“We are coming for you,” Inara promised threateningly, though her biting response was more reflex than anything. “There’s nowhere you can hide, be it sky, earth, or sea.”
The Reaver continued to stare at the Guardian through the narrow slit in its helmet. “Who is we exactly? Are you referring to the poor souls freezing to death on The Moonlit Plains? Perhaps you speak of the dwarves and their broken clans, bereft of kings and leadership. Or the elves? Without their magic they will fall to dragon fire by the hundreds!” The Reaver laughed again. “What will you do, dearest Sister? March thousands of men through winter with naught but the dying flames of Vighon’s sword to keep them warm?”
Inara could feel her heart pounding in her chest as her grip tightened around Firefly , the blade itching to be freed from its scabbard. “Before the last vestiges of magic ebb away, Athis and I will descend upon you with wrath and ruin. This I promise you, Brother.”
“You are welcome to try,” Alijah goaded. “I’m not hiding. I’m waiting. Unlike The Rebellion, I don’t rush into everything with a war cry. I’m a dragon,” he boasted. “I observe my prey and wait for the opportune moment to strike. Though I would urge you to find me soon, before Athis loses his place in the sky.”
Inara felt the sting of his words but she used the time to reach out to her companion again. Nothing. She cursed the sound of her own voice as she longed to hear that of her dragon’s.
“How can you do this to your own kind?” Inara demanded. “Are you that broken and twisted?”
The Reaver’s head tilted, suggesting a degree of curiosity on Alijah’s behalf. “What are you talking about? I’m not doing—”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Inara snapped. “I’m talking to your master, the one holding your strings.”
The Reaver’s head whipped back into an upright position. “You sound ridiculous, Inara. I am the one who told you about the true bond between dragon and Rider. You just can’t accept me for who I am because you’ve always underestimated me,” he fumed.
“I saw the truth with my own eyes,” Inara told him, relishing every word. “I saw your wounds, wounds inflicted upon Malliath by Athis and Ilargo. I know who I’m talking to. So hear me, Malliath the voiceless. I know your weakness now. And I will kill him to destroy you.”
The Reaver housing Alijah’s consciousness twitched. Her brother’s voice came out but his words were fractured. Then the Reaver staggered backwards as one of its hands reached up to touch its helmet in distress. The warrior in Inara had enough sense to know a fight before it broke out. Firefly was freed of its scabbard with a satisfying sound and a flash of steel, just in time to parry the first attack from one of the other Reavers.
The Guardian spun on her heel, bringing her into the heart of them. For most warriors, such a move would assure their doom but, to a master of the Mag’dereth, the Reavers were right where she wanted them. Firefly’s steel edge lashed out in a sweeping arc, pushing four of her enemies back before she brought a two-handed strike into the neck of the fifth, relieving it of its head.
At the same time, Governor Harlan dashed for cover behind his desk. Inara tried to keep herself between him and the knights of Erador but the remaining four pressed towards her. Between their approaching helmets, she glimpsed Alijah’s Reaver standing to the side as if struck by a daze. There was no time to ponder on its condition for she needed to move every limb to deflect and counter all at once.
These undead fiends, however, were no match for one who had spent the better part of two years cutting them down. One by one they fell at her feet absent the body parts that identified them as humans. When there were four more heads added to the floor, rolling around her feet, a familiar voice resounded inside her mind.
Inara! Athis called with alarm.
With no time for words, Inara transferred her recent memory across their bond, informing the dragon of her situation in less than a second.
I’m coming! he replied with a growl in his tone.
Alijah’s Reaver snapped back to life with a wild swing of its sword. Inara easily avoided it with footwork alone and responded with a flick of Firefly’s sharp edge across its leg. The force of it dropped the Reaver to one knee before the Guardian. Its eyes flashed from within its shadowy helmet and, for just a moment, Inara was sure they had been the purple reptilian eyes of Malliath looking back at her.
It was incapable of looking at anything after she thrust the tip of her scimitar through its visor and head.
No sooner did she pull her blade free than yet more Reavers poured into the room. Given the limited space of the study and the swelling number of enemies, Inara concluded that the odds were quickly stacking against her. Out of the corner of her eye, Inara could see Governor Harlan sinking further under his desk and disappearing into the shadows. Since he was as safe as he could be, the Guardian of the Realm decided to take control of the environment.
“Come and get me.” Her words were the only warning they were going to get before she turned on her heel and dived through the nearest window.
Alijah pushed off from the ancient throne of Atilan and stumbled across The Bastion’s main hall. Beads of sweat ran down his face and dripped onto the cold floor as he fought back the urge to be sick. Inara’s voice reverberated through the passages of his mind, her every syllable creating destruction and chaos.
“Malliath,” Alijah called out, falling to his hands and knees. Pain shot through his chest and shoulder, spreading around the arrow wound.
“I saw the truth with my own eyes,” Inara had said. “I saw your wounds, wounds inflicted upon Malliath by Athis and Ilargo.”
Her claims splintered his memories, taking the king back to their fight on the way down the pit. His mind clawed at his recollections, desperate for the truth. It was right there, right in front of him; he knew it. But every time he pieced the images together they misaligned, robbing him of clarity.
“Malliath!” he yelled this time.
He could feel the dragon trying to get through to him, his vast mind navigating the mess Inara had made. Alijah managed to rise to his feet and turn to face the oldest of thrones. He focused on it, using its details as a harbour in the storm. It was a slab of black stone, with flat angular features and a high back that had severely cracked at some point over the millennia. It wasn’t beautiful and it wasn’t meant to be. It was there to display Atilan’s strength.
With little thought, he was rubbing the indentation where his shoulder met his chest. There was an itch beneath his scaled armour that irritated him. Memory struck him, though it was not his. He saw, and even felt, the jaws of Ilargo grip around Malliath’s neck and shoulder, piercing the muscle beneath. The memory brought pain, staggering the king.
“What’s happening…” His words trailed off, along with his attention. Alijah tried to sharpen his focus but an inferno swept through his mind, all to the sound of beating wings.
Follow my voice.
Alijah hesitated, though he couldn’t say why. Malliath’s voice had always possessed a soothing allure that comforted him in his darkest hour. His thoughts stopped there when a searing hot jolt plunged through his mind. The king was cast back through his own memories, taking him to moments over the last fifteen years he didn’t recognise. He saw himself experiencing the same confusion and agony in the halls of his palace in Valgala and then again in The Red Fields of Dunmar.
This wasn’t the first time his mind had split open.
Gathering what strength he could, Alijah balled his fists and roared, “MALLIATH!”
The doors at the far end of the hall blew open, turning Alijah on the spot. Cold mountain winds filled the chamber and snow spilled across the floor. The stone beneath his feet shuddered when the largest dragon in the realm landed in front of The Bastion’s main entrance. Alijah felt Malliath’s purple eyes upon him, as if they were only feet apart.
It was within that gaze that Alijah lost himself. His past melted away, consigned to the darkest depths of h
is mind where he could never hope to grasp it.
He closed his eyes and then snapped them open. The doors to the hall were closed, though he could not recall the last time they had opened. He was still sitting on the ancient throne with no memory of having left it. There was an itch in his mind that questioned it all, sure that he had forgotten something crucial. The king shook his head and decided it was the disorientation that accompanied the inhabitation of a Reaver.
His thoughts quickly turned to his sister. Inara had levelled her usual threats but it had been satisfying to witness her fear after revealing his knowledge of their plan. It would be even more satisfying when he finally saw the light fade from her eyes and that of his parents’. Then he would be rid of his mortal trappings, free to exist solely as the king of Verda and nothing else.
There was, however, a small fear of his own. Its voice grew louder in his mind, bringing him to his feet. Could they do it? he asked Malliath, sensing the dragon’s presence somewhere above him. Could the Drakes be just as instrumental in the undoing of our work as they were in the making?
There came no response.
Frustrated, Alijah stormed across the hall, his face angled to the ceiling. Malliath? he demanded.
I am thinking, came the dragon’s reply, his tone one of impatience.
I don’t see how they could, Alijah continued, pacing now. Their magic will be fading like all other creatures. Hells, even the doorway will be closing soon. The king stopped to cast a quizzical eye over the snow dispersed across his floor. He could see with a glance that the doors were closed, a Reaver posted either side. As he tried to recall the last time they had been open, Malliath spoke into his mind, turning his sight back to the ceiling.
All things are possible, the dragon said.
Yes, Alijah agreed. But some things are certain. The Crow has seen our future. He warned us that we would be challenged, and by those who claim to love us. If there was a chance our great work could be undone, he would have orchestrated events to prevent it. The Rebellion plans to use the Drakes no less, a race brought into being by the guiding hand of The Crow. The king shook his head, his own reasoning filling him with confidence. No, he muttered. They have no hope.
Malliath’s presence settled around Alijah’s mind, adding weight to his words. All things are possible. We would be foolish to underestimate our enemy now, when we are so close to victory.
Alijah ran his hand over his jaw and nodded in agreement. You’re right, he said absently. This could be one last challenge we need to meet. But our forces have just arrived in the valley, he added, sensing the thousands of Reavers entering The Vrost Mountains.
Time is against our foe, Malliath counselled. Empty the towns and cities of Reavers and have them make for the doorway. They have but to create chaos, preventing any Drakes from entering the realm of magic, until the door closes.
Alijah was already relaying such commands to every knight in the surrounding areas. He didn’t, however, empty Vangarth of every Reaver. The king was sure to keep some behind to pursue Inara to her end.
When this is all over, Alijah remarked, we will have to review the size of our forces. The Rebellion has reduced our numbers beyond expectations.
We will require no such review, Malliath countered. The realm is inhabited by mortals. We have only to pass a new law, conscripting every man and woman who dies into our army.
Alijah considered the dragon’s suggestion. Elegant, he complimented. And no waste. Even in death, every man and woman will have purpose.
The king liked it. He walked back to the throne and sighed as he took his place upon it. All they had to do was crush The Rebellion and that world would be in his grasp. With that in mind, he wondered how his sister was doing.
Inara dashed across the rooftop, just as she had across every other, to escape the incoming arrows. The archers, firing at her from the surrounding towers, forced the Guardian to remain in the heart of Vangarth, where the majority of Reavers hunted her from the streets.
Skidding the last few feet, Inara dropped down onto a lower roof and narrowly avoided an arrow. Refusing to give up her momentum, the Guardian dropped into a roll before leaping up the adjacent wall and renewing her climb. Returned to her previous height, she was in the sight of multiple archers. It was instinct to fall back on her magic and keep the arrows at bay with a shield, but she dared not rely on it. Instead, Inara put her faith in her physical abilities.
Again, she jumped from one building to the next and just missed the arrows seeking her heart. Though the strength of her jump was more than any man could have dreamt, her timing was off. Instead of landing perfectly on the next rooftop, her chest slammed into the side of the building as her hands gripped the ledge above. Besides taking the wind out of her, it gave the Reavers below a chance to catch up.
Keep moving! Athis urged.
Where are you? she asked, heaving herself up.
You will know when I am there, the dragon promised.
By the time she was firmly on the roof, a pair of Reavers were ascending from the other end. Adding to their number, three more were climbing up behind her.
“Damn…” she panted.
What is it? Athis questioned.
Dead men can climb, she complained.
Left or right, the adjacent buildings were too far even for her. An arrow whistled past her face, reminding her that standing still wasn’t an option, and leaving her with one path. With no time to conjure a plan, Inara burst into a sprint. By her second step, Firefly was in her hand, its cold steel hungry for action. With little more than six feet between her and the two Reavers, the Guardian covered the remaining distance in the air. Her red cloak twisted, following her body round, until she came down on the nearest Reaver. Firefly cut through the top corner of its head before her feet touched down.
The second lunged at her without hesitation and the two fell into the rhythm of battle. Inara gained the advantage when an arrow, meant for her, caught the Reaver in the back, behind its shoulder. It wasn’t a killing blow for the fiend, but it was enough to push it forward and into Inara’s sweeping scimitar. As the body crumpled to the rooftop, absent its head, three more Reavers appeared at the other end. The Guardian only gave them a glance, however, her real concern lying with the archers on the nearby tower. Their aim was getting better.
Even now, she could see four of the undead fiends aiming their bows down in her direction. She knew a dozen spells that would either protect her or reduce the top of the tower to kindling, but her open palm failed to conjure little more than sparks.
Athis was not so hindered.
The dragon shot over the town like a spear hurled by a vengeful god. His breath was that of fury and flames and it brought a light more blinding than the sun to Vangarth. The top half the nearest tower exploded and the Reavers with it. Before the shower of debris found the earth, Athis had already moved on and destroyed the next with his front claws. His tail swept in and tore the rest of it to splinters. Flying around the edge of the town, immune to petty arrows, he continued to light up the night and bring fire to their enemies.
One by one, the towers fell to his might and ringed the town with sentinels of fire.
Inara smiled. There was no missing a dragon’s entrance. We need to rid Vangarth of every Reaver, she said, bracing Firefly in both hands. We need supplies and we need to create a safe passage for the Drakes.
Athis held his reply while she weaved and ducked between the three attacking Reavers. There are dozens leaving the town as we speak, he informed.
Inara deflected two blades at once and kicked the third away. Leaving the town?
They’re marching south, Athis reported gravely.
The Guardian shoved one Reaver from the roof, removing it from the fight altogether, and drove her sword up through the jaw of a second. He’s marching them back to the pit, she concluded, before manipulating the lifeless Reaver to shield herself against the third.
Inara, Athis intoned, if Alijah knows
what Adan’Karth and Kassian are doing, there must be Reavers close by.
Discarding the second body from the end of her scimitar, Inara pivoted and sliced one way then the other across the last Reaver. The second attack decapitated it, leaving her alone on the rooftop. Absorbing the dragon’s words, she turned to regard the forest north of the town. A sense of dread swelled in her chest.
Go, Athis urged.
Inara turned around to see her companion igniting the main road to the south. Through their bond, she knew that dozens of Reavers just went up in flames, never to hear their master’s commands again.
Go! he repeated.
Inara didn’t waste another second. She climbed down and returned to street level having already planned her route to the northern edge. Passing numerous houses, she saw fearful onlookers daring to peer out of their windows to catch a glimpse of the violence. The Guardian, however, didn’t plan on stopping to explain, even if it would put them at ease. She continued through the streets until the pines of The Evermoore stood in her way. Leaving Athis to his work, she entered the forest.
Her progress would have been slow, given the lack of light with which to locate their tracks, but the Guardian was shown the way in the most unexpected manner. At first, she feared it was a trick or perhaps fatigue on her part, for she had never seen trees move as they did now. The needles of particular trees blew in the breeze, revealing a distinct direction that led deeper into the forest. Whenever she displayed caution and considered another route, the trees in front of her would blow in that same direction.
Adan…
It had to be the work of the Drake. Inara knew of no other who could manipulate trees this way. It gave her hope.
And so she followed the breeze that blew through the forest, watching for the movement of the needles and the rustle of the trees. When the sound of destruction was too distant even for Inara’s ears, she came across a disturbing sight. Pinned to a tree by a piercing branch, one of Alijah’s Reavers writhed and struggled to free itself.
A Clash of Fates Page 43