A Clash of Fates

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Gideon groaned and let his head rest back against the trunk of the tree. He wouldn’t be the first to be put to death for crimes against the realm, he argued.

  But he might be the first redeemable person to commit such crimes, Ilargo countered.

  And so their conversation had gone on for many hours. Gideon would question the weight of so many demanding Alijah’s death and whether such a large number was a valid reason for execution, given that most people knew nothing of Alijah Galfrey. Then Ilargo would bring up the matter of duties, especially those of Inara, Vighon, and Reyna, all of whom were expected to uphold the laws of their countries, laws that demanded Alijah’s death.

  For every point one would raise, the other had a reasoned conflicting point. It was infuriating.

  We are no longer governed by the codes and laws of others, Gideon said, the thought having been lingering on the periphery of his mind all day. We could act on our own will. Accomplish our own goals.

  Ilargo’s blue eyes took in the vast camp before settling on Gideon. Acting in such a way brings about an entirely different ethical dilemma. Rogue dragons, and especially rogue Riders, have always been treated with great suspicion and rightly so. We are too powerful to simply roam the world without any allegiance to the rulers of the land.

  Then perhaps now is the best time to behave in such a manner; while the realm is in turmoil. We could set out to do what we know is right without fear of reprisals.

  I agree that the timing is right, Ilargo replied, but what exactly would we accomplish? We are both aligned when it comes to Alijah - we believe he should be saved over death. But how would we save him? Malliath’s hooks go deep. What could we do to part their minds? And where would we go to accomplish such a deed?

  Only an hour earlier, Gideon had found a spark of hope when recalling the ancient runes that had lined his cell in The Tower of Jain. He brought it to the discussion, wondering whether they could replicate them using Ilargo’s perfect memory, but the dragon had quashed any hope.

  Where would we place such runes? the dragon had asked. Alijah is waiting us out. There will be no time to use the magic of those runes before magic itself no longer exists. Besides, I believe there was more to those spells than the scrawls that decorated our cells.

  Gideon sighed and rubbed his eyes. I can think of no path that leads to sparing Alijah’s life. The old master balled his fist and fought the urge to lash out at the ground. This is all my fault. I should never have tasked Hadavad with recruiting Alijah in the first place. My own actions were all part of The Crow’s plans for him. I just want him back, Ilargo. I want to save that young man who only wished to fight for good.

  Ilargo’s eyes sharpened on his companion. The decisions we made came from a good place. The Crow had nothing to do with it; he simply used our actions against us. Something he could have done without dark magic. And I would remind you that it was those same decisions that ultimately led Vighon Draqaro to the throne of Illian.

  Gideon slowly nodded along, unable to fight the dragon’s wisdom. Perhaps Alijah’s fate is beyond us. He has wronged so many, some powerful enough that we could not stop them from killing him if we tried. I suppose our place is here, guarding the doorway. We need to save the tree or there’s no point in… His words trailed away as he watched Ilargo’s head rise from the ground, his gaze distant. So complex and layered was the mind of a dragon that Gideon had to accept the fact that his companion could think through multiple scenarios at once, while his capacity could only cope with one of them at a time. What is it? he asked.

  Ilargo looked down at him. There is another way to separate the minds of Rider and dragon, he explained ominously. We have experienced it first-hand.

  Gideon saw the green image in the dragon’s mind. Crissalith? he queried, recalling the crystals well.

  It is the only thing I have ever known that could sever our bond, Ilargo went on. If we could use it against Alijah, Malliath’s influence would be wiped away.

  I agree, Gideon said, his tone matching his disheartened demeanour, but you’re forgetting the most important fact about Crissalith: it’s all gone.

  The dragon’s eyes narrowed. I forget nothing.

  Gideon saw his companion’s thoughts as if they were his own and, with them, came a new spark of hope.

  33

  Why We’re Here

  On the dawn of the third day, Asher and Doran crossed the snowy plains in sight of the sprawling camp. Cutting through the air overhead, Avandriell soared and dived, still too young and fearful to venture into the heavens above. The ranger could feel her elation upon spotting Athis and Ilargo in the distance.

  As their approach advanced, every able dwarf either rose to their feet or stopped what they were doing to face their War Mason. It was a great sign of respect for Doran, one Asher had feared his friend would never gain from his kin, a people notorious for having heads as thick as stone, long memories, and grudges that bore roots.

  Asher turned to look down at Doran. He didn’t envy what lay ahead of him, but he was happy for him. He deserved a second chance and the children of the mountain sorely needed a king such as him.

  After receiving a grand return from the dwarves, the pair were stopped in their tracks by Galanör. The elf cut a lithe figure, his navy cloak flowing out beside him.

  “It is done?” His words were carried in a grave tone to match his expression.

  Asher glanced at Doran before responding. “It is.”

  Galanör nodded slowly. “The world has lost a fine man and The Rebellion a fine warrior. Russell Maybury will remain in my thoughts always.”

  “An’ ours, lad,” Doran agreed.

  Galanör took a breath. “I will leave you here. I am to spend some more time amongst the wounded.”

  Asher squeezed the elf’s shoulder and moved aside to let him go. Only a moment later they were met by Sir Ruban, who relayed King Vighon’s request to join them in the council’s tent. Avandriell glided down to pad alongside her companion and hear the captain’s brief report concerning Adan’Karth’s unusual injury. The news perturbed ranger and dragon alike.

  Entering the council’s tent, Asher acknowledged the familiar faces but, after discovering the Drake resting by the far wall, he moved past them to crouch by Adan’s side. He lay curled up on a cot, his body draped in blankets and furs. Words, barely a whisper, escaped his lips in a steady stream while his eyelids fluttered incessantly.

  The ranger tried to make sense of it but Doran’s recounting dominated the tent. A few kind words were said as those who knew Russell offered something close to a prayer. A moment of silence was held for him, a moment Asher used to inspect the injury to Adan’s hand. Sir Ruban’s description hadn’t done it justice. Turning it over to examine the palm as well, he could see the extraordinary bark had taken over his whole hand. It was also just as soft as his skin, making it all the more unnatural.

  Avandriell came up by his side and gave Adan’s hand a sniff. “What do you make of it?” he asked in a hushed tone. The dragon tilted her head inquisitively before giving it a lick. Outside of her curiosity, he sensed nothing more from her. “Stay with him,” he said, stroking the scales on top of her head.

  Returning to the central table, Asher was immediately greeted by Reyna. Whether he wanted her to or not, she gave the ranger a hug, embracing him with her strong arms.

  Looking up at him with her emerald eyes, she said, “I am sorry you have lost Russell. I know you were good friends with a rich history. Perhaps you could honour him one day and tell me of his life.”

  Asher managed a smile. “I would like that.”

  Nathaniel patted him on the arm before squeezing his muscle. “You are a good friend. Both of you,” he added, taking Doran in.

  The son of Dorain nodded with a sober expression. “An’ what has happened in our absence?” he asked, looking to Adan’Karth.

  Vighon rested both of his hands on the table and glanced over the rough map that had been laid out usi
ng various materials. “We have made little to no progress,” he reported gravely. “We entered the realm of magic and…” The king gave half a shrug as if he could go no further.

  “Adan touched the tree,” Gideon continued in his stead. “I believe he was trying to talk to it. None of us can explain exactly what happened next but, it seems, the tree tried to… absorb him.”

  “Absorb ’im?” Doran echoed. “Ye mean to say it tried to eat ’im like some Mud Slug?”

  “We can’t say,” Kassian spoke up, his expression never more serious. “Adan is yet to say a word we understand.”

  Inara stepped in beside Vighon, their proximity notably closer than any other pair in the tent. “I touched the tree,” she announced. “It did not harm me in any way.”

  “Has anyone returned to the tree?” Asher queried.

  “A couple of times,” Gideon answered. “The fire continues to spread. The entire realm looks to be crumbling around the tree.”

  Asher could feel his heart quickening as his concern for Avandriell bubbled over. “How do we stop it?” he demanded, driven by fear.

  Gideon, who had just as much to lose as the ranger, could only shake his head. “So little is known about it. We would need to observe it for decades, perhaps centuries, to know more.”

  “We don’t have that kind of time,” Asher pressed, his fist thumping down onto the table. “You were supposed to find a way,” he growled.

  “This isn’t one of your typical problems,” Kassian retorted on Gideon’s behalf. “You can’t just swing a sword at it and make things better.”

  Asher eyed the Keeper with some ferocity. “There aren’t nearly enough winters behind you to lecture me, boy.”

  Kassian’s face dropped and he started for the ranger. Inara’s hand quickly found its place in the centre of the Keeper’s chest, an immovable object he could not overcome.

  “That would be a mistake,” she warned.

  Doran let out a little chuckle. “I wouldn’ o’ minded watchin’,” he remarked.

  “Emotions are high,” Reyna said diplomatically, watching Kassian relax. “That is to be expected. We all have something to lose and we are wading through uncharted territory. We must be reasonable and work together if we are to undo this calamity.”

  “My mother is right,” Inara said. “Time is our enemy. Without the combined magic of the Drakes in that pit, the doorway will soon close. At the rate we are losing magic in this world, we might not be able to rely on Athis or Ilargo to fly us back to Drakanan.”

  “We would need magic to enter the bonding chamber anyway,” Gideon added, folding his arms. “This doorway is our only option.”

  “What about Alijah?” Asher posed with little explanation.

  “What about him?” Vighon questioned.

  “He has Jainus magic at his disposal,” the ranger stated. “Is it possible he possesses the knowledge to stop the situation from getting any worse?”

  “He has used time spells,” Nathaniel chipped in.

  Asher briefly pointed at his friend. “Time spells. Perhaps he knows of a way to reverse what’s happened. Or maybe we could even go back and…” He could feel himself grasping at straws.

  Gideon was shaking his head. “Time is a fragile thing, Asher. It can be fractured and manipulated to extreme lengths, but it cannot go back on itself.”

  “I am no master in these matters,” the ranger admitted, “but there must be something he has that can stop this.”

  “So you want us to abandon the site and attack Alijah and Malliath?” Kassian jibed. “Wherever they might be,” he added, throwing his hands in the air. “And all for what? Something he might not even have?”

  “It’s better than staying here and doing nothing!” Asher argued, his fists clenching into knots.

  “This is typical!” Kassian spat. “You can’t fix it so you just want to hit it!”

  “Shut ye gob!” Doran barked. “The man’s got a point. The answer might lie with our enemy. He did this, after all!”

  Vighon waved his hand. “We are in no position to take this fight to Alijah. And Kassian is right. We have no idea where he’s gone.”

  It was then that Inara gave her opinion, in Asher’s favour, but was quickly opposed by Gideon. With Vighon stuck between them, the three bickered venomously. Reyna and Nathaniel stepped in to meet Kassian’s next bout of abuse towards the ranger, though Reyna quickly peeled off to interfere with Inara and Gideon. Doran also took umbrage with the Keeper’s choice of words and placed himself directly in front of the man, a threatening look in his eye. Faylen tried to diffuse things between them by putting a hand on each, but Kassian appeared to be getting fed up with people physically holding him back. All the while, Asher was poking his finger into the table with every point he made, each one an argument for finding and attacking Alijah while there was still time.

  A nudge to the side of his leg turned Asher away from the heated arguments. Looking down, Avandriell was pressing her head into his calf. At the same time, he could feel her reaching out to him across their bond, filling his head with unintelligible whispers. Her golden eyes directed the ranger back to Adan’Karth, but the Drake was no longer curled up on his cot.

  Asher’s eyes narrowed as he assessed his young friend. “Adan…”

  “Quiet,” Vighon commanded from the other side of the table. The king’s gaze turned the tent’s occupants to Adan, who was slowly approaching them draped in furs.

  Asher offered to steady him, but the Drake managed to reach the table unaided. His skin was paler than usual, making him almost white and his patches of paper-thin scales nearly undetectable. His reptilian eyes were sunken and surrounded by dark rings.

  “Avandriell’s presence is most soothing,” Adan complimented, directing a smile at her. “Forgive my absence, as it were, I have not been myself. I needed time to piece my thoughts back together.”

  Kassian moved away from the others to better see the Drake. “You haven’t said anything since we left the tree.”

  “Was that some time ago?” Adan asked.

  Gideon put himself on the other side of Vighon, away from Inara. “It’s been days, Adan. We haven’t been able to get through to you.”

  Asher caught the Drake’s eyes. “What happened down there?”

  Adan held his gaze for a moment, his thoughts his own. When he was ready, the Drake revealed his hand from within his furs. He turned it over so that all could see.

  “I spoke to the tree,” he breathed. “It is dying and it knows it.”

  Nathaniel cocked an eyebrow. “The tree is… alive then?”

  “It is more alive than any of us,” Adan’Karth replied with an edge of awe in his voice. “It has been around since Verda was naught but dust swirling in the ether.”

  Had Asher been a scholar, he was sure such information would have invigorated him. Since he hunted monsters by trade and his companion’s life hung in the balance, he didn’t care at all. “Did it tell you how to save it?”

  “No,” Adan reported, robbing the tent of hope. “Though I believe there is a way.”

  All eyes returned to the Drake, hungry for more. “You would keep it a secret?” Asher contested.

  “I have been considering that,” Adan revealed, taking everyone by surprise.

  Asher glanced at Avandriell before focusing on Adan. “Why would you keep it a secret? You know what’s at risk.”

  “Because if I am right, saving the realm of magic will come at a great cost.” Tears welled in his exquisite eyes. “And I do not know if I can bear it,” he added.

  “Whatever the cost,” Inara said, “it must be paid, Adan. Without magic on our side, this war is as good as lost. Whatever the future may be, it will rest under the shadow of Malliath.”

  Adan’s head bowed and he clenched his bark-like hand. “The tree meant me no ill will; it was barely aware of my consciousness. It could only sense the magic that dwelled within me. When I touched it…” The Drake rubbed his thumb
over his finger, feeling the grooves in the bark. “It naturally tried to take my magic,” he finally said.

  “Take your magic?” Reyna’s concern was well-founded given her past.

  Adan furrowed his brow. “Perhaps take is the wrong word. Take back would be more appropriate. The tree emits so much magic that it cares little for that which bleeds across the realms. Nor does it care that conduits in our world harness that excess magic. Touching the tree, however, allowed it to bond with my magic and, I have to say, it felt as if my magic wanted to return. That’s why it hurt so much; because I was resisting.”

  “I did not experience this,” Inara told him.

  “I do not mean to offend,” Adan said, “but your magic is… quieter than mine.”

  Inara didn’t hide her look of surprise. “Quieter? There is no offence, Adan, but I am bonded to a dragon; surely there is nothing quiet about my magic.”

  “And yet the tree could not sense you,” the Drake pointed out. “To the tree’s perspective, you are of no consequence. As would be any elf or human mage.”

  Asher took a breath and fell back on his years of mental discipline to remain calm. “What are you saying?” he probed.

  “The tree has lost magic,” Adan declared simply. “Being the source, it has nowhere else to draw upon. We need to replenish it.”

  The revelation dawned on Asher, striking him a blow he had not expected. “It needs you,” he uttered, looking again at Adan’s hand.

  “No,” the Drake answered, shaking his head. “Were it so simple, I would gladly become one with the tree so that it might live on.” Adan’Karth steadied himself and raised his chin. “It will need every Drake in the land.”

  Asher stepped back and turned away from the group, so as to hide his dismay. There would be no saving the tree now. Avandriell’s death was assured.

  “You are certain of this?” Vighon asked, the first to find words in light of the news.

  Adan looked away for a moment, consulting his own thoughts. “I cannot assure the tree’s survival, but there is no greater source of magic in all of Verda than that which resides in my people. And, besides our magic, I believe a degree of conscious thought will be required to direct our magic to extinguishing the flames. Being part elf and dragon, your Grace, I feel my people possess a sharp enough mind to do so.”