A Clash of Fates

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Taking in the male dragon and his scales of dull gold, a name came to Asher that he hadn’t heard since The War for the Realm. Before him now was revered Garganafan. A distant memory of his own recalled Gideon referring to the dragon as the king of their kind, his life given to trap Valanis in the Amber Spell over a thousand years past.

  Garganafan was the father.

  Asher took that as an explanation for the hatchling’s regal propensity, even if they themselves didn’t know exactly why yet.

  The memory ejected the ranger, sending him back to his personal hell inside The Dragon Keep. His head was pounding as if an orcish war drummer was beating his skull. His muscles were wound so tight they felt close to tearing through his skin. Through it all, his heart thundered in time with the hatchling’s.

  Asher.

  His own name resounded inside his mind, threatening to rob him of consciousness. The voice that said his name, however, was sweet to his ears and somehow familiar, as if he had known that voice all his life.

  After a wave of nausea passed, he listened to his instincts and quickly rolled the egg off the blanket, before throwing it away. Had he waited a few extra seconds to do so, the whole blanket would have gone up in flames, threatening the integrity of the chamber. Instead, the stone floor took the brunt of the heat being expelled. Soon after, smoke began to envelop the egg as the floor was charred black. Small flames broke through the egg, licking at the air.

  At last, Asher’s muscles were able to relax, allowing some of his focus to return. He wiped the hair from his face and stared at the egg, but he couldn’t see through the fire and smoke. Taking a much-needed breath, he lurched forward on his hands and knees and cautiously approached the egg. His mind was beginning to settle now, having weathered the storm. Clear thoughts rang true and he knew not to reach out - dragons were fireproof, not their Riders.

  Somewhere between shaking with excitement and trembling with raw nerves, the ranger waited for something, anything. There was no voice in his head, and no memories or impressions to be glimpsed. Yet he wasn’t alone.

  Confirming that, a noise came from within the smoke. Asher held his breath, listening for it again. It was between the hiss of a snake and the low squawk of a bird. It was her voice. With glassy eyes, the ranger wafted what he could of the smoke and saw that the floor was so badly damaged by the heat that it had left a well in the stone. Inhaling a deep breath, he blew through the remaining smoke just as two small wings fanned out, batting most of it away.

  The sight of her left Asher in a silent daze.

  She was beauty and strength given form. Her scales were a deep bronze with flecks of gold and silver throughout. Two horns curved over her head and sloped up into sharp points. Small claws tapped lightly against the charred stone and an armoured tail swished through the remnants of smoke. But her eyes, golden orbs cut with a single reptilian slit, drew the ranger in and held him there.

  Without looking, Asher grabbed the blanket he had discarded and bundled it up. The dragon leapt forward in a failed attempt to fly and landed in the midst of the soft pile. He scooped the whole thing up and brought her into his chest. From end to end, she was nearly as long as his arm. More than anything, he knew he needed to keep her safe.

  Movement in the corner of his eye set his heart racing. Upon realising it was none other than Adan’Karth, an extra moment was required to calm down. He trusted the Drake implicitly.

  Adan approached with slow and steady steps, his form slightly hunched to make himself smaller. His eyes, not dissimilar to hers, examined every inch of the dragon with a wonder usually seen only in children.

  “Exquisite,” he whispered in elvish.

  Asher quite agreed, though he did not voice it. Instead, he listened. A contented smile, rarely seen on the ranger, consumed his expression. He looked at Adan.

  “I know her name.”

  10

  Together Again

  Gideon Thorn was lost to his own thoughts. He barely registered Vighon’s account to The Rebellion’s council. He knew what he had seen, out there on the vale, but he couldn’t straighten it out in his mind. If he was right, it would change everything.

  You saw it too, Ilargo said into his mind.

  Yes. Could it be possible?

  It would require a degree of influence I do not possess. But I am not Malliath.

  Finally, he was brought back to the present by a familiar sound: the hearty laugh of a dwarf. Indeed, Doran’s laugh carried all the elation, relief and, indeed, disbelief of those camped far from Namdhor. And it was music to Gideon’s ears. Even in their ethereal form, he was most pleased to see the son of Dorain, Faylen Haldör, and, his oldest friend, Galanör seated around the table. Ruban Dardaris also joined them, though Gideon couldn’t claim to know the knight very well. Still, they were all friends and allies, both of which were hard to hold on to in such dark times.

  “I can’ believe what I’m seein’!” Doran cheered after Vighon’s recounting. “I was this close to marchin’ on The Moonlit Plains!” he added, pinching his finger and thumb together. “I’d say Grarfath’s adopted all o’ ye!”

  “We dared not hope,” Faylen commented quietly, glancing at Galanör.

  “The Rebellion would have lost too much to ever recover,” the elven ranger remarked. “I am thankful for your timely arrival,” he said, looking from Inara to Gideon. “And it is good to see you again,” he expressed sincerely.

  “And you,” Gideon replied with a warm smile. “It is good to see all of you again,” he said a little louder, addressing the table. “Forgive my absence in your time of great need. Had I been able, I would have returned sooner.”

  There were some around the table who looked to Inara for some answers then, but she was still held in grief by the news of her grandmother. Gideon himself had felt a pang in his heart upon hearing of Adilandra’s demise. His memories of her, fighting the Darkakin, were still so vivid in his mind. Whether Inara had or not, the old master also considered the ramifications for Reyna and Nathaniel. The responsibility that now lay on their shoulders was beyond immense. He felt for them all.

  “Perhaps, Gideon,” Vighon began, “you could inform us of your time in Erador?”

  Gideon knew the best place to start was always the beginning, but there was so much to explain and so little time to act. Still, The Rebellion needed to make informed choices if they were to do what had to be done. But first there was one thing the old master would know.

  “On Qamnaran,” he said, glancing between ethereal images, “did Alijah complete his spell, inside the tower?”

  “How do you know of that?” Faylen asked.

  “The tower fell into The Hox,” Doran replied unhelpfully, waving the whole event away.

  “We believe he did,” Galanör answered. “I was with him when the spell reached its end. What do you know of it, Gideon?”

  “If Alijah succeeded on Qamnaran then he has already accomplished half of his plan. It also means we don’t have much time.”

  “Until what?” Reyna enquired gravely.

  Gideon took a breath and started at the beginning.

  A stunned and palpable silence had settled over the throne room. Whether they were ethereal or flesh and blood, every member of the council looked around the table at each other. Only Inara remained indifferent, her mind elsewhere.

  Gideon gave them all some time to absorb the revelations of his tale, consequential as they were. The old master looked over each of them, wondering who would be the first to speak and which particular part they would focus on. He had covered a lot.

  “Asher’s got a dragon?” Doran muttered.

  “He’s going to destroy magic?” Reyna mulled at the same time.

  Kassian turned to Inara. “You crossed to another world?”

  Galanör said nothing. Instead, he inspected his closed fist questioning, no doubt, whether his magic was shielded from the death of the tree.

  Nathaniel was the first to actually address Gide
on. “Is that what’s happening to Asher right now?”

  Gideon smiled. “I believe his dragon’s arrival is imminent.”

  The old knight drew in on himself, his thoughts his own, though Gideon could imagine the surprise of it all. Was the need not so great, Gideon knew he would be hovering outside Asher’s chamber right now.

  For the first time since seeing her again, Faylen wore an expression of satisfaction and contentment. “I am glad for him,” she announced softly.

  “And I thought he couldn’t get any more dangerous,” Vighon remarked.

  Kassian was shaking his head as his hands lifted from the table. “I’m sorry,” he began. “It’s great that the ranger has himself a dragon and I’m pleased you found so many eggs. But shouldn’t we focus on the part where our enemy knows how to wipe out all magic? He would be unstoppable if we couldn’t wield magic.”

  “Not to mention the loss of dragons,” Ruban added.

  Reyna looked down the table at Gideon. “Alijah truly believes this is right?”

  “He believes the source of all evil,” the old master replied, “in whatever form it takes, stems from the misuse of magic. He wants to make us all equal.”

  “Except for him,” Kassian pointed out. “He wants to retain his magic to keep him in power. How can he not see that he is the form evil has taken?”

  That question almost sent Gideon’s thoughts spiralling again, but he put the issue aside and concentrated on what was in front of him. “If he succeeds, his victory is assured. Having completed the spell on Qamnaran, Alijah no longer relies on the tree for magic. That means he’s only one step away from entering the realm of magic and finishing his work.”

  Faylen’s ethereal form dispelled whisps of smoke as she turned to Gideon. “And you believe there is a… doorway at the bottom of that dig site?”

  “It’s the only thing that explains the work being done there,” Gideon answered.

  “But how’s he openin’ it?” Doran enquired. “He’s not got any dragon eggs an’ me kin can do nothin’ but dig.”

  “He never discussed that part of his plan with me,” Gideon lamented. “But he hasn’t come this far just to possess a hole in the ground. We have to assume he’s found a way.”

  “Perhaps it is simply the plains themselves,” Galanör spoke up. “They were enchanted centuries past - the ground must hold some magic.”

  “It’s a possibility,” Gideon agreed. “But if the power existed in the ground alone I believe we would have seen multiple doorways by now.”

  “Gideon’s right,” Vighon said, drawing all to him. “We have to assume Alijah has already found a way to create a doorway. So I put to you: how do we stop him?”

  “We should be there right now for a start!” Doran stated. “I bet me only eye that’s where Alijah has gone!”

  “How quickly can you rally your forces to the site?” the king asked.

  “It’s a day’s march,” the son of Dorain promised.

  “It’s closer to three for us,” Sir Ruban said. “Maybe four. Though I’m sure the elves could cross the distance in half that time.”

  Nathaniel looked from the captain to the king. “We too could reach The Moonlit Plains in three days if we could muster what forces we have here and started marching this very day.”

  Vighon sat back in his chair, absorbing all the information. “We risk everything if we attack the site with only part of our force. And we risk everything by giving Alijah the time if we wait to attack together.”

  “He could destroy that tree thing this very day!” Doran argued. “We should set off now an’ attack. Ye can all join us when ye get ’ere.”

  “Malliath is fast,” Gideon interjected, “but he won’t get there today.”

  “He’s injured,” Inara said quietly, emerging from her grief.

  Gideon paused to see if she would say more. “Inara’s right. Malliath bears wounds that slow his flight.”

  Kassian frowned. “I didn’t see any wounds.”

  “You wouldn’t,” the old master told him evenly. “You would have to know dragon physiology to have spotted it. Your description of his dive into The Hox matches the damage I saw on his wings.”

  “He will need to rest,” Inara concluded. “His flight to Namdhor will have exhausted him already.”

  “So… what?” Doran pressed. “We ’ave two days at the most then? That’s still more than enough time to cut down some tree!”

  Gideon resisted the urge to inform the dwarf that the tree was closer in size to a mountain.

  The son of Dorain pushed himself up and leaned over the table. “I agree with ye good king. A unified attack from north an’ south would increase the odds o’ defeatin’ our enemy an’ maybe even endin’ this war. But I haven’ come this far to stop takin’ risks now. Were it anythin’ else ye’d ’ave me word that I would wait. But news o’ this damned tree has me stirred. I’m not for carin’ abou’ magic, but I know the world would be a darker place without it.” Doran paused and took a breath. “Me an’ mine could attack the site an’ keep Alijah an’ his lot busy until ye can reinforce us.”

  Nathaniel shook his head. “That’s suicide, Doran. You would be fighting for at least a day, maybe a day and half before the elves from the coast could reinforce you.”

  “He’s right,” Vighon compounded. “By the time we joined you from the north and those with Sir Ruban marched up from the south there would be nothing left but a feast for crows. You - your people - are too valuable to lose by throwing yourself at the enemy like this.”

  “They would not be alone,” Galanör declared.

  Vighon cast his eyes down the table. “A better swordsman there is not, Galanör, but you alone cannot turn the tide of a battle. We don’t even know what numbers Alijah possesses in the plains.”

  “We should assume a lot given the importance of the site,” Sir Ruban theorised.

  “We would fight beside them,” Faylen made known. “Like the Alliance of old.”

  “As would I,” Inara put forth, turning heads. “Athis and I will fly south and join you as soon as we can.”

  A flicker of concern for the younger Galfrey hindered Gideon’s immediate response. He was terribly proud of his former student - already a far more accomplished and experienced warrior than he - but he wasn’t going to let her fight alone. Not again.

  “Ilargo and I will accompany you,” he proposed. “We would be foolish to think the site is guarded by foot soldiers alone.”

  Doran wrapped his knuckles against the table. “Now ye’re talkin’!”

  Vighon dropped his head, though his worries were no mystery. “This isn’t how I wanted it to end. We were to face him, them, together.”

  Inara reached out and gripped the king’s hand, her features softening for the first time. “This is the only way. Stalling him until you arrive might save the tree. That has to be our priority now, even more so than freeing the realm.”

  Scrutinising the northman’s reaction, Gideon could see that such a statement was hard to swallow. “Dwarves and elves from the south,” the old master surmised, “and dragons from the north. We can hold them until the rest of you arrive.”

  Vighon sighed and retrieved his hand from Inara’s. “Sir Ruban: begin marching your men to the plains. Make no delay.”

  The captain of the king’s guard bowed his head. “We will leave immediately, your Grace.”

  The king acknowledged his response before regarding his ethereal allies. “Doran, Faylen: I will leave you to rally your forces and make tracks.”

  “With respect, your Grace,” Faylen cut in. “As the High Guardian of Elandril’s forces, I have made my intentions clear, but only the sovereign can give the order to advance.”

  Gideon could feel the tension filling the space between them all as every gaze slowly turned to the senior Galfreys. Eventually, even Nathaniel looked to his wife, the blood heir to all of Ayda.

  “Queen Reyna,” Vighon said, the first to use her offic
ial title. “Will you commit your forces to this attack?”

  Reyna didn’t move, a testament to her elven nature. When, at last, she lifted her eyes from the table, she looked from Faylen to Inara. Gideon could only imagine what was going through her head. She was being asked to commit her people to likely death in a battle that also pitched her children against each other. And it wasn’t that long ago such a burden would have fallen to her mother.

  Perhaps sensing some of the same apprehension, Inara said, “You can’t make your decision based on your fear for my life. I’m in this fight, Mother.”

  “You’re my child,” Reyna countered. “I will always fear for your life and it will always inform my decisions, regardless of your abilities.” She turned to Doran gravely. “But as you said, we haven’t come this far to stop taking risks now. Sir Ruban - inform Captain Nemir that he is to lead my forces to the dig site with all haste, though I’m afraid they will inevitably leave you and your men behind.”

  The knight bowed his head. “Your Grace.”

  “High Guardian,” Reyna continued, finding Faylen across the table. “March those who survived Qamnaran alongside Doran’s army. Keep Alijah from his task at all costs.”

  “It will be done, my Queen,” Faylen promised, her vision lingering over the elf.

  Reyna, however, returned her attention to Inara. “The world needs the light you carry more than any of us. Make sure you survive.”

  “I will perish before Inara does,” Gideon reassured.

  “My fate is my own,” Inara asserted. “Just like my grandmother’s was.”

  No more was said between mother and daughter and Gideon made no further attempt to come between them. Even Nathaniel knew better than to do so, though he was gripping the arms of his chair with enough force to pale his knuckles.

  Vighon stood up at the end of the table. “It seems this is the last time The Rebellion’s council will convene. I hope that when we next meet it is on a victorious battlefield, and we might all share a drink. Until then; fight hard. Fight for what’s in your heart and it will give you strength. We will join you soon.”