A Clash of Fates

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Inara came to sit beside him with a knowing smile. From within her satchel, she provided a small cube wrapped in cloth and tied with a piece of string. Kassian stopped himself from snatching it and thanked her before even removing the cloth. The smell of the lemon cake was more intoxicating than any ale or cider that had crossed his path.

  “How are things here?” Inara asked, casting a cursory glance over the Drakes.

  “More turn up all the time,” Kassian replied with half a mouthful of cake. “They’re so far back now, you can’t see them all.”

  “Have any of them moved? Said anything?”

  The Keeper shook his head. “No. At least not in the way we understand. They’re as unmoving as the trees, but inside,” he added, tapping the side of his head, “they’re all talking at once, their emotions bleeding into each other. They share memories right down to the smell and taste of a thing. It’s incredible.”

  Inara turned so that her blue eyes could bore into the Keeper. “Did you touch one of them?”

  Kassian kept his gaze on the last few crumbs of cake inside the cloth. “I might have… brushed past one of them, yes.”

  “Kassian!” she admonished. “I told you not to interfere.”

  “So did they,” he muttered. “And besides, I’ve been stuck out here with them for days! It’s freezing and my magic is barely working. Pretty soon I’m going to have to keep this fire going the old-fashioned way.” Kassian stared at the flickering flames for a moment before realising he had no idea how ordinary people started fires. “I can’t stay out here forever,” he concluded. “Maybe you should stay here and I’ll go back to Vangarth.”

  “We don’t have forever,” Inara agonised, ignoring his last comment.

  The Guardian didn’t need scrutinising to see that the weight of the world was sitting on her shoulders. “How are things in Vangarth?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Athis and I have cleared it of Reavers,” she reported.

  “That sounds like fun,” Kassian lamented.

  “It had its moments,” Inara replied, a touch of levity added to their conversation. “Governor Harlan is very much on the side of The Rebellion thankfully. He’s already sent several carts of supplies to The Moonlit Plains.”

  Kassian nodded along, glad to hear it all. He couldn’t help but notice, however, the look of concern that crept across Inara’s face. “What is it?”

  “What’s what?” she countered, perhaps brusquely.

  “What’s the cause of your concern?” he asked specifically.

  “Besides the end of magic,” Inara quipped, “and the realm falling under the rule of a mad dragon and his pet?”

  “Those are usually my words. You even got the tone right. All of which tells me you’re compensating for something. What is it?”

  Inara rubbed her eyes and sighed. “Athis is getting worse,” she told him. “He’s already slower and I can tell he’s cautious of flying now. Our bond is sporadic. I can feel his life ebbing away. It’s like a part of me is rotting from the inside.”

  Kassian almost winced at the description. Though he couldn’t understand her exact feeling, he knew what it was like to have a part of himself rot away, spoiled forever. He knew it could never be fully healed, but the rest of him would find a way to grow and to live with it. Of course, he could never say such a thing to Inara.

  “This is going to work,” he said instead, his tone determined. “It has to.”

  A flicker of a smile strained Inara’s face. “You are not the man who has plagued countless council meetings for the last two years.”

  “Plagued?” he echoed with amusement. “I always thought my contributions were vital to The Rebellion’s morale.”

  The two shared a quiet laugh before assigning shifts in which to sleep during the rest of the night. Kassian insisted on taking first watch to ensure that Inara did, indeed, get some much-needed sleep. And, not for the first time, the Keeper was pleasantly surprised to have enjoyed the company of another Galfrey.

  Unfortunately, the next morning wasn’t so far away and, before he knew it, Kassian was being woken by a rough hand pressing into his chest. The Keeper opened his eyes to see Inara standing over him. He squinted his eyes in the light, dazed and confused as to why the sun was directly overhead.

  “What’s wrong with the sun?” he asked, sitting himself up.

  Inara raised an eyebrow. “It’s midday - the sun is right where it’s supposed to be.”

  “Mid… Midday?” Kassian rubbed his eyes, his confusion no better off. “Why is it midday?”

  “Why is water wet?” Inara asked with more wit than Kassian could conjure right then. “Why is the sky blue? Why is your breath so bad?” The Guardian shrugged. “It’s just the way of things.”

  “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long,” the Keeper said, choosing to ignore her remarks.

  “Kassian.” Inara’s impatient tone stopped him from reaching for his waterskin.

  Instead, he followed her gaze beyond their little camp and realised the Drakes were no longer standing like statues. “What’s happening?” Kassian rose to his feet as the Drakes broke their web.

  “I think they’re finished,” Inara reasoned.

  Kassian looked around in search of answers but it was chaos with so many Drakes now wandering between the trees. With Inara, he began to weave his way through to the heart of the clearing. Before they reached the centre, Adan’Karth emerged with a handful of Drakes at his back.

  “What’s happening?” Kassian asked with urgency, painfully aware that they had now been away from The Moonlit Plains for four days. “You’ve been talking for an age,” he added with some exaggeration.

  “There were many facets to be discussed,” Adan replied coolly. “Unfortunately,” he continued in a graver tone, “a general consensus could not be found.” The Drake turned to direct their attention to a dozen or so of his kind. They were walking away from the clearing and steadily vanishing into the forest.

  “What do you mean?” the Keeper pressed.

  “There are some among us,” Adan explained, “who do not wish to get involved in the wars of the realm. There are others who wish to take their chances in a world without magic.”

  Inara looked back at those who were leaving. “They’re not coming with us?”

  “They cannot be forced,” Adan’Karth stated. “This was always a choice.”

  Kassian quickly scanned the Drakes who remained, though he couldn’t see them all to count their number. “Are there enough? Can you save the tree?”

  “Even if we were twice what we are,” Adan said, “I still could not answer that question. I only know seven-hundred and thirteen of us wish to try.”

  Kassian wanted to voice his concern that seven-hundred and thirteen would not be enough, but he reminded himself what sacrifice those Drakes were making. With that in mind, the Keeper bowed his head out of respect for them.

  “History will not forget you,” Inara declared. “Any of you. I won’t allow it.”

  “Nor shall I,” Kassian promised.

  “The future is our concern,” Adan replied, “not history. We will do all that we can to ensure there is one.”

  Inara bowed her head as Kassian had. “We should make for The Moonlit Plains immediately,” she urged. “It’s a four day journey on foot and time is against us.”

  Adan’Karth surveyed his kin before meeting the Guardian’s eyes again. “We are ready.”

  By the time they reached the streets of Vangarth, the last rays of light were gracing The Evermoore. Naturally, Kassian looked up to spot Athis in the sky, but there was no sign of the dragon. Inara’s words came back to him and made all the more sense when he finally laid eyes on the dragon. Kassian would never have described Athis as small, yet he did not hold himself to the size the Keeper recalled from only days previously.

  Standing in the road, by the town’s southern edge, his horned head was bowed, his wings tucked in, and his tail curled to l
ine up with his body. Even the red of his scales appeared dull compared to Kassian’s memory of him.

  Leading the procession of Drakes, Kassian came face to face with Athis first. Of all the dragon’s features, his blue eyes - sapphires cut with a slit of black - had always stood out, imprinting on the memories of any who looked upon him. Now they were darker, absent their usual intensity.

  Inara reached out to run her hand along the edge of his mouth. “We’re going to make it,” she said. The dragon’s only response was to turn around and start down the southern road.

  Governor Harlan appeared with a small entourage of high borns and guards. “Guardian?” he enquired with a curious look down the line of Drakes.

  “Our business in The Evermoore is concluded,” Inara told him without explaining the Drakes’ presence. “We will return to the plains at once.”

  “Very good,” the governor replied. “I am glad to have been of service to The Rebellion. I’m sure King Vighon will see to our protection in light of our allegiance.”

  Inara flashed the man a confident smile before glancing at the Drakes trailing Athis. “If we succeed in the coming days, Vangarth will have no reprisals to fear from the likes of Alijah Galfrey and his knights.”

  “Then I pray the gods bless you,” Governor Harlan offered.

  Kassian watched Inara stumble over her response before finally saying, “And you, Governor. And thank you for sending so many supplies - your generosity will not be forgotten.”

  The Keeper joined Inara as the pair fell in beside Adan’Karth and the hundreds of Drakes. Seeing them all together, heading to their deaths as far as any human was concerned, Kassian felt sick, just as he had when Laga’Thak had cast him out of their extraordinary network. As far as he was concerned, the future came at a cost: seven-hundred and thirteen lives.

  41

  Cast Out of the Heavens

  It had been nearly a decade since Gideon or Ilargo had seen Ayda, the dawning country. Having crossed over its shores in the dead of night, they were now presented with a vista of colour in the sunrise. After two days of naught but ocean waves in every direction, it was pleasing to take in the land and its variety. That variety, however, gradually faded the further inland they journeyed. It soon became an inhospitable realm of sand and rocks: a harsh place to live.

  As the morning went on, Gideon periodically checked on Galanör and Aenwyn over his shoulder. Both had slept most of their journey away, finding little stimulation in the new environment. For Galanör, an elf of five hundred years, his time in Ayda’s southern lands might have been brief but, for Gideon, it was a significant turning point in his life.

  I still remember it like it was yesterday, he said to Ilargo. I remember crossing over The Opal Coast while hanging on to Malliath for dear life.

  Ilargo briefly turned his head to lay an eye on his companion. For all his evil deeds, I am thankful for Malliath. He did bring us together, after all.

  Gideon rubbed Ilargo’s scales but held his next words back, his attention snatched away. The old master narrowed his eyes and looked to the distance. Despite the hazy line of the horizon, there was no missing the enormous blotch of green against the surrounding desert.

  The Great Maw, he uttered.

  Aptly named, Ilargo remarked. That jungle is filled with all the predators who could not survive outside of it.

  There was only one predator in there that concerned me, Gideon replied, his memories threatening to recall all he had seen of the dreaded and savage Darkakin.

  Ilargo made for the jungle, his mighty wings keeping them clear of the violent habitat beneath. It wasn’t long before the ruins of Malaysai came into view, though many of its buildings and temples had been consumed by the encroaching jungle.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Galanör called from behind.

  Gideon turned to see the elven ranger. “Welcome back to Malaysai!”

  Keeping to a south-easterly heading, Ilargo continued to fly over the dilapidated city. It wouldn’t be many more years before there was nothing left visible to the eye but the pyramid in its centre. The Great Maw was never satiated.

  Without the usual warning, Gideon felt his stomach rise as Ilargo descended. Ilargo? What are you doing? We need to be higher if we’re to clear the city.

  There came no reply from the dragon.

  Again, the old master felt the sudden drop in altitude and Malaysai came ever closer. Galanör questioned their flight path but Gideon ignored him as he adjusted his position to better see Ilargo’s face. His companion appeared dazed, drowsy almost. At first, Gideon feared he had flown for too long and needed rest, but he would have sensed such a thing long before now.

  All the while, Malaysai was rising up to meet them, and fast.

  Ilargo? he called again. Ilargo!

  “Gideon!” Galanör shouted, his voice panicked. “What’s happening?”

  “Brace yourselves!” Gideon yelled back. Come on, Ilargo, he called across their bond. Hear my voice. Come back to me!

  There was a faint presence in Gideon’s mind, just a hint of his companion. Though brief, he could feel the weakness spreading throughout Ilargo’s body and even his mind. His magic was fading.

  With the wind pummelling them, the trio held on to Ilargo wherever they could and prepared for the roughest of landings. His wings continued to glide over the city, but he had dropped so low now that Gideon heard the tip of a wing scrape against one of the tallest spires. Yet the ground was still so far. At their current speed, Ilargo would slam into the remnants of a building or skid across one of the ruined streets and kill them all, himself included.

  His mind racing, Gideon desperately searched the surrounding area for anything that might help them, regardless of how futile it might be. Besides the pyramid, there was only one other structure in all of Malaysai that drew the eye: the barbaric arena. It stood above the city on three rocky columns and was large enough to accommodate several dragons. It was the arena’s height, however, that gave Gideon a glimpse of hope.

  “I have an idea!” he shouted back to the elves. “Hold on!”

  Without delay, he scrambled further up Ilargo’s neck, thankful the dragon was only gliding. Well-accustomed to his companion’s body, Gideon positioned himself to the left of Ilargo’s head and slowly rose until he was upright and braced. He had no time to lose - his window of opportunity was quickly disappearing.

  “Gideon!” Galanör bellowed. “What are you doing?”

  The old master clenched his fists just once, flexing the fingers in preparation. Then he jumped. His leap was true, bringing him alongside Ilargo’s face. Before his momentum could take him any further, Gideon reached out and gripped one of the dragon’s largest horns, just above his eye. Using what was left of his momentum, he yanked outwards and slammed his feet into his companion’s jaw.

  Fortunately, Ilargo’s dazed state had rendered him relatively limp, at least enough for Gideon to pull his head out to the east. The dragon’s body naturally followed the direction of the head and steadily glided towards the arena. When they were lined up, Gideon eased off and pushed himself back the other way to straighten Ilargo’s flight. There was no climbing back onto his neck now - he was going to see the landing through from the front.

  As the wall of the arena approached at speed, Gideon saw Ilargo’s pupil sharpen. A number of subtle movements rippled across the dragon’s features, indicating his alertness. His bulk and speed made it impossible to miss the arena now, but Ilargo managed to raise his wings just enough to give them some extra lift and avoid the worst of impacts.

  Instead, they skimmed the lip of the wall before all four of his claws tore through the seating and he inevitably tripped over himself. His armoured underbelly took the brunt of the skidding impact, and his jaw struck the arena floor with enough force to reduce his regained alertness and knock Gideon free.

  The old master rolled over himself half a dozen times, barely aware of his companion’s wing as it momentarily bl
ocked out the sun. Ilargo came to a halt after his entire body was on the arena floor and a trail of rubble was behind him. Red dust clouded the air, concealing the fate of Galanör and Aenwyn. Gideon could only say that Ilargo was still alive - that much he could still feel through their bond.

  “Gideon!” came Galanör’s voice from somewhere in the haze.

  “Over here!” he shouted back, relief in his voice.

  Two silhouettes pushed through the debris until the true forms of Galanör and Aenwyn were revealed. Like Gideon, they had suffered minor injuries though they had, perhaps, fared better on Ilargo’s back.

  “Is Ilargo still alive?” Aenwyn blurted.

  “He lives,” Gideon answered, his eyes guiding them back to the rising dragon.

  Ilargo shook his head, freeing more dust into the air. Some of the sharp ridges and spikes under his jaw and along his neck were either chipped or worn down completely. Blood was visible between some of the scales on his face and legs.

  Can you hear me? Gideon asked via their bond.

  Ilargo turned his head and looked down at him. Yes, he replied, his voice uncertain.

  Is anything broken? Gideon’s eyes surveyed Ilargo from head to tail. It wasn’t that long ago he wouldn’t have needed to ask.

  Only my pride, the dragon said, though Gideon could sense a fair amount of pain on his companion’s part.

  Galanör looked from Rider to dragon. “What happened?”

  Gideon held Ilargo’s gaze a moment longer. “Magic is dying,” he stated before breathing a sigh.

  The currents fluctuate, Ilargo told him. They fade here and there, but this is the first time the loss of magic has taken my senses with it.

  “It’s only going to get worse,” Aenwyn surmised, unaware of Ilargo’s response.

  “What do we do now?” Galanör questioned, dusting off one of his arms.

  Gideon looked back at Ilargo. “Can you fly?” he asked aloud.

  Yes. But I will not fly now, the dragon added.

  Why not? Gideon pressed, falling naturally back into their bond.