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “I would rather help in your errand,” she replied. “You’ll need more than your eyes to find a way of breaking this bond. Not to mention the prophecy; it will need comparing.”

  “I will have more than my own eyes.” Gideon gestured to Alijah. “He is quite efficient when it comes to digging through the past.”

  There was but a single spark of jealousy at the thought of Alijah spending time alone with Gideon. Already annoyed that Athis would be aware of it, the Dragorn quashed it with the weight of her duty.

  “I will ensure everyone makes it to Grey Stone safely, Master.”

  “I know you will.” Gideon’s smile was full of pride and confidence. “I will send others to oversee the protection of Grey Stone and offer you relief. Remember what I said to the council: don’t engage Malliath and Asher on your own. Wait for the others.”

  It was a sound course of action, but the reality of Malliath attacking the caravan was very different. There would be no scenario in which Inara didn’t put herself between the black dragon and the people. Of course, she couldn’t kill Malliath or Asher without killing her own brother.

  “I will, Master. Find a way to break the bond before he returns,” she added quietly. Gideon’s eyes rolled over Alijah and he nodded.

  With Vighon and Galanör astride their horses, towing Alijah’s horse, there was nothing left for Inara but to say farewell to her brother. The internal battle that waged war among his feelings was manifesting in his body language. Alijah still loved her, she could see that. Whether he exiled himself for selfless or selfish reasons, that fact would never change.

  He made to walk past her and offer a simple farewell, but Inara reached out and gripped his hand. One tight squeeze spoke volumes of her love for him, and she hoped he knew then and there that she would never give up on him. In his defiant stride, he continued to walk past and their hands began to part.

  He squeezed her fingers. It felt like hope to Inara.

  She watched Gideon instruct him on the correct way to mount Ilargo. Together, both dragons rose into the air, one to fly east, the other west. Across the widening gulf, Alijah and Inara watched each other disappear beyond sight.

  I feel it too, wingless one. Fear not; we will see him again…

  Inara clung to the dragon’s words as tightly as she clung to his horns.

  37

  Brotherly Love

  The day had passed into night and back into day, yet Doran Heavybelly still grumbled and muttered under his breath.

  “O’ all the clans…” he kept repeating.

  Shortly after discovering that their prince was standing before them, Rorin, son of Galahag, had sent two of the fastest from his camp to bring back a dwarf of equal standing, since Rorin was not counted among royalty.

  “So let me get this straight.” Master Devron crouched in front of the sitting dwarf with a parchment and a scribe in hand. “Rorin cannot speak to you because your hierarchy only allows dwarves of similar stations to commune.”

  Doran shook his head and clenched his fist. The wild-looking Master from The All-Tower had badgered him for information since they left the tunnel. He was sure the young man had yet to sleep.<
br />
  “What are ye abou’?” Doran looked up at him. “He’s sent for me brother, otherwise he’ll end up stuck between my commands… an’ me father’s.”

  “Your brother?” Reyna inquired lightly.

  “Aye, he’s the only one o’ equal standin’ that can enforce me father’s decree an’ stop me from sendin’ them home. It’s safer for Rorin to cut off all negotiation with us now an’ wait for further orders.”

  Petur Devron edged closer. “So what exactly is—”

  “One more question out o’ ye an’ I swear I’ll fit ye through that there hole!” Doran pointed to the shaft of light that illuminated the workshop doors.

  Master Devron looked to reshape his mouth and ask a different question when Nathaniel put a firm hand on his shoulder. “Get some rest. You’ll want to be ready for the talks, won’t you?”

  Petur hesitated before finally relenting to the advice. He left them in front of the workshop doors and retired to his cot on the outskirts of the Namdhorian camp.

  Nathaniel shifted his long coat and sat down opposite the dwarf. “So, should we call you Doran or Prince Doran?” he asked with a cheeky smile.

  The son of Dorain spoke through the pipe he put in his mouth. “Don’ think any fancy sword skills will stop me from fittin’ ye through that hole as well…”

  Nathaniel silently laughed to himself and held up his hands. “There was a serious question in there somewhere.”

  “Aye, I bet there was,” Doran replied in a puff of smoke.

  The dwarf sighed. This was exactly the thing he had been avoiding for sixty years. Seeing the inquisitive faces of the Galfreys, however, he knew the truth would have to come out.

  Damn Galfreys…

  “A’right,” he began begrudgingly. “Aye, I’m a prince o’ sorts. In Dhenaheim, I was Prince Doran, son of King Dorain of clan Heavybelly. It changes nothin’!”

  Nathaniel shrugged apologetically. “I have to ask. What is a dwarven prince doing living as a ranger in Illian?”