Then a black bolt whistled past her head without warning. Athis banked sharply to the left and avoided two more bolts that Inara could only assume were stray. There were no eyes capable of seeing through the mist.
The dragon turned again, his wings’ bony protrusions scraping against the snow he flew so low. One mighty flap of his wings lifted them and the wall of mist fell away, revealing a valley of orcs.
There was nothing that could hold back the sound of their roar, not when they numbered so many. They spotted Athis easily, his enormous red bulk impossible to miss emerging from the mist.
Presented with a wall of the wicked beasts, Athis had nowhere to go but up. If he turned back into the mist, they would be hounded by volleys of explosive bolts.
I have to get over them! the dragon informed her.
Inara held on, bracing her entire body as Athis shot into the sky. It was only a second before the first salvo came their way, the deadly bolts accompanied by a cloud of arrows. It was no use, for the bolts had better acceleration and Athis had emerged from the mist too low to begin with.
The dragon was forced to dip as the bolts arced through the sky from various angles. Inara heard dozens of arrows rebounding off his slate chest, but she felt the sting of others that found his wings and the edges of his scales.
Athis was now corkscrewing in almost every direction but up. His efforts to keep them both alive were becoming taxing, as the dragon tried to use manoeuvres that wouldn’t see Inara fall from his back.
I can’t get any higher! he warned. I can’t evade while climbing.
Everything was a blur to Inara’s eyes. The black sky was replaced by a flash of snow-capped mountains before an ocean of orcs rushed over her head. All the while, deadly bolts tore through the air. One bounced off Athis’s horns and cut Inara’s cheek on its way past. Feeling the sting himself, the dragon growled and turned his wrath on the orcs.
Give them something else to think about! Inara envisioned fire. Lots of fire.
Athis dived down and spat fireball after fireball into the dense hordes below. Orc bodies flew into the air and black scorch marks scarred the white ground. The dragon levelled out for a second, but that was all he needed to line up another fireball with a group of mobile ballistas.
Whatever it was that made their bolts so explosive, it reacted violently with dragon fire. The ballistas were launched into the air, along with those manning them and the six-legged monsters pulling them.
Athis shot through the smoke and made for the cloudy mist that bridged the valley between the mountains and the trees. It wasn’t the perfect escape, but it would have to do.
Stay low! The Dragorn suggested, hoping that the orcs would think to aim high inside the mist.
What happened next was too chaotic and painful for Inara to make sense of. She heard what sounded like a ballista bolt careering off one of Athis’s claws, but it sounded only a second before an explosion jolted the dragon from underneath. Snow and rock were flung into the air and Athis took the brunt of it across his hardened chest.
As the red dragon vanished behind the misty wall, Inara landed in the snow. It was a hard landing. The half-elf rolled, flipped, and tumbled for some time before finally coming to a stop on her back.
Thanks to the constant groan that escaped her lips and the thumping in her head, Inara barely registered Athis crying out her name. The Dragorn slowly rolled over in the snow and looked up.
The sight of a few thousand orcs descending on her was enough to rouse her senses.
Inara! Athis yelled across their bond.
She could feel the dragon circling inside the mist and heading back towards her. Seeing the ballistas breaking through the wall of distant orcs, Inara feared Athis was moments away from flying into an explosive bolt.
“No!” she shouted out loud. “Wait! I’m entering the mist!”
Scrambling to her feet, the Dragorn stumbled and limped through the snow. Her red cloak gave the orcs an easy target, however, and the arrows soon followed her in. One cut across her arm and another her thigh. Every wound elicited a roar from Athis, who was somewhere inside the white veil.
It wasn’t long before the mist concealed her and the arrows darted through the air in wild directions. More than one ballista bolt landed in the ground and sent shockwaves of heat over Inara’s freezing skin.
Can you find me? she asked blindly.
I’m almost over you, Athis replied.
No! Stay back, Athis. They’re firing everywhere and you’re not easy to miss. Let me cover more ground first.
You’re injured, Athis pointed out. The orcs will pursue inside the mist and hunt you down if we give them time.
Inara planned on ignoring the dragon’s wise words and continuing her hobble through the snow when a pair of hands reached out of the mist and dragged her to the ground. Arrows whistled overhead where she had just been standing and disappeared in the distance.
“Alastir!” she hissed with relief.
Alastir lay next to her in the snow, haggard and exhausted. His eyes darted from side to side, checking the mist for orc shadows. A bloodied finger rose to his lip and he beckoned her to follow him.
Inara’s ankle felt larger than normal and it throbbed in her boot. Still, she was quicker to rise than Alastir, who fell back to his knees twice before she hooked an arm under his to support him.
“This way,” he motioned.
Inara had no idea where they were going; the mist and the fall were enough to disorientate her. The crunching snow under their feet was soon drowned out by the approaching orcs. Their numbers were vast and the width of their march was almost that of the mist itself. The sound of snarling monsters broke through it all, their rapid feet towing the ballistas.
The Dragorn eventually found themselves at the edge of the mist, only they were not presented with an army of orcs, but the mountainous walls of Vengora. The snow turned to dark gravel and loose pebbles trickled down the rising slope.
Inara looked to her left as her bearings returned. They had found each other in the mist and Alastir had directed them west, towards the mountains. But, the orcs were pushing through the mist, combing every inch of ground in search of their prey.
“Get behind the rock!” Alastir dropped behind a protruding boulder and pulled Inara down with him.
Not fifty-feet away, three orcs had separated from the bulk of the army to scout the edges of the mist. Inara dared to peek over the top of the rock and get a measure of what hunted them. All three were covered in black obsidian armour, a stark difference to their white skin. One had a bow and the other two wielded swords.
Her hand slowly gripped the hilt on her belt.
Alastir’s hand clamped down over hers, keeping the Vi’tari blade in its scabbard. He shook his head of shoulder-length blond hair, most of which was matted with blood. A crooked finger bade her follow him as he cautiously crawled away from the scouting orcs.
Keeping low and weaving between the larger boulders, the pair finally made it to the sheer wall at the base of the mountain. The mist was thin here, too thin to hide their forms if they stood up. Alastir, however, had no intention of standing up.
Inara frowned in confusion when the councillor stuck his fingers into the base of the rock wall. “What are you…” Her question trailed off as the lifting rock curved, producing a hole large enough for them to crawl through.
Inara craned her neck and looked at the rock wall, seeing the truth of it now. Narrowing her eyes to focus through the mist, she made out the arching bones in Valkor’s brown wing. She reached out and ran a finger over the membrane that looked exactly like the rock that surrounded it.
“Quickly,” Alastir urged from behind.
Inara crawled under Valkor’s wing and discovered they were all inside a cave. They had to navigate around the dragon’s hulking body, as Valkor lay in the entrance, using his wing to conceal them. The smell of blood hit Inara like a wall.
Ducking under Valkor’s neck, to reach
the interior of the cave, his injuries became apparent on the other side. Inara put a hand to her mouth and looked from Valkor to Alastir.
Both of them had four significant chunks missing from the left side of their ribs. Alastir slumped against the cave wall and slid down. He pulled his leather jacket over the wound and pressed hard to keep pressure on.
Aware of everything she saw, Athis spoke into her mind alone. The orcs could follow the blood trail. I will divert them east.
Be careful, Inara pleaded. Stay high, fireballs only.
Alastir flicked his eyes towards the cave entrance. “It’s a good spell, isn’t it?”
“The mist?” Inara clarified.
“Ayana taught me,” he explained. “Not even Gideon can use magic like Master Glanduil…”
Inara was very impressed. “You produced a spell that big while injured like this?”
Valkor huffed and Alastir smiled through his pain. “Piece of cake for us masters,” he jested, his breathing heavy. “That’s the thing about nature spells; you only have to spark it, then nature takes over. No extra willpower is required to maintain it.”
Inara crouched in front of him. “Hush now, Master. Your injuries are serious, for both of you. You need to rest.”
Alastir licked his bottom lip. “Those damn ballistas,” he cursed. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”
Inara lifted his hand away and pulled back his jacket to better see his wounds. “I’m not the best healer in the order, but my mother has been known to work miracles with her magic.”
Alastir examined the bloody wounds himself. “Reyna Galfrey,” he said wistfully, as so many did when they thought about her mother. “She didn’t happen to give you an ounce of that magic, did she?”
Inara took a breath and rubbed her palms together. “Just a touch…” she answered.
Alastir flinched as Inara’s hand rested over one of his wounds. Valkor experienced the same pain but managed to remain still, keeping the illusion that his wing was a solid wall.
A faint light emanated from between Inara’s fingers. It flared sporadically depending on her will, which was only affected by the strain of using such magic. Next to opening a portal, healing magic was considered the most strenuous. Inara believed it, feeling the sweat spreading across her brow.
Alastir bit down on the hilt of a dagger he had removed from his belt. The process shouldn’t have hurt him, but the new tissue and muscle that grew from the old was pulling on the other wounds. When the gash filled up, Inara sat back, exhausted. She looked over her shoulder and saw the identical wound on Valkor had healed, though the scales were still missing. They would take time to grow back.
“If I rest for a while, I can try and heal the others.”
Alastir shook his head. “Your fatigue passes over to Athis. He’s still out there. Besides, you need to get ahead of the orcs and warn Namdhor. It appears Grey Stone and The Arid Lands aren’t enough for these beasts.”
Revelation dawned on Inara. “You went to Grey Stone,” she stated. “Gideon… Master Thorn said he was sending help.”
Alastir nodded. “He sent us. Alas, we were too late. When we reached Grey Stone, it was a tomb. I assumed you were leading them north so we flew to catch up. That’s when we found the orcs…”
Inara hated to be the one to break it to Alastir. “After you left for Grey Stone, the orcs sacked Velia. It’s gone. They took the whole city.”
Alastir was shaking his head. “Impossible. If the orcs attacked Velia after I left The Lifeless Isles they couldn’t have reached Grey Stone before we…” He looked at Valkor with horror in his eyes. “There are two armies. How many…”
Inara could see him thinking about the number of orcs who now roamed the surface and agreed with his blank stare. It was hard to fathom.
“They must have split their forces after leaving The Arid Lands,” Inara reasoned. “One side attacked Grey Stone and the other Velia.”
“But how could they have taken Velia?” Alastir asked. “Gideon and the others would have been alerted immediately.”
Inara had wondered about Velia’s defeat herself. “I don’t know. All the survivors from Lirian and Grey Stone have taken refuge in Namdhor. Since then, we have received no word from any Dragorn. We have been alone up there.”
Alastir placed his hand over hers. “At least they have had you looking out for them.”
A rogue tear threatened to escape down Inara’s cheek. “I have failed, Master. Orcs crept into the keep and assassinated King Weymund and King Jormund. Their families too…”
Alastir squeezed her hand. “That is a great loss for the realm, but not every loss can be placed upon us Dragorn. Does Namdhor still stand?”
“It stands, but the city is not without its own troubles.” Inara thought about the dying queen and the lord of Namdhor, both of whom had seen fit to discard their army when they needed it most.
“No word from Gideon?” Alastir enquired.
“None,” Inara said with some finality. “The orcs are advancing on Namdhor from the east and west and I’m the only Dragorn defending it, or at least I was.”
“I left The Lifeless Isles with two others,” Alastir said. “They split away when we sighted several bands of orcs entering The Evermoore. There are Dragorn out there, Inara, but the orcs have divided our attention it seems. No one expected Grey Stone to be attacked, entrenched as it is. I should have brought more.”
“No one foresaw this, Master,” Inara reassured. “I believe The Black Hand has been planning this victory for some time. I have discovered evidence that The Crow has been in Namdhor, some years before the invasion.”
Alastir curled his lip at the necromancer’s name. “Those evil wizards have been plotting from the shadows for centuries.” A thought occurred to the Dragorn and he looked up. “You shouldn’t be here, Inara. If you are the only one in Namdhor, you must return.”
Inara took in the injured sight of both man and dragon. “I cannot leave you here, not like this.”
“We need time, Inara. Time Namdhor does not have. If the north is all that remains then Gideon and the others will come to your aid.”
Inara looked away. She couldn’t be sure that Gideon was even alive. Velia had been destroyed by the orcs, something that could only have happened over her master’s dead body.
“You are afraid,” Alastir observed.
Inara met his emerald eyes and straightened her back, ready to rebuke such a claim.
“There’s no shame in being afraid, Inara,” he continued. “We’re all afraid. How else would we find our courage?”
More tears ran down her cheeks. “How can I stand between the orcs and Namdhor alone? Malliath…” Images of Edrik’s death flashed before her eyes again.
“The weight on our shoulders is heavy.” Alastir winced with his last word. “We are the light that casts out the dark…” He chuckled to himself. “That’s the speech Gideon gave me after I bonded with Valkor. The truth of our order, the reality, is far bloodier. We stand in harm’s way because we are the only ones who can. If our enemies cross that line it’s because you laid everything down keeping them at bay.”
“I don’t know if I can do that,” Inara replied honestly, her voice quiet.
“None of us do - that’s our secret. There isn’t a Dragorn who knows what they’re capable of until the time comes. You haven’t been truly tested yet, but your time is coming, Inara Galfrey. A time when you might have to give it all to keep the darkness at bay. You will only know when the time comes…”
Inara blinked hard in an effort to stop any tears from running free. The notion of sacrifice wasn’t foreign to the half-elf; she had thought about it several times since becoming a Dragorn. The reality was far less heroic and romantic now that the world was actually at war.
Alastir removed his hand. “You won’t discover the depths of your courage sitting in this cave with us.”
Inara wiped the corner of her eye. “I cannot leave you—”
Alastir cut her off. “I’m ordering you to leave us. It sounds like the whole world is in Namdhor, which means that’s where the Dragorn need to be.”
Inara hesitated, until the expectant glare of Valkor saw her rise to her feet. Her ankle was still sore, but it could take her weight.
“I will come back for you, Master,” Inara promised.
“Go, Inara,” Alastir urged. “To be clear,” he added as she turned to leave, “I’m ordering you to return to Namdhor. I am not ordering you to die for anyone. That choice belongs to every Dragorn…”
Inara nodded her understanding, ashamed that she couldn’t give the answer to that choice already.
28
Harmonising
The first rays of the morning sun hit the blanket of white snow, blinding Doran Heavybelly. The valley was wide, however, and the Warhogs had no trouble continuing their trek.
To their right, the most northern peaks of Vengora towered above them. On the other side lay Illian and the world of man. As strange as it was to accept for the dwarf, that was Doran’s home.
Such daydreams had overtaken his mind on the journey east, away from Silvyr Hall. Being in Dhenaheim again, after so long, had awoken old memories and experiences for the son of Dorain. Some of them he could have done without…
His current reverie was almost enough to steer the dwarf in the wrong direction. Doran pulled hard on the reins and bellowed at the Warhogs to stop.
Upon the rise, set into Vengora, sat the entrance to the mountains. It was the same cave they had used to escape the pack of Gobbers and, therefore, would lead them back to the mine so many wished to prise open.
Nathaniel’s head popped out of the tarpaulin. “Please tell me we’re there, Doran.”
“Aye, we’re ’ere,” he replied, eyeing the cave above them.
Petur Devron’s head poked out of the side and looked up the slope. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
Doran stood up, cracking his knees as he did. “We climb the slope on foot,” he said, jumping down from the cart.
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