Inara waited for Lord Baillor to bow his head and retreat into the cluster of other lords. She appreciated the king of Lirian and his loyalty to the Dragorn, but it would not change her mind.
“I’m aware, King Weymund, that you would have us return through your kingdom and continue on to Velia…” Inara paused, being sure to use language that wouldn’t offend - it was terribly easy to offend a king. “From what we know,” she continued, pointing at the maps, “the orcs have taken The Arid Lands. Since then, they have moved north with unprecedented speed. No one has heard from Velia, but we have to assume, being farther south than either of your kingdoms, that the city has already fallen, if not under threat of siege.”
King Weymund had his eyes on the map also. “Velia survived The War for the Realm. Ten thousand Darkakin, giants and all, attacked the city and yet it emerged the victor.”
Inara couldn’t disagree. “Velia’s high walls and strong stone can stand up to almost anything.” The Dragorn glanced at King Jormund. “But what good are walls when your enemy attacks from beneath?” The half-elf could see the revelation of her point on Weymund’s face. “If the orcs travelled as far north as The Ice Vales then they could easily have reached Velia days ago. I’m sorry, King Weymund, but my advice would be to continue north, especially while we journey with so many families.”
The king of Lirian cupped his goatee with his free hand. “Queen Yelifer is not a welcoming host…”
“No she isn’t,” King Jormund agreed. “But even the war-witch of the north cannot deny us aid in such a time of war.”
Weymund’s gaze was fixed on the maps, his attention focused on The Evermoore. The heartland wood of Illian was entirely within the king’s domain and had been the home of his ancestors for a thousand years. But Lirian was lost to him. Vangarth was among those evacuated from his country and Wood Vale had been sent word to head north days ago. Still, his gaze lingered, his thoughts clear to see.
“The Evermoore will offer little refuge, good king,” Inara said softly.
Weymund tore his eyes from the map. “My people know those woods like the back of their hands. We could take shelter there—”
“Until what?” King Jormund interjected. “Until this is all over? Until the orcs grow bored of ravaging Illian? We must stick together so that we may fight these beasts!”
Seeing that Jormund’s words were having little effect on the king of Lirian, Inara added, “From what we saw earlier today, we have to assume that The Evermoore is crawling with orcs. Now that the sun is gone, they roam the surface freely. Trust me, King Weymund, orcs are among the best hunters in the world. If you return to The Evermoore now, there will be blood.”
King Weymund looked to be considering his options as he silenced the wittering lords in his ear. “It seems we are without a choice,” he said begrudgingly. “The people of The Evermoore will accompany you to Namdhor.”
With that, the king of Lirian and his entourage left Jormund’s tent. It was tempting to feel as if a victory had been claimed, but Inara wasn’t going to convince herself that anything other than hardship was ahead of them now. Escorting thousands of people through the winter snow, orcs on the hunt, and a rogue dragon in the skies was a weight that continued to press down on the Dragorn.
Following Galanör’s move to exit, Inara bowed her head in respect to King Jormund and left with the elf. Her finer senses detected Vighon beginning to leave behind them as well.
“You have as much skill with words as you do a sword,” Galanör commented under the starless night.
Inara appreciated his compliment. “I’m afraid either will only get us so far. We no longer have the safety of the light and I have no doubt the orcs will be stalking us.”
“Then it’s a good thing we have a dragon,” Vighon voiced, a step behind.
Inara noted his use of the word we. “We will have reinforcements soon,” she assured. “Those of my order were too late for Grey Stone, but they will find us. As soon as they’re in range, Athis will be able to communicate with them.”
“How many Dragorn are there?” Vighon probed, the tone of his voice mirroring Inara’s feelings.
“Not enough, I fear. The numerous orcs aside, Malliath has been fighting in wars since the time of The First Kingdom. He fought with the original Dragon Riders against Atilan and in every war since over the last ten thousand years. He is a formidable foe…”
Vighon lightened his tone. “You’ve survived a fight with him once before. Perhaps you and Athis are the challenge he’s never had.”
“He rides with Asher on his back,” Inara reminded the northman. “Together, they beat Gideon and Ilargo in Lirian. What can we do against such ferocity?” The half-elf looked up at the dark sky and hoped her fellow Dragorn would arrive sooner rather than later.
We will be enough, Athis maintained, his confidence as boundless as the stars themselves.
Inara held onto those words…
4
The First Lesson
Buried deep in a slumber that could only be brought on by freezing temperatures, Alijah Galfrey dreamed of fire and ice. His mind raged, skipping violently from battle to battle, the enemy and landscape ever changing.
Fields of men died by the hundreds, scorched by fire or frozen by ice. Castles and fortresses the rogue had never seen before toppled under a bombardment that no stone could stand against.
He observed it all from the sky.
Alijah could only watch as he dropped out of the heavens with fury in his veins and fire in his throat. The screams of men meant nothing to him, they were insects favoured by his kin but never him.
The battle changed seamlessly and he was suddenly flying over a rocky desert, The Undying Mountains beneath him. Far below, elves and dwarves were slaughtering the last of the orcs, pushing what few remained into those dark tunnels. The sound of dying orcs meant even less to him than the sound of dying humans.
The rogue dived down and cut a scorching swathe through their ranks, lighting up the night. As he rose back into the sky, the view changed again. The elves and dwarves were gone, the orcs naught but a memory, as he flew over a green field of men once again. Their banners were those of the lion, the house of Tion.
A thousand years in the past, Alijah beat his wings, anger fuelling his every thought, as he dropped low to lay waste to Gal Tion and his army of dragon slayers. The first self-proclaimed king of Namdhor, and the world at the time, stood defiantly on the battlefield, urging his men to bring down the black dragon.
A pack of mages emerged from the mass of soldiers and a terrible flash blinded Alijah. When next the world returned, he was chained to a rocky island as the waves of The Adean splashed against his scales. Wicked mages were chanting around him, their wands alight with magic. Alijah wanted to roar but his mouth was strapped with enchanted chains. His blood boiled and he struggled to be free of the humans.
A mighty wave washed over him but, when the spraying water fell away, the ocean was suddenly far below. In the middle of its blue depths sat Korkanath, the dwelling of the mages. Alijah was empty. He couldn’t feel anything but cold inside of him. He hungered, he tired, and he saw both in an endless cycle that had him enthralled to the mages and their dank island.
Above all, he was lonely…
The rogue felt the jolt this time, the world changing drastically before his reptilian eyes. He saw flashes of a young Gideon Thorn fighting Galanör Reveeri atop Korkanath’s walls. The spell was broken and that emptiness was again filled with hatred and rage. Alijah heard his own voice groan as everything changed again.
There was more fire. A lot more fire. Alijah unleashed his fury upon the savage Darkakin in the south of Ayda, razing their cities to the ground. Those who didn’t burn he felt the crunch of their fragile bodies in his mouth.
Then it was all gone. He was flying into an endless sky, leaving his kin behind. He wanted to burn the entire world but he knew it was wrong. He was different to the rest of dragon-kind and they kne
w it as well as he did. He felt shame under their gaze and he had to get away from it. So he left.
Alijah groaned again and the world changed drastically. Nasty orcs were swarming over him but he was injured, his ribs torn up by an exploding spear he had never seen before. Weighted nets held his wings down and entangled them. He roared and he was suddenly changed once again, now inside Paldora’s Fall.
His purple blazing eyes looked up and saw… himself. Alijah was looking back at himself and he knew he had just found a piece of him that had been missing for eternity. Then the connection was gone and he was bound to another. A man he had never seen before but Alijah knew it to be Asher, the ranger.
The speed of Malliath’s life increased and Alijah felt pain in his head. He felt a dragon’s neck snap inside his jaw before he witnessed Lirian burning, the flames his own doing. Then more dragons died, over Velia. He saw Gideon fall from a wall. Then he was…
Reality flooded his senses as a bucket of icy cold water slammed into his body. Alijah couldn’t help his scream and subsequent gasps, his breath ragged and visible before him. In but a moment, all that rage and frustration was replaced by despair.
The Crow was standing before him.
The leader of The Black Hand dismissed his hooded servant, who took the empty bucket with him. Following his departure, Alijah noted a handful of identically dressed servants, all of whom carried a pair of short-swords on their back. Seeing the horrifically ravaged faces of some of them, the rogue knew instantly that he looked upon Reavers. Brought back from the dead but denied their old life, these men and women were nothing but deadly shades of their former selves.
The Crow waited until the Reavers were behind him in the roofless cell. “What did you see?” he asked in his ancient voice.
Alijah blinked the icy droplets from his eye lashes and looked beyond The Crow, to the shadows. His cell, as it was, must have once been either a large hall or a collection of modified rooms to fit Malliath’s incredible bulk inside. The black dragon’s features were mostly hidden in the darkness, but his horned head and purple eyes rested beside a mounted torch clinging to one of the ruined pillars.
“What did you see, Alijah?” the wizard asked again.
Those purple eyes pulled him in, inviting the rogue to fall into the dragon’s mind again.
Dissatisfied, The Crow stepped forward in a heartbeat and snatched Alijah’s hair, driving his head back into the wall where he was chained. “What-did-you-see?” His breath was hot in the rogue’s ear.
Alijah made to answer but his chin was quivering from the cold so much that his words were indistinguishable mutterings.
The Crow pulled his head forward and locked eyes with the half-elf. “You’re going to let a little cold hold you back?” The wizard shook his head in disappointment. “You must be stronger than this.” Alijah missed The Crow withdrawing his wand and pressing it to his semi-bare chest, but there it was. “Through pain, we will discover the depths of your strength, together.”
The agony of a thousand blades ripped through Alijah’s chest. So painful was it that his resounding scream quickly died away, his voice paralysed. His chained limbs rattled against the stone and his every muscle tensed as if struck by lightning.
With his head hanging low into his chest, Alijah strained his eyes to look up through his matted wet hair. The Crow had stepped back, revealing Malliath once more. The dragon appeared to have no feelings one way or the other about his mistreatment.
“He doesn’t feel what you feel,” The Crow explained. “I’m afraid that connection only goes one way. His pain is yours, not the other way around.”
Alijah let his eyes fall back to the floor, where his bare feet paddled in freezing water. He knew his eyes were red as fresh tears mixed with the water on his face. Then The Crow’s feet came into view.
“Now, what did you see?” he enquired for a fourth time. “You have been locked in here with Malliath for days. That kind of proximity must be wonderful for your bond.”
Alijah closed his eyes, wishing it all to go away, but The Crow brandished his wand again.
“Come now, dig deep. Find that first ounce of strength. That’s all we need, just an ounce we can light a flame under.”
Alijah didn’t want to give him anything, but he didn’t even have the strength to imagine how he would kill the wretch.
The Crow sighed. “More pain is needed I see… Very well.” That slender black wand came under the rogue’s chin.
“I saw…” Alijah croaked and coughed before finally managing to lift his head. “I saw through his eyes.”
“Good,” The Crow purred. “But I did promise pain, and you must come to understand that everything I promise to do… I will do. Without that absolute surety, how can you ever come to trust my word?”
Alijah didn’t even have time to protest, let alone shift in his chains before the wand pressed hard into his skin. He felt barbed wire rush through his veins, just beneath the surface of his skin. It was like fire. A feral roar escaped his lips and saliva drooled from his open mouth. When the pain subsided, he was left hanging by his chains, his arms stretched out above him.
“What did you see?” The Crow insisted.
Alijah tilted his head to lay a single eye on the bald and scarred wizard. He poured all of his hatred and loathing into that look.
“Yes,” The Crow hissed. “Use your anger if you must, but find that strength, Alijah. Anger can be a great source of motivation. Thoughts of retribution gave me purpose for years in The Citadel. You must harness that hate and rage but never allow it to control you.”
Alijah didn’t know where the energy came from, but he found himself lunging at The Crow and baring his teeth with a growl in his throat.
Without flinching and only an inch from his nose, the wizard said, “A disciplined mind above all, Alijah. Let your emotions give you purpose, but never let them guide your actions.” The Crow turned away and walked closer to Malliath before facing the rogue again. “Ten thousand years ago, I lived under King Atilan. I lived under a lot of people actually, but the kingdom upon which I stood belonged to him. Everything was his. From Erador to Ayda and all between bowed to him, a mad king. He was slave to his emotions just as so many after him have been. It made him cruel and wicked. The kings and queens who have ruled over the realm have ever been greedy and selfish. You will be so much more than all of them…”
Alijah spat on the floor and craned his neck to place both eyes on The Crow. “I will never—”
The rogue’s defying words were cut short in his mouth as The Crow whipped his wand through the air and struck Alijah from afar. He was hit with more magic and he found his body forced flat against the wall behind him. The Crow took a single step and blocked his view of Malliath’s head. He had the eyes of a dead man, pale and lifeless with no depth.
“Hear my words,” The Crow implored. “Let them be your only companion in these hard times.” The wizard came close again and his hand cupped Alijah’s jaw, his pointed fingers pressing against his skin.
“Men may die, kingdoms may rise and fall, but an idea lives on. Consider that today’s lesson. But, while you dwell on it, know that until you, there have only been mortals to wear the crown, to rule their fragile realms. You will be more than a man, more than an elf. You will be an idea, a symbol. Cross you and suffer the consequences. A hard line, yes, but peace is worth it.”
Alijah took it all in; he had no choice. He stood there, pinned to the cold stone with nothing but his despair and The Crow’s words for company. Malliath was nothing but a silent observer, a watcher in the dark awaiting his master’s command.
The Crow made to leave his cathedral-like cell when Alijah called after him. “Why?” he asked, requiring another breath to finish his question. “Why is he here?”
The Crow looked from Alijah to Malliath. “Without him your bond—”
“No,” Alijah interrupted, turning his head to the shadows beside the dragon. “Why is he here?”
>
From the inky depths of the darkness, Asher walked into the light of the torch. The Dragon Knight, as he had been so named, wore his usual dark leather and flowing black cloak. His greying hair was scraped back from his face and a jaw of stubble sat squarely clamped. He was a puppet, nothing more.
The Crow smiled at Alijah. “Your senses are still sharp, I see. Asher serves many purposes, just as he has done his entire life. His skill with a blade and resistance to death aside, there are those who would hesitate to kill him. Such are the restraints of living by one’s emotions.”
Alijah looked over the old ranger with disappointment. “He’s just a weapon then, another meat puppet for The Black Hand…”
The Crow twisted his mouth. “You’re very good,” he mused. “Even now, after all that’s been done to you, there’s still enough strength in you to try and tease answers out of me.”
Alijah said nothing, his line of questioning exposed. His way with words was the greatest weapon in his arsenal, surpassing his talents with a bow even, but The Crow saw through everything.
“Asher has his role to play,” The Crow replied cryptically. “He has the answer inside his mind…”
Alijah’s brow furrowed into a question. “The answer to what?”
The Crow smiled. “The question is of no interest to you,” he said, adding further mystery to his statement.
The rogue cast his eyes over the old ranger once more, his curiosity rising, as it ever did.
“Now,” The Crow announced. “You have received your first lesson and it is an important one. It will be your foundation. You must remember it, believe it. When next I return, I want you to repeat it back to me.”
Alijah remained defiantly silent, offering the wizard no promises.
The Crow tilted his head. “Nothing sticks in the mind like pain.” He stroked one of the scars that ran over his scalp. “We cling to it, do we not?” The wizard faced one of his Reavers. “Make him suffer until he passes out. Then wake him up and do it again.”
Kingdom of Bones Page 5