Kingdom of Bones

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Faylen’s face battled with several emotions at once. “Orcs?” she echoed incredulously.

  “They have already destroyed The Arid Lands and taken Grey Stone and Velia. Their army is larger than anything I’ve ever seen, even dwarfing the Darkakin.”

  Faylen looked away, grave concern etched across her fair features. “What of Reyna and Nathaniel? The children?”

  Gideon understood her immediate fears; the Galfreys had a habit of getting stuck in the middle of things. “Reyna and Nathaniel aren’t even in Illian. They left before the invasion to see to a dispute in Vengora.” Seeing the plethora of questions that was about to pour out of Faylen, the Master Dragorn waved the subject away. “It’s complicated. They’re safe the last I heard.”

  “What of Inara and Alijah?”

  “Inara was last seen in Grey Stone, before it fell. We’ve had no contact since but she’s with Athis. Chances are high that she’s gone to Namdhor.” Gideon swallowed when he thought about her brother, a far more complicated matter. “Alijah was in Velia when it was attacked. He’s still missing…”

  Faylen put a hand to her mouth as panic threatened to creep in.

  “On top of it all,” he continued, “the Dragorn are suffering massive losses.”

  “The orcs?” Faylen questioned.

  “Worse. Malliath the voiceless has allied with them. He’s already burned Lirian to the ground.”

  The High Guardian searched Gideon’s features for any sign of madness. “Malliath? I thought he was—”

  “He has returned,” Gideon cut in. “There’s more, so much more. I wanted to keep you out of it all; I know violence is a path your people are trying to walk away from.”

  “You need our army,” Faylen stated.

  “Desperately, Faylen. There’s barely anything left of the armies here. Only Namdhor still stands.”

  “We have no army to speak of anymore,” the elf replied regretfully. “Since The War for the Realm, our people have scattered throughout northern Ayda. It would take considerable time to regroup those who would be willing to fight.”

  “We don’t have time,” Gideon pushed.

  Faylen held up her hand. “Wait. If the orcs have returned, you can be assured that my people will respond; I will lead them myself if I have to. But, you have to start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”

  Gideon thought of everything that had transpired to bring about Illian’s ruin. There was a lot to explain, chief among it all the role of The Black Hand. For Faylen, however, the news of Asher’s resurrection would be a blow to her emotions. It was no secret how close they had become before his death in the caves of Kaliban.

  “I will tell you all that I can,” he said. “But, we both know that Adilandra alone has the authority to summon her warriors. I must speak with her.”

  “I will send for her at once,” Faylen promised.

  Gideon sighed. “You know enough to understand my urgency. There are no greater fighters in all the realm than your kin. Contact me when the queen has returned and I will tell you everything…”

  The prospect of receiving no aid from the elves weighed heavily on Gideon. After leaving the conversation with the High Guardian, he felt hopeless and unsure of his next move.

  Rolan Baird’s words crept into his mind and gave life to those seeds of doubt that had been sown. Was he fit to rule the Dragorn? Could he truly provide the protection he had promised the realm?

  He had fought the battles he could in The War for the Realm, but they were never on this scale. The choices he had taken all those years ago had done nothing to prepare him for real war.

  The Master Dragorn questioned himself over and over again until Ilargo insisted that he rest. Seeking sleep in his bed, however, only saw him toss and turn for hours. Eventually, Gideon gave up on the idea and decided to return to the library. The prophecy, found by Alijah, still required his attention.

  In his tired state, The Crow’s words continued to plague his mind, stealing his focus.

  “I only hope you can find the answer therein… before it is too late.”

  The Master Dragorn had gone over the translated text again and again, searching for some hidden meaning. That’s if there even were answers to be found. The Crow was nothing if not manipulative.

  Gideon read a line from the prophecy’s translation. “Only magic wrought of unity can break the chains…” He muttered it over and over again, the only line that jumped out at him as a potential riddle to be solved.

  His head swimming and his worries weighing him down, it was inevitable that Gideon would rest his head and fall asleep at the table.

  When next he awoke, it was to the urgent call of his name and the alarm on Corrigan’s face.

  “Master Thorn!” The young man ran down the stairs to the library’s lowest floor.

  “Corrigan?” Gideon jumped to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Master Baird,” Corrigan panted. “He’s not in The Lifeless Isles. Six others are also unaccounted for…”

  Gideon looked away, the conclusion obvious to him. Ilargo, can you sense Deartanyon?

  No, the dragon replied. Deartanyon and Ayana left hours ago. They are too far to reach now.

  Gideon would have preferred her counsel on the matter, but nothing would change what had to happen next. “Rouse Arathor and Haliel; the four of us are flying north immediately. Inform Mara that she’s in charge while we’re gone.”

  Corrigan bowed his head and sprinted away to carry out Gideon’s commands.

  The Master Dragorn glanced at the prophecy that haunted him. It would have to wait, he reasoned. Noting the broken mirror in the corner of the library, Gideon rolled the ancient parchment up and locked it away inside one of the cabinets.

  Racing to meet Ilargo, Gideon leaped from the mouth of the cave and dived down towards the ocean below. As they had done many times, the dragon swept underneath him at the last moment and the two began their journey into the sky, above The Lifeless Isles.

  Arathor and Haliel rose up beside him astride their dragons, Thraden and Vaerix. Corrigan brought up the rear of their formation astride Menevel. They weren’t the order’s most powerful dragons, but they were fast enough to keep up with Ilargo.

  Together, they flew north, over The Adean. They passed Korkanath, its ruins still smoking in places. Gideon had already sent Dragorn to the school of magic to search for any survivors.

  They soared below the ash clouds for most of the day before banking to the west and making for land. The Shining Coast of Illian was without its splendour, the high white walls dulled beneath a dark sky.

  Crossing over the snowy fields, it was easy to spot The Selk Road, the muddy path trampled by thousands of orcs. Dark patches throughout the land were evidence of their numerous camps.

  Gideon submerged into his bond with Ilargo. So massive is their army that they scar the very land…

  From memories past, the orcs’ numbers were twice what they are now during The Great War.

  Gideon couldn’t envision such an army. No wonder it required an alliance between the dwarves and elves to defeat them.

  And the Dragorn, Ilargo added. The entire world had to rise up together to push them back.

  After talking to Ayana, I fear we cannot rely on any alliances. The elves have returned to their old ways and the dwarves… well, who can predict their kind? We’re just as likely to end up fighting them as well as the orcs.

  One problem at a time, Gideon…

  The Master Dragorn knew his companion was right, but he also knew his thoughts were helping to distract him. In truth, he was terrified of what they were going to find when they reached the eastern edge of The Vrost Mountains.

  He was angry with Rolan for not only disobeying him, but for endangering the lives of others. It was also proof that there were those in the order who had begun to doubt Gideon’s leadership.

  We walk a fine line, Ilargo said deep in the Dragorn’s mind. We wield a power beyond any king
or kingdom. It would be easy for us to take the realm by force and assert our dominance. Through fear and terror we could make the people live in peace. But that is not the way of the Dragorn. We are peacekeepers, not peace enforcers. The ebb and flow of the realm must be allowed to continue without our influence. We are part of nature, not nature itself…

  Rolan would have us cross that line, Gideon replied. He thinks I’m not bold enough.

  We can only hope that his own rash actions have not cost the lives of our kin.

  Burdened with his responsibility to those Dragorn, Gideon hugged Ilargo’s body as the dragon rose higher to increase their speed. He instructed the others to bank west and approach the edge of the mountains from a high vantage. If the orcs were still camped where The Crow had revealed, they wouldn’t want to arrive within range of their ballistas.

  Ilargo and Thraden landed on the plateau first, forcing Vaerix and Menevel to cling to the mountainside. At this height, the falling ash was as thick as fog, but the dragons could pierce it.

  What do you see?

  Ilargo’s head arched over the lip of the plateau and turned left and right. Thraden, Arathor’s dragon, mirrored Ilargo and scanned the valley below. All four dragons shared a feeling of great sorrow and Gideon’s heart began to break.

  Show me…

  The dragons dived over the edge and glided down to the valley floor. Astride Ilargo, Gideon could see the smoke that rose from the scorched earth. Deep lines had been etched into the snow, trenches filled with the charred bodies of orcs, most of which were covered in crows. The sight of so many dead orcs, however, was not the source of their sorrow.

  “No…” Gideon choked.

  Scattered throughout the fields of orcish bodies, six dragons lay deathly still. The magnificent colours of their scales were half-buried under the snow and ash.

  Ilargo descended towards the nearest and landed with tentative claws. His head dipped towards the dead dragon and he nudged it lightly with his nose.

  Talia… the dragon mourned.

  Gideon looked around, searching the battlefield for any sign of Sigrit, Talia’s rider. His eyes rested on the next dragon, not far from Talia. Both of them bore wounds similar to those killed by Malliath.

  This is not dragon’s breath, Ilargo made known across the bond they were all sharing.

  Arathor jumped down from Thraden’s neck and examined Talia’s wounds up close. “Ilargo is right; the impact is too deep.” The Dragorn pointed to the crater in the side of Talia’s chest.

  Haliel climbed down from Vaerix’s back and inspected the dragon in the distance. This is Danagoh, Vaerix identified, her voice passing through Ilargo’s mind and into Gideon’s. The same could be said of his wounds; too deep.

  “No sign of Benji!” Haliel shouted over, her eyes scouring the dead around Danagoh.

  “I’ve found Sigrit!” Corrigan called from a small rise to the south.

  “Bring her to be with Talia!” Gideon ordered.

  Corrigan carried Sigrit in his arms, laying her to rest in the crook of Talia’s front leg. The Dragorn shared the same gaping wound in her side, exposing her ribs.

  Gideon wanted to be sick.

  He remembered the first time he had met Sigrit, Talia too. Their bond had been a beautiful thing, unique in its own way. They should have had an eternity together…

  The Dragorn spread out, coming across four more of their order. Every one was a dagger in Gideon’s heart. They were a loss that he would carry with him for the rest of his days. The only death the Master Dragorn couldn’t understand was Kovun and his rider, Arin.

  Ilargo sniffed the bodies, as both were close together, and inspected them for any wounds. Their necks have been snapped, the dragon observed.

  Gideon crouched by Arin’s side and cupped the young man’s cheek. His neck was certainly twisted well out of place, but his time in the freezing snow had left him stiff.

  Arathor joined them and looked over Arin’s body. “Perhaps he fell on the battlefield. The orcs got the better of him and broke…” The Dragorn couldn’t finish his words.

  Gideon wasn’t convinced. “Why leave the safety of Kovun’s back when you’re clearly outnumbered? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Ilargo turned his head to regard them. Look at his limbs, Gideon.

  Per his companion’s suggestion, the Master Dragorn cleared some of the snow covering Arin’s body. His limbs were broken and bent out of shape, much like Kovun’s.

  “These injuries are typical of an impact…” Gideon mused, looking to the sky.

  Arathor followed his train of thought. “Are you saying he had his neck snapped in the air?”

  Gideon nodded. “Killing them both. Then they landed here.”

  Ilargo turned back to Kovun’s body. There are no bite marks or claw wounds. This was not done by Malliath.

  Gideon sighed. “This must have been Asher.” His own statement didn’t sit right with him. “But why is there no evidence of Malliath. Talia and the others were clearly brought down by the orcs’ wrath bolts.”

  The Master Dragorn stood up and tried to collect his thoughts. Grief was an ever-present weight in his mind, fogging his perception.

  “Wait,” he said, turning on the spot. “Where’s Rolan and Alensia?”

  Taking back to the skies, the four dragons split up with their riders and searched the area in every direction. The orcs had clearly continued their journey north, judging by the dark trail that cut through the snow.

  Ilargo looped around to the south and checked over the thick wood that lay beyond what had been the orcish camp. Gideon trusted his companion’s eyes to find either Rolan or Alensia, if not both.

  Through the shared bond, Thraden called them all to the east. Ilargo wasted no time and beat the other two dragons to Arathor and his companion. They had landed on the other side of the woods, on the banks of a small pool. The water was frozen, including the waterfall that poured out of the rock face in warmer months.

  The end of Alensia’s burnt orange tail was hidden beneath the pool where her fall had broken the ice. The trees around the edge of the frozen pool looked to have taken a beating when the dragon dropped out of the sky. Gideon could see the claw marks dragging down the cliff where Alensia had tried to lessen their fall.

  Ilargo joined Thraden and the pair used their bulk to push through the trees and clear a way to the pool. Gideon jumped down the second he saw Rolan resting against Alensia’s chest.

  They are still alive, Ilargo said, observing Alensia’s heaving breast.

  The Master Dragorn skidded to a stop and crouched in front of Rolan. The man was broken. A terrible burn that started at the base of his jaw streaked up his cheek and engulfed his left eye. His clothes were singed and ragged, but they were the only thing keeping his right arm together.

  Gideon left the twisted arm as it was and looked the councillor in the eyes. “Rolan? Can you hear me?”

  The Dragorn stirred with Alensia, who was being looked over by the other dragons. The wounded companions required an extra moment to collect themselves and realise who was standing around them.

  “Gideon…” Rolan murmured.

  “Don’t move,” Gideon warned him. “Wait for Haliel. She is the most skilled healer among us.”

  Rolan winced in pain and reached for his face with his good hand. “Everything… hurts,” he groaned.

  Gideon looked up at Alensia. The dragon had been the one to take the bolt of wrath powder to the chest. They were both lucky that Alensia’s underbelly was so hardened, or the explosion would have ripped through to the heart.

  “The others?” Rolan croaked, his concern winning over his pain.

  Gideon’s own pain and sorrow was mixed with righteous anger, anger he wanted to direct at Rolan. “They didn’t survive,” he whispered.

  Rolan lowered his gaze as tears ran down his ruined cheeks. Alensia let out a long sigh of deep sadness and moaned at the sky.

  Gideon tilted his head to meet
the Dragorn’s eyes. “Rolan, what happened here?”

  The councillor’s head fell back into Alensia’s side and he turned his attention to the sky, his mind pained by the memories. “There were… so many, Gideon. They were so… easy to destroy. Orcs burn like everything else. All clumped together…”

  Gideon reached out and touched his arm. “Focus, Rolan. What happened?”

  The wounded Dragorn clamped his mouth shut and another tear ran down his face. “One of them… their king, I think. He was… different. He was strong… and fast.”

  Gideon looked to Ilargo in the hope of any understanding on his part. His companion blinked slowly, a frown by dragons’ standards.

  Ilargo turned to Alensia. Perhaps, if we saw this king for ourselves, we would understand what happened.

  Gideon returned his attention to Rolan, who hesitated before agreeing with Ilargo’s suggestion. Alensia opened her mind, and that of Rolan’s, to the group, allowing them all to see what they had.

  The Master Dragorn relaxed his muscles and stopped himself from fighting the tug of their minds. It felt intrusive to go so deep into another’s bond, something that was reserved for dying dragons to preserve their knowledge.

  The jarring experience only lasted a few seconds before Gideon looked through Rolan’s eyes and Ilargo looked through Alensia’s. They were flying low over fields of orcs, their vast number blanketing the white land in a sea of black.

  Banking around to face the bulk of the army again, Gideon caught sight of the other Dragorn. Seeing them alive only bolstered Gideon’s grief.

  The majority of the orcs were running away, scattering to the north where their main camp was situated. Coming the opposite way, however, were foul creatures on six legs, a pair to every ballista they pulled behind them.

  “Burn them all!” Rolan shouted over the wind.

  Alensia unleashed her awesome breath and scorched two dozen orcs in a single run. Arrows and spears of obsidian and steel arced through the air, bouncing harmlessly off the dragon’s natural armour.