Kingdom of Bones

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  The arguments continued, but Yelifer said nothing. The queen appeared content to sit on her throne and stare absently at the far wall. Arlon seemed to be making a point of standing proud with a sword on his hip and blood staining his skin. He wanted to be seen.

  Inara stepped into the centre of the hall, her red cloak swept behind her Vi’tari blade. “The city is safe,” she declared, silencing the arguments. “The surrounding land is clear of orcs.”

  “How can you know this?” came a question from one of the high-borns.

  Inara turned in their general direction. “My dragon, Athis, is flying over Namdhor as we speak. His sight can pierce the gloom.”

  “You see?” shouted another. “We have nothing to fear! Let our men give those dwarves what they’ve got coming!”

  Inara whipped her head around. “No,” she said firmly. “Recalling the army is the only thing that will see Namdhor offer any kind of real resistance. Tonight wasn’t an invasion. It wasn’t the beginning of a siege. Tonight was an assassination. They sent a few to eliminate those in command. They seek to create chaos among us before they arrive in full force.” The Dragorn offered the people of Lirian and Grey Stone a sympathetic look. “I would say they gained a victory tonight.”

  One of the higher-ranking captains gestured to the dead orcs. “How did they even get into the city, let alone the keep?”

  Inara crouched by the nearest body and pulled back its ragged hood. “They have cut off and filed down their horns,” she explained. “With the influx of people into the city, it wouldn’t be that hard to slip through if you can conceal yourself,” she added, lifting their dark cloaks. “We already know they’re great climbers. And they can move through the dark as well as we can in the light.”

  Arlon Draqaro wandered down the short steps to the main floor. “You make our enemy sound strong, Master Galfrey. I would not have my people, that is, Queen Yelifer’s people, fall prey to their fears. We must also note that these beasts can be put down with a good piece of steel!” The resounding cheer came mostly from The Ironsworn.

  “Having heard how Grey Stone and Tregaran fell,” Arlon continued, his performance as theatrical as any stage actor, “Velia too, most likely, I would say these orcs will struggle to lay siege to Namdhor. They will be forced to attack from the surface, in the snows. We are people of the north! This is our land! This is where we have been fighting for generations!”

  Inara wanted to argue his every point, but it was clear to see that Arlon had the ear of everyone present. He had the authority behind him and the fear of his thugs, their shadows ever present.

  “Every tier of this city has defences,” he stated proudly. “I would be surprised if they could even make it past the first.”

  “The orcs will make it past anything if it isn’t manned,” Galanör chipped in, his voice taking Arlon by surprise. “The facts are simple; tonight was not only a test of your defences but, as Master Galfrey said, it was also an attempt at removing leadership. This type of tactic precedes invasion. When the orcs get here, you will soon discover there aren’t enough men to defend Namdhor.”

  “Ah, a word from our immortal cousins,” Arlon announced, sweeping his hand out. “So wise and fierce…” He came to stand right in front of the ranger. “Perhaps, instead of advising us on how to defend our own home, you should have word sent across The Adean. Your ancient enemy lays waste to our land and yet the elves sit idly by. Even those of Ilythyra have failed to lift a sword in Illian’s defence.”

  Galanör maintained his perfect composure. “Lady Ellöria of Ilythyra harbours refugees from The Arid Lands. They are well protected in her borders.”

  “Good for them,” Arlon spat back. “The enemy has moved north since their attack on The Arid Lands. In fact, they have successfully killed the rulers of every kingdom except for this one. In the absence of aid from the elves, we, the people of the north, will stand up to these foul beasts!” More cheers came from the dregs of the chamber.

  Inara met Vighon’s eyes. Of them all, the northman possessed the most fire in his veins when it came to opposing his father, but their defeat was easy to see on his face. They had lost too many lives to the assassins and now they had lost the battle of words to Arlon. With Yelifer barely present, the lord of Namdhor had the final say, and the army was no closer to returning.

  Inara stepped into the main courtyard, escaping the mad scramble that beset The Dragon Keep. She had lost sight of Vighon on the way, though she had a feeling his disappearance was deliberate…

  You did nothing wrong, Athis said in her mind. The sooner he comes to understand the sooner he can begin to move on.

  Inara agreed with the logic, but there was an element of his emotional state the Dragorn knew she would always care too deeply for.

  I know there are larger things of concern, she replied. It just feels like I’ve kicked him while he’s down.

  I’m certain Vighon Draqaro has been kicked while he’s down before. He has learned to pick himself back up.

  There was no disagreeing with that. Everything Vighon did was proof that he had already overcome some of the hardest things one could be subjected to.

  Galanör lightly nudged Inara’s arm, turning her attention to the rampart over the keep’s main gate. Vighon stood, looking out over Namdhor as a sentinel.

  “Something troubles him,” the elf commented.

  Inara’s mood was sour. “You mean besides the death of two good kings and their entire families. Or perhaps it’s the impending invasion from a superior force. I suppose it could be the fact that he’s back in Namdhor, a place that tried its damnedest to turn him into a monster. Then there’s his father…”

  The Dragorn paused, catching herself and her tone. “I apologise, Galanör. I forget myself. You are far older than me and have accomplished much for the sake of the realm. You should have my respect, not my attitude.”

  The ranger shrugged. “These dark times weigh on us all, a Dragorn more than most.”

  “That is no excuse on my part,” Inara countered. “You are right. Besides the end of the world, there is something else that troubles Vighon.”

  “Ah, I see…” Galanör turned back to look at the northman. “You have had to reject his advances.”

  “Were his feelings so easy to see?”

  “Vighon is a very guarded individual,” Galanör replied. “A state of being that made it all the easier to see when you were around.”

  Inara sighed. “I tried to explain about what it is to be a Dragorn…”

  Galanör held up his hand. “I am aware of the bond between a rider and their dragon. Gideon explained it to me years ago. It may take a while, however, for Vighon to fully grasp what that means.”

  Inara wasn’t so convinced. “I’m not sure time to think is going to be a good thing for him, not here anyway. He needs a distraction.”

  The elf rested his hands on his belt. “When the orcs arrive there will be no end of distractions.”

  “That could be days, weeks even. There is something I wish to discover and, as much as I hate it, Vighon is probably the only one who can get to the bottom of it…”

  Joining him on the rampart, Inara and Galanör observed his silence and set their gaze over the city. Vighon was tense, his stubbled jaw set.

  “You realise what’s just happened, don’t you?” the northman asked. “The last kings who had any claim to land or crown were slain in their beds. Velia is gone. The Arid Lands are gone. When Queen Yelifer dies, Arlon will assume the throne. A throne that now presides over all of Illian…”

  That revelation had yet to dawn on Inara. She looked back at The Dragon Keep with new eyes and no end of concern. She also felt embarrassed now for telling Galanör the northman’s troubles came from her rejection.

  “We can’t let that happen,” she said.

  “It’s already happening,” Vighon corrected, his eyes still on the snowy horizon.

  “One problem at a time,” Galanör advised. “The
orcs are coming and those in charge are not taking the threat seriously. We need that army.”

  Inara took her cue. “They’re too concerned with the dwarves. More specifically, they’re too concerned with this mine they’re arguing over.” The half-elf watched Vighon closely, though he didn’t appear to be taking the bait. “Vighon, I need you to do something for me,” she finally stated.

  The northman leaned into the wall of the rampart. “You need me to find out why everyone is so obsessed with a mine they haven’t even seen inside.”

  Inara was taken aback by his response. “Yes… that’s exactly what I need you to do.”

  “It’s piqued my interest too,” he replied. “Arlon is a lot of things, but he isn’t a fool. The orcs have proven themselves conquerors time and time again. He wouldn’t have let Yelifer send the bulk of their army to secure the mine if it didn’t hold significant value, something more than treasure.”

  Galanör cupped the smooth skin of his jaw. “If they know what’s inside without actually breaching the mine, they must have come by the information some other way.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Vighon agreed. “That’s why I won’t be joining you for the funerals tonight.”

  “They’re building a pyre for the kings and their families,” Inara pointed out. “It will be quite the ceremony. Your absence might be noticed by Arlon.”

  “It doesn’t matter what’s going on up here.” Vighon flicked his head at the city below them. “Life still goes on down there.”

  Galanör frowned. “You think the answer to this can be found outside of The Dragon Keep?”

  Inara nodded along. “Galanör’s right; the only ones who will know anything are up here.”

  Vighon smirked. “Do you know what Arlon likes to do more than anything? Brag about himself. Why do you think he told me about Yelifer? He just wanted to gloat. If he’s come by information that’s told him there’s something valuable in that mine, and that it’ll make him rich or powerful in some way, you can bet he’s told someone.”

  “If you’re planning on asking every person in the city,” Inara warned, “it could take you more than just one night.”

  Vighon straightened up. “I don’t need to ask everyone, I just need to visit the hole in the wall.”

  Galanör tilted his head. “A hole in what wall?”

  “At the base of the city, before you hit the lower town, there’s an abandoned house. It used to belong to some wealthy family a hundred years ago or so. It’s decrepit to say the least. The western wall has a hole in it which leads down to the basement, a big one. The Ironsworn turned it into a fighting pit about twenty years ago.”

  Galanör held his tongue until a pair of Gold Cloaks walked past them. “You believe Arlon will have imparted this information to someone in these fighting pits?”

  “Not just someone,” Vighon confirmed. “If he’s bragged about it to anyone, it will be to Godrick Cross. He’s always been Arlon’s right-hand man, the closest thing he has to a friend. I imagine he’s been running the day to day business for The Ironsworn while Arlon focuses on the throne.”

  “You’re sure he can be found in the fighting pits?” Inara asked.

  “Oh, aye. He loves to get his knuckles bloody, does Godrick. The last time I was here, he was practically running the gang out of the pits.”

  Inara could see that Vighon was struggling with the memories fighting for his attention. The weight of her duty was suddenly added to by her guilt. Not only had she brought Vighon back to Namdhor, but now she was asking him to descend into its darkest depths.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she blurted. “With a name and a place, Galanör or myself can look into it.”

  Vighon paused before turning to look at Inara for the first time. “For a long time, I’ve just gone with the flow. Accompanied Alijah and backed him up where I was needed. I’m listening now. I’m in this because I choose to be.” The northman looked down at the city. “The Ironsworn is its own world. I know how it works and I know what faces to look out for. Leave this to me.”

  With that, the northman departed the rampart. Inara wanted to chase after him and continue their conversation, even it felt ridiculous after everything that had just happened. Instead, she let him go and focused on the dangerous errand she had set him on.

  “Your speech in the main hall has marked you, Galanör. It needed to be said, but Arlon knows your face all too well now. Neither of us can slip away from the ceremony to help him.”

  “I agree,” the elf replied. “We have too few allies, it would seem…”

  Inara could see that Galanör’s gaze pierced more than what lay before them. “You’re thinking of Hadavad?”

  Galanör nodded, his sight fixed on the horizon. “He left us to find answers. I was hoping he would have found them by now; we could use his help.”

  “Did he say where he was going?” the Dragorn asked.

  “No. He rarely did. He has worked alone for most of his life. He was always accustomed to keeping things to himself.”

  Inara did her best to sound hopeful. “I’m sure wherever the mage is, he’s uncovering something that will aid us.”

  The elven ranger heard her words but his stoic expression kept his true feelings to himself. Inara cast her own eyes over the horizon, wishing she could see through the black haze and look upon the night’s sky in all its splendour.

  More than anything, she wished to see Gideon on that horizon, returning with Alijah by his side and answers of their own.

  They had all been in the dark for too long…

  12

  A Bad Reflection

  Nestled in the cliffs of The Lifeless Isles, the ancient library of the Dragorn had offered countless masters a reprieve from the constant hum of the world. It was a place of peace and tranquillity, where one could meditate and learn from its many tomes.

  Standing in that silence now, Gideon Thorn was trapped with his own thoughts. The Master Dragorn stared blankly at the prophecies laid out on the table, along with the ingredients from the spell he had enacted.

  It had been here that they saw into the past, witnessing the original inscription of the prophecies. It had been here that the past looked forward at them…

  Gideon roared and swiped his hands across the table, knocking the scrolls and ingredients over the floor.

  He should have left Alijah here…

  He should have done a lot of things, he reasoned. Thirty years of living in a time of peace had made him complacent, arrogant even. He had made the mistake of truly believing the Dragorn were invincible. Being immortal, however, did not mean they were free from harm.

  The numbers kept racing around his mind, each one a death. When Ayana had come to him with the final count of the dead, he should have roused the order and delivered a speech worthy of his title. Instead, he had come here, where no one could see the weight of it all crushing him.

  In thirty years, the number of Dragorn had swelled for the first time in over a millennium. In a single night, Malliath had decimated their ranks, leaving their order dwindling once again.

  There has never been a more powerful dragon, Ilargo said reluctantly. Only Garganafan rivalled his strength, but none have ever matched his rage.

  Gideon dropped his head in despair. Garganafan, the long dead king of the dragons, had perished at the end of The Dark War. There was still a handful of dragons who had lived during those times, Ilargo’s mother among them, but none could match Malliath the voiceless.

  I keep telling myself that all we need to do is break the spell that binds him. Gideon slumped down the wall and sat on the floor. But all I want to do is kill him…

  The Master Dragorn was looking at the spear of Aerilaya as he confessed of the hatred that lived within him. Aerilaya had ruled the Dragorn over a thousand years ago, leading them against Valanis during The Dark War. The weapon was longer than any ordinary spear, designed to be wielded while astride a dragon. Gideon pictured himself plunging that spea
r into Malliath’s heart.

  There is still hope for him, Ilargo appealed. The Crow controls him - we must remember that.

  Does The Crow control him? Gideon mused. Or did he simply unleash him? We both know that Malliath has it in him; a darkness that could swallow the world.

  The Dragorn save lives before they take them, Ilargo said wisely. Malliath’s life is tied to others now. The spell that binds him to The Crow also binds him to Asher. Should he too be slain for the lives he has taken?

  Asher is… Gideon couldn’t bring himself to argue with the dragon, especially when he knew he was right. Asher is just another victim in all of this, he conceded.

  The Master Dragorn held his head in his hands and slowly rubbed them over his face and beard. He was losing control. Even his thoughts had become skewed under the pressure.

  “Gideon?” Ayana was standing by the railing on the floor above.

  Gideon didn’t want anyone to see him like this, but he couldn’t find the energy to stand up and greet her. The elf made her way down to the bottom tier and examined the mess on the floor. Very carefully, she picked up the ancient prophecies and placed them back on the table.

  “I didn’t think this could happen,” Gideon said, his head resting against the wall. “I thought we were untouchable.”

  Ayana crouched down in front of him. “I am sure all Master Dragorn have thought the same. Elandril underestimated the orcs of his time. Valtyr didn’t think the Darkakin could bring down a dragon. Aerilaya didn’t believe anyone could wield the power Valanis did. We can all be blindsided. Picking ourselves up is what really matters.”

  Gideon couldn’t hold onto the tears that broke free of his glassy eyes. “Can I do this?” he whispered. “Can I really lead the Dragorn? I was barely a man when I decided to bring the order back. I thought it would be an adventure,” he added mockingly. “How many have died because of me?”

  “How many live because of you?” Ayana countered. “Do not lose heart now,” she pleaded. “A leader doesn’t show his quality in a time of peace. It’s what you do now that will define you.”