Asher side-stepped a Reaver’s blade and caught the two-handed sword. On reflex, he incorporated the weapon into his spinning attack. That same Reaver soon found an edge of steel biting through its neck, releasing the fiend from its master’s strings. Its head rolling across the ground signalled the last of Alijah’s puppets on this side of the doorway, though Kassian and Inara were still beating back the few who attacked from elsewhere.
“Keep going!” Inara shouted down at them. “We can take care of this!”
Reyna gave her daughter a nod and nocked another arrow on her bow. “Shall we?” The elven queen was the first to pass through the doorway and enter the realm of magic.
Asher paused for the briefest of moments and looked up to catch Adan’s eye. There was so much he wanted to say to the Drake and no time for a word of it. He poured as much as he could into his expression, hoping Adan could see everything he wished to convey, be it his hope for their success or his agony that his friend would soon sacrifice himself for the greater good.
Setting foot into the realm of magic, it would have been easy to have given in to the sheer majesty of it all and simply stood in awe of such an alien world.
To Asher, there was only the enemy in front of him.
Having sheathed his silvyr blade on his back, the ranger added his broadsword to the battle. They were fighting between two enormous roots, their ankles submerged in warm water, while smoke and ash from the fire swept over them all, lending the Reavers a wraith-like quality.
Catching one of the smaller roots, beneath the water, Asher lost his footing and took a swift backhand across the face. Staggering away, he was then clipped across the shoulder by a stray blade from one of the fiends fighting Nathaniel. Tightening his grip around the hilt of his broadsword, the ranger returned with a vengeance. His shoulder cried out in pain, protesting the might behind his swing, but it didn’t stop him from adding another body to the tally.
Soon after, the first of the Drakes poured in through the doorway, guided by Kassian and Adan’Karth around the small battle. Inara was quick to join the skirmish, her Vi’tari blade never one to be left out of a good fight. In the presence of the Drakes, however, the Reavers became twice as hard to pin down and slay as they repeatedly attempted to slip through the gaps and target them. Asher even resorted to grabbing one by the cloak and yanking it back to face him.
Continuing in this vein, the ranger moved through his stances and put steel to steel. The Drakes flowed through one after the other, scaling the roots between the doorway and the trunk of the tree.
Asher had no idea how much time had passed before he realised there were no more Drakes coming through the doorway. Looking back at it now, he could see elven soldiers daring to enter while the dwarves remained firmly on Illian soil.
Confident that the few remaining Reavers could be dealt with, Asher bashed the nearest Reaver around the head with his spiked pommel, kicked it back, and made for the shorter of the two surrounding roots. His broadsword slotted back into its scabbard a second before his hands found purchase on top of the root. Exhaustion threatened to claim the last of his strength but the ranger pushed on, his training having more than equipped him to do such a thing.
Elevated now, he could see the hundreds of Drakes not far away, gathering at the base of the tree which, in itself, almost floored Asher with its scale. Now he really had seen everything. He could also see enormous stalactites falling from the star-like ceiling. A few seconds after they impacted the ground, a shudder rippled across the extraordinary realm. Careful to keep his footing, Asher broke into the fastest run he could manage and made for the Drakes.
He didn’t cross the distance with nearly as much grace as the Drakes had, but the ranger finally made it to the base. Looking left and right, he could see that they were spreading out so that all of them could touch the bark. Seeing them now, next to the mountain-like tree, he couldn’t help but fear this was a lost cause.
That fear led him to Avandriell, who would surely die with the tree. It was then that Asher realised he could no longer feel his companion. Her most basic thoughts and feelings were entirely absent, leaving the ranger with a cold and hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach.
Catching sight of a hornless Drake, Asher shrugged off his ill-feelings and focused on the present again. He was desperate to reach Adan’Karth before he touched the tree.
Approaching the trunk, he watched as dozens of Drakes placed their hands to the snow-white bark and drop to their knees. Slowly but surely, they began to glow, as if the sun itself was in their veins. The skin became hardened and crusted to mirror the bark of the tree until they stood as wooden statues.
“Adan!” the ranger bellowed, halting the Drake from pressing his hand to the tree.
“Asher?” Adan stepped away from his kin and met his friend with confusion. “Why are you here?” he asked, glancing back at the tree. “Time is against us - it will take all of us to focus on the fires.”
Asher stood before him, unsure now of what he had wanted to say exactly. “I… I just… It’s not fair!” he shouted over the increasing wind. “You shouldn’t have to do this!”
“There is no other way,” Adan told him. “We have to try!”
Asher was shaking his head. “This should never have fallen on you - any of you! You had a second chance at life!” The ranger’s shoulders sagged. “You spent so much of it saving me, over and over again. I’m so sorry, Adan. I’m so sorry. I failed you.”
Adan gave him a warm smile and gripped his arms. “You have not failed, good ranger! Fate comes for us all! If my people were destined to do naught but save the world, I can live with that!”
Asher could feel tears in his eyes. “If you touch that tree, you won’t be living with anything!”
The Drake offered him a knowing smile this time. “Every time you use magic, you will feel us in the currents that flow through you. Do not fear for us, Asher. It is not death we face this day. ’Tis life.”
With that, Adan’s hands slipped from Asher’s arms and he turned back to the tree. The ranger gave in to his impulses and grabbed the Drake, pulling him into a tight embrace. “You will not be forgotten,” he vowed.
Adan’Karth squeezed Asher once before extracting himself and moving deftly towards the tree. He slotted in between his kin and pressed his hand to the tree, accepting his fate. He fell to one knee before his pale skin took on a hue that could scarcely be viewed by the naked eye. As the brightness intensified, Adan looked back at Asher with one last smile, an image that the ranger would carry with him for the rest of his long days.
Then, the brightness died away, leaving a wooden extension of the tree where Adan’Karth had been kneeling. Up and down the base, the last of the Drakes were succumbing to the incomparable power of the tree. Craning his neck, Asher watched the fire intently, willing it to die out.
Nothing happened.
“Come on,” the ranger muttered under his breath. “Come on!” he growled. He had no god to pray to, only faith in his friend. “You can do it,” he insisted, wondering if he was already seeing a reduction in the size of the fire.
“Asher!” Nathaniel’s voice turned the ranger around. “The doorway is closing!” he warned. “It’s unstable! We need to leave, now!”
Asher didn’t want to leave - he wanted to watch, he needed to watch.
“Asher!” Nathaniel yelled again. “Get moving! Before it’s too late!”
Afraid that his friends would get stuck on this side of the doorway waiting for him, the ranger finally moved away from the wooden Drakes and joined Nathaniel on top of the root. They made all haste to return to the site of the doorway, regularly glancing back to scrutinise the flames. There seemed more smoke than fire now, a sight that sparked some hope in Asher.
Arriving at the small battle site, the doorway was, indeed, closing up, having already lost much of its height while its edges fluctuated and contracted. Reyna, Inara, Faylen, and even Kassian were still on this side of
the doorway, all waiting for their friends. They would leave together or not at all.
“What happened?” Kassian asked, upon their arrival.
Asher met the Keeper’s glistening eyes before turning back to the tree. “I think they saved us,” he panted. “They saved us all.”
The companions watched for a few seconds longer, noting the lack of flickering flames that had burdened the top of the tree. They were doing it, the Drakes were bringing magic back to the world.
The cost of it would haunt the ranger for evermore.
A hand gripped his shoulder and he ducked to follow Nathaniel and the others through the shrinking gap. Returned to a reality he recognised, Asher watched the doorway collapse on itself.
Avandriell filled his mind almost instantly and he felt her great elation upon reconnecting. It was a bittersweet moment for the ranger.
Under an empty and bitterly cold sky, Vighon Draqaro slipped in the mud as he came down, sword-first, on his foe. The steel slid down through the fiend’s visor and face before slicing through the other side. There was little that could stand up to silvyr. When the king rose from his kill, bringing the blade with him, he marvelled as searing flames licked at the exquisite metal.
Vighon hardly had time to notice as he raised it high and parried an incoming blow. He could, however, feel the heat of those enchanted flames on his face. With renewed vigour, he spun his enemy’s blade away and cleaved its head from its shoulders in one smooth motion. Stepping on its lifeless body, the king thrust the sword of the north towards the sky and roared with all the passion he could muster.
It rallied what strength remained in his men and they fought on with increased determination. Sure now that they would overcome, Vighon threw himself back into the battle and tore through his enemies with righteous anger. They had tried to tear down his kingdom and plunge the world into darkness and death. They would be made to pay, just as their master would.
It felt like an exhausting lifetime before the last of the Reavers was returned to the true death, their black husks cast into the mud with the rest. Vighon desperately wanted to sit down, if not lie down, and consume his bodyweight in water. His every muscle ached and he was steadily becoming aware of fresh wounds up and down his body. But then he saw her. Inara. Backed by familiar faces and a large group of elves, dwarves, and Centaurs, the Guardian of the Realm was walking towards him. Just the sight of her kept him on his feet, his head held high.
Like those behind her, Inara wore a forlorn expression. Had the flames not returned to his sword, the king would have assumed the Drakes had failed and that magic was lost to them forever. Instead, it was their sacrifice that weighed on them all and rightly so.
Fighting his battle fatigue, Vighon sheathed the sword of the north and moved to meet his love. They drew together in a tight embrace, oblivious to each other’s odour and filthy appearance.
“They did it,” she uttered, her own fatigue coming through in her voice. “Adan, his kin, all of them. They gave themselves to the tree. They’re gone.”
“They will be remembered as heroes,” Vighon promised.
Inara’s eyes looked past the king. “Where are Gideon and Ilargo?”
“Look!” someone shouted in the distance, shattering their moment. “They’re coming from the south!”
Vighon swore under his breath and moved with Inara to get a better look. Beyond the battleground, a dark stain was riding over the snowy plains, heading towards them. “They must have come from Tregaran,” the northman reckoned, thankful that their longer journey had kept them from the previous battle.
Turning to his men, he knew he needed to call on them, but how could he? Every one of them had given their all to prevent reinforcements from overwhelming those in the pit.
But what choice did he have?
“Men of the flaming sword!” he cried, freeing his fiery blade once more.
The king was proud to see so many rally to him, ready to fight for The Rebellion. Behind him, Asher was drawing his broadsword, the last to do so among the Galfreys and their elven warriors. Kassian spun his wand around between his fingers before stopping to admire the small glare of light that ignited at its tip. Only Inara stood without her trusted Firefly in hand, the Vi’tari blade still resting on her hip. It was the hint of a smile, however, that brought a question to Vighon’s expression.
“Wait for it,” she said, her eyes fixed on the advancing Reavers.
The king’s curiosity took form in his mouth but the words never left his lips. The answer cast a shadow over them all.
He saw now that the sword of the north was nothing compared to a dragon, for Athis the ironheart rallied every man, dwarf, elf, and Centaur: a mighty roar exploding from deep in their chests. They cheered him on as he soared across the sky, cutting through the air like a scaled spear. In no time at all, the red dragon had flown well beyond The Rebellion’s camp and was now angling down towards the Reavers from the south.
Athis scorched the earth.
His first jet of fire cut them down the middle, sending at least a hundred back to the afterlife. Banking to the west, he quickly came back around and unleashed his fiery breath upon the fiends. An inferno consumed the southern horizon as a column of black smoke wafted up to the heavens. After several minutes, his final pass finished those lucky enough to have escaped his previous attacks, ridding The Moonlit Plains of the last Reavers.
The Rebellion gave a resounding cheer, celebrating their victory as a whole. Only those who truly understood why hundreds of Drakes had gone down into that pit and never returned maintained their sombre expressions.
Athis landed on the snow, directly in front of them. Inara didn’t hesitate to meet her companion and share a quiet moment, their heads bowed together. Vighon could only imagine the anguish of their recent separation and was filled with joy to see them together.
“It is done,” Reyna announced, though her words carried no further than those on the council. “Alijah and Malliath have been proven fallible.”
“And with them The Crow,” Nathaniel added smugly.
“The latter remains to be seen,” Inara replied, her eyes scanning the area.
Vighon looked to Reyna and Nathaniel. “We will take the day and night; give our forces the rest they deserve. Tomorrow, at first light, we make for The Black Wood and join Doran.”
“And then?” Kassian queried.
Vighon took in the sight of those around him, all as tired as he was and sick of war. “Then we end it,” he declared.
46
Eternal Companions
The midday sun beat down over Ayda’s southern lands, its intense light pressing upon Gideon Thorn. Even with his eyes closed, the brightness urged him to awaken from the depths of his great slumber. Slowly, his eyes began to flutter as they adjusted to the oppressive light.
“He’s waking,” someone said.
A moment later, his mind caught up with his surroundings and he realised it had been Aenwyn who had spoken. He was also aware of the desert heat now, reminding him where he was. With that thought, he remembered where he had been.
The Darkakin!
Willing his eyes to open, the old master took in his environment, eager to be free of his disorientation. He was lying on his back amidst the ruins of one of Davosai’s shattered buildings. Above, the sun had found a crack in the debris and shone over his face. To his right, Aenwyn was approaching from another corner of the ruins. Gideon was pleased to see that she was unharmed except for a few cuts and bruises - a testament to her skill given where they had escaped from.
There was movement behind her, guiding the old master to Galanör who, like him, was lying in the rubble under his blue cloak. He possessed no injuries that Gideon could see, but the elf possessed a haggard look about him.
Aenwyn crouched by Gideon’s side. “How do you fair?” she asked softly, her hands probing the area around his ribs. “You’ve been unconscious since we portalled back to the surface.” A broad grin spread
across her face. “You’ve spent the time well it seems - this is healing nicely.”
That surprised Gideon, for he recalled the weapon that had pierced his side and the subsequent blood loss. He adjusted his shirt to better inspect the skin, though it was hard to see clearly due to all the dried blood around the area. He felt the momentary sting as his finger brushed the wound.
Then it occurred to him, the truth of the matter.
There was only one reason he could heal so quickly and the source of it stemmed from his closest companion. But Ilargo’s light had been fading, his life entwined with the tree of magic…
The green dragon cast a quick shadow over the ruins as his awesome form landed on the ground before the trio, his wings fanned out to increase his majesty. Regal in his stance, Ilargo looked down at Gideon with his sparkling blue eyes. There was so much life behind them.
“They did it,” Gideon uttered in disbelief.
Beside him, Aenwyn held up her hand and cast a frost spell that sent cold vapour into the air around her fingers. “They did it,” she beamed.
I am whole again! Ilargo exclaimed before bowing his head to focus his sharp eyes on Gideon’s wound. And so are you it seems.
With tears in his eyes, Gideon rushed forward and pressed himself against Ilargo’s head. His green scales were warm again and his golden speckles had returned with their exceptional gleam. I thought I was going to lose you, he confessed.
You almost did, Ilargo replied. Though I dread to dwell on the cost of our victory, he added dourly. Lives have been spent. We can only hope there are Drakes left to grace this world.
Gideon nodded gravely and patted the dragon’s scales. I fear those added to the dead will only fuel the fires for Alijah’s execution. He moves ever further from redemption.
Redemption or not, Ilargo said, we now have the means to bring this wretched war to an end.
The dragon’s words turned Gideon back to Galanör. His pale skin was all the more obvious when contrasted with his dark sunken eyes. Despite his drained appearance, the elven ranger looked back at the old master with a smile. The Hastion gem flashed a brilliant blue on his finger as he reached out and gripped the old satchel, propped up against a broken wall.
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