A Clash of Fates

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “Fine,” Kassian agreed, his chest heaving. “But we might have to walk.”

  Grateful for a slower pace, the Keeper followed Adan’s lead as they pierced The Evermoore and left Vangarth behind. He couldn’t say how long they walked for, but the evening’s clouds had moved on, replaced now by a shining moon and sea of stars. They finally came to a stop in a small clearing, illuminated by the hanging moon above.

  “Here,” Adan’Karth announced.

  “What now?” Kassian asked.

  The Drake approached the nearest tree and placed his hand to the bark. The Keeper noted it was not the hand affected by his interaction with the mountainous tree in the realm of magic. As he had done then, Adan closed his eyes and communed with the tree, a conversation that remained entirely undetectable to Kassian. He simply waited, calling on what patience he still possessed.

  It was in times like this, quiet moments where he had nothing to do, that he would dwell on Clara, often reliving her death. He was pleased, however, to find his memories cast back to their playful games, when he would try to find her from the rooftop of the central hall in Valatos. He envisioned her smile and then recalled the sound of her laughter. Kassian vowed to make something beautiful in the world, something that would reflect her.

  Adan stepped back from the tree, bringing the Keeper back to reality. “Is that it?”

  The Drake answered with action rather than words. With both hands raised, Adan conjured a spell that brought forth a wave of cold air. It blew through the tree, rustling the needles, and continued to the next tree and so on. Moving his hands around, he cast his magic in an arc until every tree around them was rustling with the artificial breeze.

  As he turned on the spot and came face to face with Kassian, Adan stopped and his eyes went wide. The Keeper knew that look. He had seen it in the faces of his mages time and time again. Acting protectively as well as instinctively, he pushed Adan’Karth back while, at the same time, throwing himself to the ground. As he rolled over his shoulder, he heard the sound of steel cutting through the air where he had just been standing.

  Reavers!

  There was no opportunity to rise before another swing came at him, this time high to low. Kassian launched himself backwards, narrowly avoiding the tip of the blade.

  Landing on his back, he scrambled away from the Reaver as best he could but the undead wretch advanced with confident strides. As a third blow came down on him, the Keeper parted his legs and avoided amputation.

  As the Reaver heaved its sword back with both hands, Kassian retrieved the wand from his thigh - he wasn’t going to let it deliver a fourth blow. Thrusting the wand, he poured his will into the spell, his focus harnessed by the Demetrium core. He squinted his eyes, preparing for the blinding light that would explode from the end and destroy his foe.

  There was no explosion, however. Instead, his wand spat a shower of sparks at the Reaver, a spell no more potent than throwing a bucket of water over the fiend. Inevitably, that fourth blow arrived; this time aimed to slice through his head and torso.

  The Keeper swore and rolled to the side at the last second. He tried to jump up but a boot pressed into his side and kept him down with a fierce push kick. Kassian used this forceful momentum to continue his roll, thereby avoiding a fifth strike from the Reaver’s sword. With what precious moments he had, the Keeper aimed his wand again and flicked his wrist this way and that to expel the destructive magic. Nothing. Sometimes there weren’t even sparks.

  As the sixth hammering blow came down on him, Kassian rolled to the side one last time before shoving his boot into the Reaver’s knee. The creature felt no pain, but the damage to its limb caused it to stagger away, giving the Keeper the time he needed to finally get off the ground. It was only then that he noticed the Seeker advancing on Adan’Karth.

  Giving up on his wand, he exchanged it for the sword on his hip. Muscle memory demanded that he draw the blade over his left vambrace, an act that would ignite the spell laid in the steel. He had done it hundreds of times and never once had it failed to come alive with that blinding white heat.

  Except now.

  The blade remained dull, its only shine from the moon’s reflection. With the Reaver limping towards him, he had only his skill with a sword to fall back on. He deflected three successive strikes while deliberately positioning himself to have a clear line to the Seeker. It growled and hissed as it stalked closer and closer to Adan, its jaws dripping with thick saliva. With few options, Kassian did the only thing he could to save the Drake’s life. He launched his only weapon.

  The sword flew through the air, spinning end over end, until it slammed into the centre mass of the Seeker. The creature yelped as it was thrown into the side of a tree, there to die. Now, of course, the Keeper was left to face the Reaver with naught but his hands and his wit.

  “The currents!” Adan shouted from across the clearing. “The currents are aligned with you again!”

  The Reaver managed another three strikes - all of which Kassian managed to evade - before Adan’s words sank in. He gripped his wand again and whipped it up into the Reaver’s chest. Now there was an explosion of light. And the force that accompanied it was enough to take the fiend from its feet and hurl it into the forest.

  As the dust settled, Kassian stepped out of the clearing and approached the Reaver. It was easy to find, impaled on a branch, its feet hanging above the ground. It writhed and struggled to free itself, but Kassian’s spell had severely damaged its arms and legs, leaving the resurrected knight to remain pinned to the tree. He aimed his wand at its head, intending to destroy the creature once and for all. This time, a harmless jet of water shot out of the tip and did nothing more than soak the Reaver’s armour.

  The Keeper groaned and tapped the wand against the palm of his hand. It still refused to obey him, this time emitting a low humming noise.

  “It’s your lucky day,” he remarked, before returning to Adan. “Are you alright?” he asked.

  “I am unharmed,” the Drake replied evenly.

  “Good.” Kassian planted one boot on the Seeker’s ribs and yanked his sword free. In his hand, the blade now came alive with a searing hot glow that took him by surprise. “This is getting tiresome,” he complained before looking to Adan. “What you said back there… You can see when the currents are flowing through me?”

  “Yes,” Adan confirmed. “They are not flowing through you now.” With his last word, Kassian’s sword lost its enchantment and returned to ordinary steel.

  Just to be sure, the Keeper ran it over his vambrace anyway before sliding it back into his scabbard. “They must have tracked us from town,” he concluded, gesturing to the Reaver that was still trying to escape.

  “Could there be more?” the Drake asked with curiosity more than fear.

  “There’s always more,” Kassian replied dryly. “How long will this take?”

  Adan’Karth looked around, as if the answer lay before him. “I cannot say. My people will hear my message, but whether or not they choose to come remains to be seen.”

  The Keeper took a breath to continue his recovery and let his head fall back. “Were you telling the truth back at camp?” he asked, though the question didn’t look to surprise Adan.

  “I have never lied,” the Drake told him.

  “So it wouldn’t be death,” Kassian probed, “if you… gave yourselves to the tree?”

  “Does this worry you?”

  “Death?” he echoed, wielding the word as if it carried no weight. But then it began to sink in, the finality of it, an absolution from all things. He then grew more serious in both expression and tone. “Of course,” he said honestly, if quietly. “You are an entire people. As much as I fear you all losing this life, I fear what Verda will lose without Drakes in it.”

  “I did not lie,” Adan reiterated. “The tree is a source of life. It is not the life we know, but our presence will forever be felt. Those currents that flow through you and those like you will have a
touch of us in all of them.” The Drake’s expression finally cracked, displaying a hint of apprehension. “That is not to say I look forward to such a thing. Change is difficult and… frightening. As much as I know it is not death that awaits us, I know it is not the life I have come to enjoy. But what choice do we have? I am half dragon and wholly magic. I cannot fathom life without it.”

  Kassian had to look away, lest Adan see the tears welling in his eyes. “When this is all over,” he began, finding the courage to look Adan in the eyes, “I am going to build a new world for the conduits of this realm. The king will help me. It will be safe and purposeful. It will be a place where people and magic can come together in harmony. A place where your sacrifice will live on in all of us.”

  Adan’Karth offered the Keeper a warm smile. “This place you speak of, it reminds me of Ikirith, our home.” The Drake turned to the north. “Its remains are not that far from here. For me at least.”

  Kassian’s hand twitched by his side, hesitant to perform an act of compassion he had long forsaken. Finally, he managed to rest that hand on Adan’s shoulder and squeeze.

  “I wish there was another way,” he whispered.

  Adan placed his hand over Kassian’s and smiled before looking to the sky. “What is it Asher says about wishes? Ah, yes. Wish in one hand and spit in the other and see which one fills up first.”

  Kassian maintained his serious expression before it cracked in amusement. “Of course he does,” he laughed.

  37

  Hard Truths

  Under a still and cold night, beneath an ocean of watching stars, Inara strode up the middle of the road towards the Great Lodge, her red cloak floating out silently behind her. A handful of people passed her by, hurrying to their homes. Like most towns and cities under Alijah’s reign, there were curfews in place that only granted so long outside after dark - an attempt to track down rebels no doubt.

  An example of such a thing could be seen down an adjacent street, where a pair of Reavers were watching every patron as they filed out of a closing tavern. Inara returned her sight to the gates ahead, using her hood to conceal much of her face.

  Two human guards, those allowed to remain in the governor’s service, saw her approaching and stepped forward to bar her way with a halberd each.

  “I pray you stop, lady,” the older of the pair commanded.

  Inara did not wish to create a scene and so she obeyed. “I request an audience with Governor Harlan,” she announced with clarity.

  The same guard who had spoken to her raised an eyebrow in doubt. “The hour is late - the governor’s appointments are finished for the day.”

  “Curfew is almost upon us,” the younger man chipped in. “Best you return to wherever you came from and be quick about it.”

  Inara only briefly regarded the younger man before returning her full attention to the first guard. “Tell the governor,” she said, moving her cloak aside to reveal Firefly’s crystal pommel, “that Inara Galfrey is at his door.”

  Her name struck both guards like a hammer to the head. They quickly turned to each other sharing the same perplexed expression before giving each other a knowing nod.

  “Go and inform the master,” the older man instructed. “We’ll enter via the kitchens. I’ll bring her to his study.” The other guard gave Inara one last look before rushing off into the Great Lodge. “Quickly now,” the older guard said to her. “We need to get you off the streets. The governor will want to meet you.”

  Inara allowed the man to usher her through the gates, though his attention was mostly cast over the streets, checking for Reavers if she had to guess. As was explained to the younger guard, they entered the Great Lodge via the kitchens and quietly made their way through the decorated halls until they reached the ornate door of the governor’s study.

  “Wait inside,” the guard insisted. “The master will be with you shortly.”

  Inara entered the study and drew back her hood as the door was closed behind her. It was a large room, larger than any one person required of a chamber to read and sign documents. The walls were lined with books, the shelves separated by the stuffed heads of bears and stags. It was sparsely lit by a handful of candles and a single torch on the far wall.

  The Guardian wandered by the desk, its proportions designed to intimidate any who sat opposite the governor. She ran her fingers over a piece of parchment and examined the seal of Governor Harlan. Inara considered what she knew of the man. It had been some years since they had met at some royal function or other. She recalled his honest nature as a good sign where his loyalty to Vighon was concerned. And, judging by the way his men had sneaked her into his study, Inara assumed his loyalty was still standing.

  A few minutes later, the door opened again and a shadowed figure entered the study. Instinct drove Inara to grip Firefly before she successfully identified the figure as Governor Harlan. He was smaller than her, older too, but the man appeared almost haggard. Most with his title, and the wealth that came with it, were somewhat plumper.

  “Guardian,” he said with a bow of the head. His almost pleading tone concerned Inara.

  “Are you well, Governor Harlan?”

  He swallowed and licked his lips, his eyes searching the shadows around them. “The transition of power has been taxing to say the least. The king’s… knights have no mercy in their hearts. And the king himself… Well, let’s just say he is not my king. Unfortunately, I get the sense he knows this. He gave Lirian and all of Felgarn to Lord Starg, a loyal supporter of any who can grant him power. Sadly, he now wields that power over me.”

  Inara felt for the man, one of many throughout Illian who were powerless to challenge her brother. “I speak for King Vighon when I say your loyalty to him and your people is admirable and appreciated.”

  Governor Harlan tried to smile but it faltered and became no more than a twitch. “Please,” he said, gesturing to the chairs, “you are a guest in my home, however secret your presence might be. Can I have you some food and drink prepared?”

  Inara declined the food and drink as well as the chair. “I am here on urgent business, Governor. I am sorry to add to the weight you are already under, but The Rebellion is in need.”

  Governor Harlan took a deep breath and glanced at one of the three large windows set into the south wall. “Does this have anything to do with what’s going on in The Moonlit Plains? I am aware of vast forces amassing down there.”

  Inara nodded, trying not to recall too much of recent events. “There was a battle. Alijah has ordered his army to retreat but The Rebellion has been left in dire need of supplies. We cannot hope to renew the fight if we cannot leave the plains.”

  The governor cupped his jaw and turned his back on her, but she could still feel the waves of fear coming off him. “I cannot move anything from this town without word getting back to Lord Starg. His wrath aside, I cannot say how the king’s knights would react.”

  “I know there is peril in my request,” Inara continued, “but good people are dying on those plains. Strong warriors are wasting away. We need to get them moving again and start preparing for the next fight.”

  The Governor’s head hung low onto his chest, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. “I… I cannot help you, Guardian. It would bring ruin upon my people and it would most certainly be a death sentence for me.”

  A loud and violent clatter erupted on the other side of the study door. One of the guards called out in warning before steel clashed in the narrow hall. The guard never spoke again before his body hit the floor. A moment later, the door was opened from the outside and a Reaver stepped inside, followed by five more.

  “I wouldn’t worry, Governor,” the lead Reaver announced, its voice broken and distorted, “your death sentence has already been passed.” The Reaver’s head turned to regard Inara. “Hello, Sister.” It was in those two words that she finally heard some semblance of Alijah’s voice.

  Athis! Inara called out across their bond. Th
ere came no reply from the dragon, however, only silence. Athis? The Guardian quickly concealed her dismay and held out her arm to guide the governor. “Get behind me.”

  Of all the Reavers, the fiend with Alijah’s voice was the only who held itself like a person. The rest stood as sentinels, perfectly motionless like puppets awaiting their master’s controlling hand. With its sword pointed to the floor, and both hands resting on the pommel, the Reaver tilted its head as Alijah would, were he really present.

  “You should know by now that standing behind you or with you is to dance with Death.” The Reaver held out its hands. “And as you can see, Death and I are partners now.”

  Inara eyed the creature with disgust. “You’ve been so corrupted by dark magic that you can’t even see your true reflection anymore. You are a necromancer, Alijah! There is nothing more abhorrent in this world than that which you have become.”

  “Such hate, Sister. You wear it like armour now.”

  “I don’t hate you,” Inara retorted, getting her tone under control. “How could I when I feel nothing for you. You’re just another twisted fool who thinks that breaking the world is the same as saving it.”

  “Saving the world?” Alijah replied, turning the Reaver’s visor to the window. “Is that what the Drake and the Keeper are doing in the forest?” Inara couldn’t keep the surprise from her face. “Yes,” Alijah continued smugly, “I know what they’re doing. Even now I can hear them, waiting, hoping for more Drakes to arrive. It won’t work. My victory was seen thousands of years before either of us were born.”

  Inara’s surprise was swept away by her resolve. “We will save the tree.”

  The Reaver let loose a short sharp laugh from within its helmet. “I commend you for trying. Keep the hope alive. I have heard rebels muttering those words right up to their death. Hold on to hope if you must, but it will only make the defeat that much more crushing. You should be spending your last days with Athis, not pleading for supplies.”