She could see that some were missing from the room, friends and family all. Still, these people were among the few in the realm who found strength standing together in the face of overwhelming odds. They were warriors all.
“You said there was much that needed to be explained,” Nathaniel reminded them. “Tell me everything.”
Inara watched her father, as did everyone else in the room, as a great silence hung over them all. He was sat by his wife, hand over hers, with a pained and confused expression on his face.
“Say it again…” he breathed.
Gideon bit his lip. “Asher is alive,” he repeated.
The tale had been a long one, and Nathaniel had listened patiently and attentively despite Reyna’s condition. He had, however, stumbled over the news that his friend had been brought back from the dead and used by the enemy.
The Master Dragorn went through the details of Asher’s resurrection again, assisted by Galanör and Vighon who were actually there. Every time Alijah’s name was mentioned, Inara noticed the weight on her father’s shoulders get a little heavier.
“He’ll be fine,” he had said after Gideon’s recounting of Velia’s invasion. “Alijah has had a knack for getting out of things since he was a boy. He’s out there somewhere, surviving…”
Inara wanted to believe her father - they all did. So sure was she that her brother was on his way to them that she had started searching the faces of the refugees, convinced that he would be among them.
“Why?” Nathaniel finally asked. “Why would The Crow bring Asher back?”
“Understanding The Crow and his motives is beyond me,” Gideon admitted. “If I had to guess, I would say he was hoping to complicate things for us. He knew those of us who would resist his schemes and he knew Asher would make us hesitate. It certainly stopped me from killing him in Lirian and Velia.”
“And now?” Nathaniel enquired, unsure about the end of their tale.
Inara felt the eyes in the room fall on her. “It was all in the prophecy,” she said.
“The one Alijah found?” Nathaniel clarified, still seated beside Reyna.
Inara nodded her head but she looked at Gideon. “Only magic wrought of unity can break the chains. Doran suggested it was talking about the Moonblade; a weapon made of pure magic that can only be forged by an alliance of dwarf and elf. Then, I remembered his recounting of the spell that Killian Torvaris placed over you,” she told her father. “He used the Moonblade to break the spell.”
“Aye, she’s right!” Doran chipped in. “The legends ’ave it that no magic can stand against the touch o’a Moonblade.”
“The Crow chained Asher and Malliath together with his binding spell,” Inara continued. “It was a leap, but I had to assume it was referring to them.”
“Is that why you disobeyed my commands?” Gideon folded his arms.
“And saved your life?” Inara added. “Yes. And I’m not even a little bit sorry.”
Gideon’s smile faded. “You saved my life and many more by breaking the spell cast over them, but I still fail to see how the Moonblade is going to save the whole world.”
Nathaniel looked at Doran. “Is that what Petur… Is that what Killian said?”
“Aye,” Doran replied. “Whether there’s any truth in it or not, he seemed to believe it.”
Galanör moved for the first time since they had entered the room, drawing everyone’s attention. “The logical conclusion is Asher.”
Gideon frowned. “How so?”
“Both the prophecy and Killian Torvaris have the same source of information: The Crow. At this point, we have to assume that he can see the future. If that’s the case, the Moonblade was only made to break Asher free, which means the blade is not the thing that will save the world. Asher is…”
“So, how does Asher save the world?” Vighon asked. “I thought he had already done that once.”
“He did,” Nathaniel replied. “And he died for it.”
Galanör cupped his square jaw. “Fate, it would seem, is determined to keep its hold over him.”
“Perhaps we should ask him,” Inara suggested. “He is free of the spell now, after all.”
“We think,” Gideon reminded her.
Vighon gestured to the door. “He hasn’t woken up yet. Ruban’s keeping an eye on him for me.”
“Let ’im rest,” Doran told them. “He’s been to hell an’ back on both sides o’ the veil.”
Gideon subtly shifted his body, but Inara could see that something was wrong. “There’s something else we need to ask Asher,” he finally said.
The Master Dragorn picked up the object from the table, covered in a blue rag. She had noted him bringing it into the room, but had said nothing of it at the time. Now, she had a bad feeling about it.
“What is that, Master?”
Gideon threw the blue rag away and held up one of the finest blades in all the land. A short-sword, crafted from silvyr and lined down the middle with ancient runes. Once upon a time, it had belonged to Asher, but Nathaniel and Reyna claimed it after his death. For the last four years, it had resided on Alijah’s back…
“Where did you get that?” Nathaniel asked with urgency.
“I took it off Asher,” Gideon explained, “after he fell. The last time I saw it, Alijah was in possession of it atop the walls of Velia.”
Inara felt her stomach drop, much in the way her father’s face dropped. The most obvious conclusion was that Asher had taken it from Alijah. The chances of Asher leaving Alijah to live were as slim as Alijah letting anyone take the blade while he was still breathing. Her confidence in his survival began to falter for the first time.
“He could have dropped it,” Vighon said, breaking the silence. “Alijah always favoured the bow. He was never a swordsman.”
Inara heard the northman’s words, but his face and tone lacked the conviction of such a statement. They all had their own coping mechanisms. Inara’s was to reach for the sky with Athis, the dragon flying so fast she could barely breathe.
Her father coped by moving on. “How do we help Reyna?” he asked the room.
Inara put her hand on her father’s shoulder. “She receives healing several times a day, but there’s not much to be done. A piece of her has been taken by the Moonblade. All we can do now is wait; her strength will return with every passing day.”
“And how many of those do we have?” Nathaniel asked softly. “I need her now…”
Inara could hear the pain in his voice. He was worried about Alijah, as they all were, but a father’s concern for his son was magnitudes above theirs, even Inara’s. He needed the comfort of his wife.
Steering the conversation away from such pain, Gideon said, “The days between our next battle with the orcs are indeed numbered. King Karakulak won’t stand for this defeat and he still commands a force considerable enough to pose a threat. We won today because of Malliath, but we can’t rely on him to return, let alone fight with us. We need to start preparing for—”
“I want to see him,” Nathaniel interjected, his gaze never straying from Reyna.
Gideon hesitated. “You want to see the orc king?”
Inara shook her head and answered on her father’s behalf. “No, he wants to see Asher.”
The Master Dragorn looked to Vighon. “Can you show us the way?”
Vighon had them follow him into the hall, where a young man Inara knew to have the misfortune of being the northman’s squire was now running towards them.
“Captain Vighon!” Ruban exclaimed three times before stopping in front of them, out of breath. “They took him!”
Those three words had Inara clasping the hilt of her Vi’tari blade. “Someone has taken Asher?” she clarified.
“Who took him where?” Vighon asked, grabbing the young man by the shoulders.
Ruban took a much-needed breath. “The Iron… Lord Draqaro’s men. They took him to the dungeons!”
Together, the group marched down to the dungeon
s, beneath the keep. They were a force to behold, with decades of war between them, the power of two dragons, and a dwarf who could crack stone with his forehead.
The dungeons of Namdhor were gloomy, dank, and the last place Inara wanted to be after everything she had gone through. It was only hours ago that she had made the choice to sacrifice herself to prevent Malliath or Asher from hurting anyone else. Surviving such a feat had passed her by, Athis too, in the light of everything else.
Seeing Arlon Draqaro at the end of the hall only made Inara despise him all the more. Backed by a handful of his branded thugs, the lord of Namdhor was peering between the bars of the last cell in the row.
“Lord Draqaro…” Gideon began. The Master Dragorn, however, was unable to get another word out before Nathaniel pushed past and pressed himself to the bars.
Inara could only imagine what it was like seeing him again, after so long. The last time he had been with Asher, the ranger had been in the pools of Naius, trapped by the enormous amount of magic flowing through him. In his final moments, he had gifted Nathaniel a portion of that power and granted him the life of an immortal. Then, he had died for them: for her parents, for Galanör, Gideon, Faylen, and even her grandmother, Adilandra.
Now, lying perfectly still on a dirty cot, the hero of The War for the Realm had returned to them. It was surreal for all of them, but it was personal for her father. Asher had been Nathaniel’s friend.
“Why is he locked up?” Vighon demanded.
Arlon cocked an eyebrow. “This man was seen fighting Master Thorn, after he departed the same dragon that burned Lirian to the ground. He is an enemy of the realm, Captain Vighon. A cell is where he belongs.” The lord scrutinised Nathaniel. “You seem rather concerned for him, Ambassador Galfrey. Can you identify him?”
“He’s a good man,” Nathaniel insisted. “And he shouldn’t be in a cell.”
“His interrogation will tell us where he belongs,” Arlon replied, enjoying the power he wielded. “As soon as he wakes up that is.”
Inara observed blood soaking the poor excuse for a mattress and dripping onto the floor. “He won’t ever wake up if we don’t see to his wounds!”
Arlon took a moment to consider what should have been obvious. “Very well…” He signalled for the jailer to open the cell. “Only one may stay with the prisoner at any given time. We are still on a war footing. You will all observe the commands of the crown.”
Gideon pursed his lips before conceding with a bow of the head. “We will observe Queen Yelifer’s commands, Lord Draqaro.”
Arlon smiled wickedly. “Aid him if you must,” he remarked on his way out of the dungeon. “But, when he awakens, I will be the first to speak with him.”
Inara happily watched the back of the snake disappear. “That you are related to him, Vighon, is truly baffling.”
“Awful would be a better description,” the northman commented under his breath.
Once inside Asher’s cell, Inara crouched by his side and checked the wound that was bleeding. It was in the exact same place relative to where she had stabbed Malliath with the Moonblade. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it would need seeing to sooner rather than later.
Nathaniel stood over his old friend. “It’s really him,” he said absently. “The scars, the fang tattoo, even the stubble is the same. He’s just as he was in the pools of Naius. I can’t believe he’s really here.”
“He hasn’t really been here,” Gideon added. “From the moment he was brought back, The Crow has kept his mind under a spell.”
“Still,” Doran said, his arms thrown out, “it’s definitely ’im! I can’ believe me eyes!”
“We can take it in turns to watch over him,” Inara suggested, aware that at least three of those present would want to be with Reyna.
“I’ll take first watch,” Vighon volunteered.
“Won’t your men want to celebrate the victory?” Galanör pointed out. “You will be in demand tonight.”
Vighon shook his head, weary from head to foot. “There’s no victory to celebrate yet. Go. I’ll watch over him. I’ll send Ruban for you all as soon as he wakes.”
Inara squeezed her father’s arm on the way out, ushering him to leave Asher. “I’ll send down any mages that can be spared.”
“I’ll take a look at it,” Vighon replied. “You don’t spend three years with Alijah and not learn how to clean up a few wounds.”
Doran gave the northman a wink. “I’ll ’ave a drink for ye, lad, don’ ye worry.”
“And I will have one brought down for you,” Galanör added helpfully.
Inara paused, the last one to leave. “Every time death loses its grip on you,” she told Vighon, “a victory is to be claimed. Don’t lose sight of your victories.”
“Does this feel like we’ve won to you?” he countered. “We’re standing in Namdhor’s dungeon. The orcs have survived to fight us another day. Your mother is yet to wake and Alijah…” The northman lost his words.
Inara could see that what Vighon really wanted was to be left alone. “We’re still here. You and me. That’s a win.” Leaving him with a warm smile and her words to think on, she walked away with musings of her own.
Hope…
That’s what she had really left him with. That’s what a Dragorn was supposed to do.
Epilogue
Deep in an irresistible slumber, Vighon Draqaro’s mind had become one of fire and ice. His flaming sword cut through the ash fall and he stumbled over the bodies mounting in the snow.
The sound of men dying and orcs howling consumed him. He saw gnashing teeth and pale beasts as they slammed into the Namdhorian line. Soon, the bodies were mounted so high that a waterfall of blood trickled over the dead and turned the snow red.
He was surrounded by death.
An ear-splitting roar, worthy of a god, cracked the sky and the mountain of bodies was replaced by Malliath. The dragon turned on him, opened its deadly maw, and engulfed him in flames.
He woke with a start, his hand falling to where his sword should be. After being doused in dragon’s fire, however, he had been forced to throw the blade away, the steel brittle.
Standing in front of him, two mages shared a nervous look.
Vighon wiped his face. “A bad dream,” he muttered.
The taller of the mages offered, “We’ve got something for that if you’d like?”
The northman ignored the mage’s reply and looked past them to Asher. “Is he alright?”
The smaller one glanced back at the ranger. “He’ll be fine. He has plenty of injuries to be sure, but we’ve stitched that wound behind his ribs and given it a good clean.”
“Stitched?” Vighon repeated. “Couldn’t you, I don’t know, heal it back together?”
The taller mage appeared somewhat embarrassed. “We tried that first. It just won’t respond to our spells. Thankfully, it’s not a mortal wound!” he added with a beaming smile that didn’t belong in a dungeon.
Vighon remained seated as the mages left, his eyes trained on Asher. The mountain of bodies he had seen in his nightmare came back to him. They hadn’t been orc bodies…
If Asher really was the key to saving the world, Vighon wasn’t going to let him out of his sight. He might also be the only person in Illian who knew what had happened to Alijah. Vighon knew he would do terrible things for that information.
“Is it really him?” Arlon’s voice surprised Vighon, but he maintained his position and didn’t flinch.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
Arlon walked down the length of the cell, on the other side of the bars. “The legendary Asher…” he purred.
Vighon frowned and stood up to face his father. Rather than ask a question, the northman simply narrowed his eyes at the lord of Namdhor.
Arlon looked from Vighon back to Asher’s sleeping form. “I told you; I know everything that goes on in my city.”
Vighon sighed. “The mages…”
Arlon smirk
ed. “They’ve been in and out of your chambers seeing to Ambassador Galfrey. You should be more careful with those loose lips. I taught you better, did I not?”
“It is Asher,” Vighon said, wanting to get past it. “He was under the influence of magic, placed on him by the same person who fed you lies about a sun spell.” He enjoyed the sour expression that dominated Arlon’s face. “Inara broke The Crow’s spell,” he continued. “He’s not a threat anymore.”
Arlon nodded along. “Broken, apparently, by an ancient weapon, a dagger forged in the mines of Vengora…”
Vighon cursed the mages. “The Moonblade belongs to the Dragorn, as it was originally intended, eons past.”
“It belongs to me!” Arlon snapped, his hand clasping the hilt of the silvyr sword of the north. “Those mines are under Namdhor’s control. Everything inside belongs to the crown! The very handle of the dagger is crafted from the bone of a fallen Namdhorian.” Arlon composed himself. “As a captain in my army, I command you to retrieve it for me.”
“You can stick your command up your…” Vighon trailed off, his father’s words catching up to him. “Your army?”
Arlon’s smile had an extra edge of wickedness to it. “The queen is dead!” He stepped back and threw his arms out dramatically. “Long live the king!”
Vighon had a sinking feeling that continued down to the soles of his feet. There were no words that could describe the awful feeling that began to eat away at him.
He cleared his throat and did his best to appear unaffected. “Shouldn’t you be running then?”
Arlon shot him a quizzical look before understanding smoothed out his features. “You’re referring to Sir Borin the Dread. Yes, he had been a concern of mine. However…” Turning to his right, Arlon gestured down the corridor.
Sir Borin guarded the entrance to the dungeon with his formidable sword in hand.
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