Of course, as much as her anger was aimed at others, it always came back on her. She was angry with herself for ever altering the bond with Athis and inflicting these human emotions on her life. And she hated herself for being cross with her mother, who only wanted to save her son from death. And then there was Gideon, who had been trying to save everyone since before she was born. Being angry with her old master, a man she had looked up to for most of her life, was hard.
A snapping twig turned Inara on her heel. She recognised Gideon by his silhouette, though he was easily identified when the golden dragon’s claw that formed Mournblade’s pommel caught the distant light.
“We need to talk,” he said determinedly.
Gideon’s words immediately got Inara’s back up and her emotional defences rose into place. “What is there to talk about?” she asked, her heart hardening once more to the approaching task. “You’ve already made your move and it appears you have the backing of the council.”
Gideon stepped forward. “Is that how you see it? We’re all making different moves like pieces on a board?”
“Aren’t we?” Inara questioned. “Even Doran has lost some of his fire. Now he just wants the war to be over, whatever Alijah’s fate.”
“You cannot deny the truth you have seen with your own eyes,” Gideon argued. “Alijah has no idea he is still under the thrall of Malliath. He has told us both that he believes himself to be free. That makes him a…” The old master lost his patience for words and gave an exaggerated shrug. “You know all this.”
“I know that Malliath’s influence is powerful,” Inara acknowledged, “more so than anything we ever experienced with Athis and Ilargo, or the entire Dragorn for that matter. But it’s still influence. There’s some of Alijah in his actions, Gideon. There’s a part of him that wants the realm in an iron grip, a part of him that wants the only dragon in Verda.”
Gideon didn’t say anything. He was listening. After Athis’s words, earlier that day, it stood out all the more to Inara. Unlike her, he wasn’t blindly following a single thought or belief; he was considering everything. It took some of the sting out of her anger towards him and left her feeling disappointed in herself.
“You’re right,” he finally replied. “It would be naive to think that Alijah is nothing more than a puppet. Like all of us, he has his flaws and he always struggled with living in the shadow of you and your parents. It’s not hard to believe that there’s a part of him that wants ultimate power, whatever the cost.” The old master sighed and his shoulders sagged. “And perhaps he should be killed with Malliath. It’s not a justice I believe in, but it might be the one the realm needs to heal and move on.
“I spent years teaching you how to think for yourself,” he continued, somewhat disheartened, “so I won’t tell you how to think now. And I certainly wouldn’t tell you what to do. And, in all likelihood, Alijah won’t give either of us an option. That’s why I’ve given the Crissalith to Doran. He’s going to have his smiths work it into something that can be wielded as a weapon. If Alijah is truly lost to us, the Crissalith won’t just sever his bond with Malliath, it can be used to pierce his heart.”
Hearing those words said aloud, and by Gideon no less, struck Inara deeply. It now felt all the more real that she was heading towards a confrontation with her brother and that one of them had to die. As she attempted to add another layer of shielding to her heart, disconnecting her from the task, her old mentor spoke again.
“You need to feel it,” he stated with conviction.
Inara frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You might not like it, but I know you. Since you found me in Erador I’ve seen you withdraw more and more when Alijah comes up. You’ve been burying your emotions, steeling yourself to face him. I did the same thing when I challenged him in Erador. I watched him for weeks until I was able to look at him and see only my enemy. And it wasn’t enough. I didn’t let myself feel any of it.
“When it comes to that final blow,” he averred, “you must let yourself feel it. The anguish. The heartbreak. Every ounce of pain must tear at you. It’s the only thing that will give you the strength to do what needs to be done.”
It was a powerful thing to hear and, though she couldn’t absorb it all immediately, Inara knew his words would sink in and leave a mark. “I thought you would be the last person to give me advice on killing him.”
“If it comes down to you or him, I choose you. But, like I said, I know you. When it comes to that moment, I know you will do what you believe is right.” Gideon took a breath. “I can live with that.”
Inara made to reply but her thoughts slowed her down enough for Gideon to turn away and return to the camp. She wanted to go after him and continue their conversation, remembering now how much she had always enjoyed talking to him. Instead, Inara watched him fade into the camp and disappear.
She had much to think about.
53
The Beginning of Something Beautiful
After a dark and sorrowful night, a bright dawn brought a new day to The Black Wood. The grief remained, as it would for some time, but a new atmosphere was becoming palpable within the camp. Preparations were beginning for an evening of celebrating the dead and drinking to the coming battle. Dwarven as the tradition was, every elf and human was happy to join them, Asher included.
Having dwelled in the mourning and grief of so many, the ranger couldn’t help but feel guilty, an emotion he was mostly unaccustomed to. Though he had lost Russell, a good friend he had long counted among the few he trusted with his life, and Adan’Karth, a being who had often acted as his conscience, Asher had gained new life that nourished his own.
Crossing the camp now, he looked up and saw that new life cut a bronze line through the sky. Avandriell was following him from above, her curiosity and apprehension bidding for dominance. She knew where her companion was going.
“Gideon tells me it’s only temporary,” he said aloud, garnering an inquisitive look from a passing dwarf.
A wave of amusement washed over their bond. You have to stop doing that, Avandriell insisted.
Even after days of almost constant talking, Asher could still be captivated by his companion’s voice. It was new to him, yet it felt like a voice that had always existed inside his mind.
I’m never going to get used to this, he replied mentally, offering the dwarf a polite nod. And Gideon tells me the effects of the Crissalith are only temporary. There’s no pain, just… silence.
Hmm, the dragon mused. Must you experience it first-hand? she asked.
I have no desire to be parted from you either, Asher stated. But if there’s anything out there that can harm you or our bond, I want to know about it.
The warrior that lived in Avandriell’s core agreed with the logic, but there was certainly more to her than just a fighter. I still don’t like it, she complained, having no desire to be separated from him.
Asher couldn’t help a smile. He knew there were people who would say they loved him - and he would never tell them they didn’t - but it was a very different experience to feel the love of another resonating in his heart.
The work stations of the dwarven smiths weren’t too far away from the main camp, but their seclusion made for perfect conditions where Crissalith was concerned. Still, the elves and dragons were sure to keep their business on the other side of the camp.
Only the slightest chill graced Asher’s skin as he passed between the heat of each station. Hammers beat with a steady rhythm and sparks were born and died in the blink of an eye. For most, the ranger included, it was a headache-inducing environment, but for the dwarves it was the sound of home.
The smiths barely glanced away from their work as they took note of Asher’s observation. He admired the blades and shields they produced, especially given their limited resources in the wood. Nothing, it seemed, could prevent the children of the mountain from doing what they did best.
I can still feel you, Avandriell tol
d him.
Asher didn’t need to look up to know that the dragon had glided away to a safer distance. And I you, he replied.
Approaching the furthest work station, the ranger’s eyes caught a flash of green on an anvil. The closer he got, the more detached and isolated he felt. Avandriell’s thoughts and feelings faded, as if the distance between them actually applied.
Asher… Her voice was reduced to a whisper.
It was wholly unnatural and every fibre of Asher’s being told him to get away from the Crissalith. But he needed to know. If it could be retrieved from the mine in Davosai once then it could be retrieved again. Now he knew how close the crystalline rock had to be before he began to experience the side effects. Two more steps and his mind was an island again, absent Avandriell’s exquisite presence and Thessaleia’s extraordinary memories and experiences.
He was just a man.
His fist clenched, the ranger studied the work of the dwarves closely. They were detailed in their approach to any weapon’s crafting, but they were also incredibly fast. Even now, before his eyes, the rough piece of crystal was beginning to resemble the blade of a dagger. It was beautiful. And abhorrent.
Like so much from that time, Crissalith was just another nightmare from the mind of Atilan. The secret history of the world would forever remember the wicked king as nothing more than a genocidal tyrant who couldn’t live with his own mortality. His only saving grace was the accidental creation of the elves, though it was something of a taboo subject among the woodland folk.
Satisfied with his new knowledge regarding the Crissalith, Asher wasted no time in bidding it farewell. He strode from the area without a glance back.
There you are! Avandriell exclaimed. Come and meet me!
Asher welcomed her presence as she filled up his mind. There was instant transmission of memories, informing the other of their brief time apart. Both were in agreement that Crissalith was to be avoided at all costs and, if possible, destroyed so that it could never be used against them.
I have been reviewing your memories of orcs, Avandriell said with excitement, and much to Asher’s amusement. Her mind worked quickly, dashing from one subject to another with hardly a breath between. It reminded him how young she was.
And what do you make of them? the ranger asked, heading deeper into the main camp.
I would like to face them! the dragon declared eagerly. They possess a ferocity worthy of challenge. Before Asher could comment, Avandriell blurted, And Giants! Illian is home to a gruesome breed my mother never encountered. And Sandstalkers! I wish to test my fangs against their outer shell.
Asher chuckled to himself as he passed a pair of dwarves stirring a large vat of stew. This world is full of monsters, he assured. You’ll get your chance at them all before long.
Navigating a tight cluster of tents, the ranger offered Captain Dardaris a greeting nod, though he didn’t stop to talk to the man, still unsure as to how he spoke to someone while conversing with a dragon. Continuing towards the large field that parted the trees, a place he could meet up with Avandriell, Asher almost paused his step. He could feel his companion moving around inside his mind.
What are you doing? he asked curiously.
You’re different, Avandriell told him.
Different? he echoed incredulously, though he only required a moment of thought to realise he was completely different to the man he had been before he stepped into that bonding chamber.
You are not entirely the man I met, Avandriell went on. You have let go of so much since then, even more so since Palios. The end of Nightfall and the Arakesh has changed you. I feel relief in you, a weight lifted. Yet, you still believe yourself to be the last of them. I can feel the shame that lingers. I do not like it.
Asher glanced at the sky, catching a glimpse of her. In time, their mark on the world will fade and their name will become an old legend. But I’m… immortal. The word didn’t come to him with ease. I will live on, and so Nightfall’s teachings will remain in the world. There’s no escaping that.
Avandriell remained uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, though Asher was convinced he could feel an impression of Thessaleia in her thoughts. Are you an Outlander? the young dragon asked.
Her tone suggested it was a trap of sorts but the ranger took the bait. No, he answered confidently.
Are you sure? You bare the mark of an Outlander. And, however long ago, I can still see and hear all that your time amongst them imparted to you.
Unconsciously, Asher reached up and touched the patch of skin under his left eye. The faded black fang tattoo had been etched into his face as a young child, an event he could not recall.
I see where you’re going with this, he said, aware now that Avandriell was calling on some of her mother’s wisdom to help him through it.
You are not Arakesh, the dragon asserted, just as you are not an Outlander. Everything that came before has given you the foundation on which you can build a new life, a life with me. And we are rangers! Alidyr Yalathanil, Nasta Nal-Aket, Lady Gracen, and now Veda Malmagol. They are all gone. There are no more Mothers or Fathers. No more Nightfall. It is done.
The ranger hadn’t heard a couple of those names in a long time, nor had he paid them much thought. He wondered how long it would be before Avandriell’s grasp on his memories stopped being so strange.
Asher gave a resigned smile. Perhaps you are right.
I am right, Avandriell replied boldly.
The ranger was almost upon the field now, the camp once again falling behind him. Who am I to argue with a dragon?
Avandriell’s focus sharpened and her tone grew serious. Never forget, you have a dragon heart. Whatever else, now and for evermore, you are a dragon. That makes us equal.
A warm and genuine smile lit up Asher’s face, a smile he would always hold in reserve for Avandriell alone. He knew his responding feelings were passing through their bond and so he didn’t need to speak.
Navigating the trees, Asher didn’t have to enter the field to know that Ilargo was already in it. Piercing the trees, the morning sun struck the green dragon and highlighted his golden speckles.
Catching Ilargo’s eyes, the ranger offered a bow of the head before making his way towards Gideon. The old master was standing with his hands on his hips and looking down at Doran, who was issuing orders to a handful of his kin as they arrived with a small cart.
“What’s all this?” he enquired on approach.
Any answer was delayed when Avandriell dropped out of the sky at a run. She came to a stop beside her companion with a cheeky glint in her golden eyes. It occurred to Asher that only he could see that expression in her and he liked it, even if it did leave him feeling a little suspicious.
“Ah, there ye are, lad!” Doran beckoned him closer with a gesture. “I’ve not long - I’m needed in a dozen other places. While ye lot were still makin’ yer journey this way, I had me boys make somethin’ for the three o’ ye. Though,” the dwarf admitted, “we’ve had to make some quick adjustments for Avandriell. We didn’ know how big she was goin’ to be.”
“Three of us?” Asher looked questioningly to Gideon and found a good deal of doubt in his demeanour.
“Aye, the three o’ ye; Gideon, Inara, an’ yerself.” Doran turned back to his fellow dwarves. “Come on lads, get to it!”
Asher turned briefly to Avandriell. Why do I get the feeling you know what’s happening?
The dragon glanced at Ilargo before returning her companion’s look. Because I do.
“It was very good of you to think of us, Doran,” Gideon voiced.
Doran shrugged at the compliment. “Ye don’ ’ave to use ’em. I jus’ thought it might even out the field a bit. After all, Alijah an’ Malliath ’ave one.”
The tarps pulled back, the team of dwarves revealed three saddles and a tremendously long set of straps. An abundance of excitement and anticipation rose up in Avandriell.
Gideon twisted his mouth as he examined them. “Dr
agons aren’t meant to be ridden,” he muttered. “But I suppose we aren’t Dragorn anymore,” he added, looking up at Ilargo.
Following his gaze up to the towering dragon, Asher was amazed to see Ilargo’s expression in a way he had never noticed it before. Until that moment, the changes in his reptilian face had only been noticeable when his mood changed drastically. Now, he could see the subtle movements in the finer muscles and the emotion in his eyes. Ilargo appeared content with Gideon’s assessment.
Doran raised his hands in a display of innocence. “I would never compare a dragon to a horse or even a Warhog. I know they’re not mounts to be guided. That’s why there’s no reins. Instead,” he added, tapping the front of the long saddle with his foot, “they’ve been fitted with a pair o’ handles. That should give ye somethin’ to hold on to when things get hairy.” The son of Dorain looked directly at Asher. “There’s saddlebags too. I know a ranger needs space for their gear.”
Asher gave an appreciative smile. “Thank you, old friend.”
Doran nodded once. “A long time ago, there was an alliance between dwarves an’ elves, between dwarves an’ dragons. We made weapons for ye.” He gestured to Mournblade on Gideon’s hip. “We fought with ye. An’ we died with ye. Followin’ the victory o’ our alliance, the world seemed to fall apart for us all. Me kin looked inwards an’ we shunned all else. I don’ know what the future holds for ye, either o’ ye. But jus’ know, ye, an’ all like ye, will always ’ave friends in Dhenaheim. That I promise.”
Gideon placed a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “And Dhenaheim will always have friends in the sky.”
Doran responded with a tight-lipped smile before a sigh escaped him. He looked back at the main camp, through the trees. “I need to get back to it,” he said half-heartedly. “We only ’ave today. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? They will assist ye as ye require,” he added before walking away.
A Clash of Fates Page 59