A Clash of Fates

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “It should never have been a choice for you!” Alijah screamed at him. “It should always have been me!”

  Inara didn’t even think. She saw Alijah’s cursed Vi’tari blade come up, ready to thrust into her father’s heart, and she reacted instinctively. Her hand retrieved the Moonblade from the back of her belt and let it fly with all her hope behind it. Be it the sound or the glow of the blade, Alijah became aware of the incoming dagger and adjusted his stance at the last second. Instead of catching him in the chest, it collided with his swinging sword and ricocheted off at an awkward angle.

  His life extended, Nathaniel launched himself at Alijah and grappled him around the waist. The added weight put Alijah off balance and sent the pair to the floor in a tangled heap. While they rolled about, swapping sharp elbows and hammering fists, Inara sprinted through the tunnel and out into the rain.

  Alijah, however, emerged the victor and jumped to his feet. An underarm sweep of his hand cast a blast of telekinetic energy across Nathaniel and sent him flying into Inara. She couldn’t decide what hurt more: the impact of her father or the impact against the floor with his weight on top. Between them, they groaned and grunted onto their hands and knees, though Nathaniel was unable to rise beyond that feat. Inara gave him a quick look over, dismayed to see so many bleeding wounds and dark bruises.

  It enraged her.

  Inara spun around to face her brother. She was ready, there and then, to run him through and bring a bloody end to it all. Seeing him properly, however, only feet away, the fire in her veins cooled just enough to make her falter. He looked almost as ravaged as the knights he had twisted into Reavers. His angular features had hardened, lending him a gaunt and wasted appearance, as if he was slowly being hollowed out. When was the last time he had eaten or found restful sleep?

  On top of his haggard look, a savage gash ran over his left eye, of which there was nothing but red to be seen. And a bruise, almost as dark as his armour, crawled up the side of his neck and across his jaw to a bleeding nose. It was hard to see which injuries could be attributed to his duel with their father and which had come from Athis and Avandriell’s assault on Malliath. Even now, in front of her very eyes, new cuts were slicing through his skin, yet Alijah seemed oblivious to them all.

  “I suppose it was always going to come to this,” he announced. “This… clash of fates was foretold. The Crow saw this. He told me you would challenge my reign, that you wouldn’t settle for any peace,” he spat. “And here we are, destiny fulfilled.”

  Inara slowly shook her head in the rain. “He told you a version of the truth that he needed you to believe, Alijah. But it was a lie all the same.”

  “You still have no idea what you’re talking about!” he retorted angrily.

  “He promised you would be king of all Verda,” Inara continued. “That your rule would reshape the realm and bring about a unity that has never existed before. True,” she conceded. “At least, that’s the version of the truth he wanted you to hold to. But the unity he spoke of was the one that rose up to challenge you. In this world, a world you have reshaped, the races have come together under one banner for the first time. And The Crow knew I would oppose you because he knew I would have no choice but to fight the evil he was unleashing on the world.”

  She thought of Gideon’s words to her, before the battle on The Moonlit Plains. “I didn’t want to believe it,” she said earnestly, “but, standing here, now, destiny fulfilled… how can I not? Our birth was orchestrated, Alijah. Our birth. Because our fate was always to meet here. To end it all, one way or the other.”

  “Those sound like the narcissistic words of Gideon Thorn,” Alijah rasped. “You always were his favourite puppet. He told me the same thing once. Since then, I’ve taken command of everything from the east to the west. I’ve brought peace to future generations. Thousands, millions more will be born into this world and know a full and happy life because of what I’m doing here! With no magic, there can be no threat! Who are you to challenge that?” His Vi’tari blade came up in his hands.

  “And those sound like the bitter words of a frightened dragon,” Inara countered. She had more to say, more words to twist her brother into knots, but there was no time - the would-be king lunged at her, proving himself to be as quick as ever.

  Firefly came up just in time to block the green blade from taking her head. At the same time, the enchantment set into the Vi’tari blades caused an outburst of multi-coloured sparks. Alijah pressed into his sister, dragging his blade along hers until their faces were inches apart.

  “Look at yourself!” Inara hissed. “You’re being torn apart!”

  Alijah growled and twisted his body into the next attack. Inara anticipated the move and adjusted her grip to meet the cursed sword. Again, their weapons collided in a spray of colourful sparks that died all too soon in the rain.

  Rather than wait for his next attack, Inara fell upon her brother with a flurry of slashes and swipes. Her last strike, an upwards swing of Firefly, scraped along his scale mail and finally cut a line up his chin. As the blood rose into the air, Inara put a swift boot into his chest and sent him across the platform.

  In a display of strength Inara hadn’t believed he still possessed, Alijah flipped forwards onto his feet from his back before his legs even hit the floor. His Vi’tari blade cut a fine line through the rain, demonstrating an edge of discipline to his form. They soon came together again in a battle of wills and ringing steel. Alijah’s style reminded Inara of Asher’s fighting form, his attacks precise and always deadly: intended to kill, not maim.

  Misinterpreting one of his attacks, Inara received a dragon-scaled elbow to the face and a quick slash of steel across her hip. She screamed and fell face first against the stone, her tongue able to taste her own blood as it mixed with the collecting rain water.

  Sensing a kick coming for her ribs, the Guardian rolled to the side. She avoided Alijah’s boot but not the swing of his blade, which she was forced to meet with Firefly before rolling away again.

  Instead of continuing their dance of steel, her hand shot up and released a blast of ice. Alijah stopped the freezing spell with a quick shield spell of his own. When he dropped the shield, a small sheet of curved ice fell to his feet and shattered into pieces. Inara used her precious time wisely and returned to her feet, despite the protests of her injured hip. Alijah, however, had no interest in crossing swords with her. Before their battle could begin again, he threw down his Vi’tari blade and raised his hands into the air.

  “We’ve done this once before!” he yelled. “Do you remember how that ended?”

  There was no time to conjure a destructive spell of her own - bolts of lightning were already sparking between his fingers. Inara dropped Firefly and held out both of her hands. Her shield flared to life with only a fraction of a second to spare before Alijah’s display of lightning crashed into it. Between them, they lit up the night.

  Alijah soon added waves of telekinetic energy to his lightning, putting more strain on Inara’s shield. Inevitably, the drain began to take its toll on her physically. Within seconds of holding off the barrage, the Guardian was down to one knee. Leaving herself with one hand in the air to continue her defence, Inara’s other hand dropped to her waist and found the satchel clipped to her belt.

  Gaining ground, Alijah stepped towards her, his spells intensifying. Through the flashes and blinding bolts, Inara could see a grin of wicked glee on Alijah’s face. It didn’t look like her brother’s face. Instead, she saw the insidious malevolence of his companion behind his expression, a beast who wanted nothing more than to break the surface world and its ties to magic.

  Then, inexplicably to Alijah, his lightning spell began to shrink away from her shield, as if it was retracting into him. Within seconds, his hands held nothing but smoke.

  “What is this?” he fumed.

  Inara, gritting her teeth against the pain in her hip, and just about everywhere else, rose to her feet. In her right hand, s
he presented the Crissalith dagger, a sturdy weapon now, thanks to the dwarves.

  Alijah’s eyes narrowed. “Is that…”

  With the Hastion gem sitting comfortably on her finger, Inara flicked her wrist and struck her brother with a fiery spell that launched him from his feet. “Crissalith,” she declared, walking towards him.

  The force of the spell certainly inflicted a fair amount of pain upon Alijah, though his smoking scale mail held up to the flames. Before he could get up, Inara unleashed a short burst of lightning and shocked him with enough energy to make him howl in agony.

  Enjoying her superiority, the Guardian waved her hand left and right, flipping him one way then the next into the hard stone. Her last outburst shoved him across the platform, to the very edge.

  Inara displayed the back of her hand and the blue gem that adorned her finger. “It’s not so easy when you aren’t the one holding all the cards, is it?”

  Digging deep into whatever reservoir of energy he had long learned to hold on to, Alijah managed to lunge at her from the floor. It would have been an easy attack to counter, his bare hands unable to stand up to the edge of the Crissalith blade, but he had a blade of his own. At the last second, Inara saw the glow of the Moonblade in his grip. She didn’t have time to chastise herself for losing sight of it - she could only defend herself.

  Each cut the other with their chosen weapon, their attacks intricate and deadly. Inara’s spells, however, had taken their toll on Alijah, adding to his growing injuries. Taking advantage of his sluggish movements, the Guardian shifted her stance and locked his arm in place. She knew the exact amount of pressure to apply and forced him to drop the Moonblade. As he yelled out and released the dagger, Inara twisted the Crissalith blade in her hand and thrust it up between two layers of scales in his armour. It missed his heart and rammed up through his shoulder until the hilt became lodged. His cry of pain was instantly amplified before she let him fall back to the edge of the platform again.

  Inara… Athis’s voice called to her in that moment. She could sense the great effort her companion required to speak to her while locked in battle. Inara, he said again. What you do now will define you. Don’t meet wickedness with more wickedness. You love him. Set him free. Their bond was severed when the red dragon retracted his mind and recommitted to the fight in front of him.

  Focusing on Alijah again, Inara recalled Gideon’s advice. She had to feel it, one way or another. Only by acknowledging her true emotions could she make that killing blow. Standing over him now, Inara looked down at her brother. He was utterly broken. And, through that broken exterior, she wondered if she was glimpsing something of that scared boy he had once been, before all the wars.

  It brought tears to her eyes.

  He was still the little boy she had dreamt of grand adventures with. He was still her best friend who knew what she was thinking, who knew when to comfort her. Under it all, there was something left of him in there - she had to believe that. The Alijah Galfrey she had known was strong… and good.

  Feeling it all, at last, Inara crouched down beside him. Her emotions had, indeed, given her the strength needed to deliver that killing blow. But it also gave her the strength not to deliver that killing blow.

  “This… isn’t over yet,” Alijah croaked. “I will… beat you.”

  Inara met his eyes. “The Crow wasn’t the only one to lie to you,” she told him. “Malliath has fooled you.”

  Through his pain, Alijah managed to direct his scowl at her. “You… don’t know what… you’re talking about.”

  “Your bond was never altered, Alijah. Malliath just made you believe it was. You have to trust me,” she pleaded. “He’s had you under his thrall from the beginning. Day after day, his mind has poisoned yours. And now, he has you so enclosed in his grip that you can’t see the damage being done to you. Can’t you feel it? Your magic might flow from within now, but the Crissalith will still untether you. Soon, his influence will be all but gone.”

  “Liar,” he seethed.

  With tears streaking down her face, lost to the rain, Inara replied, “See for yourself, while you still can. Go into your sanctuary. Take the passage, the one that changes everything - you’ll see. You must go through.” Alijah didn’t look convinced, though he also looked like he might be losing consciousness. “Quickly,” she urged. “Our sanctuaries are places of deep magic. You don’t have long before the Crissalith prevents you.”

  Alijah closed his eyes and let his mind fall into that deep place Inara spoke of. When he next opened his eyes, he was whole again. There was no Crissalith blade in his chest and no wounds from either his father or his sister.

  He breathed in the sea air as the waves of The Adean collided rhythmically with Korkanath’s rocky foundations. Turning on the spot, he noticed the darkness encroaching on the cave, a living shadow that erased the sanctuary’s details inch by inch. It wouldn’t be long before the Crissalith dissolved it all and banished him from the ethereal space and back to the pain of the real world.

  Moving away from the spreading darkness, towards the craggy entrance, he realised he was alone in the sanctuary. Malliath was too occupied with Athis to allow his mind to inhabit the cave.

  What was he even doing here? he asked himself. Inara was wrong. Yet here he was, having heeded her words. Alijah shook his head and growled in frustration. His mind felt as if it was unravelling.

  As the Crissalith encroached on his bond with Malliath, severing the strands of their tether, flashes of memory assaulted him, each one a physical blow. They blinded him, showing him things he had done over the last two decades, things that made him feel sick.

  “NO!” he screamed in a bid to reject the images and sounds of so much death. But there was no escaping the truth of what he had become: a necromancer.

  The half-elf fell to his knees in the dirt. The darkness was beginning to lick at him from all sides except one: the jagged entrance to the cave, where the ocean washed up again and again. Instinctively, he moved away from the creeping abyss and towards the water.

  He had done this before, he knew. He had walked through those waves, sunk beneath the surface, and emerged with a bond in keeping with the Dragon Riders of old, free of the way of the Dragorn.

  Hadn’t he?

  Try as he might, he struggled to recall that memory with any clarity. He remembered Gideon telling him of the bond, of the potential influence dragons could exert on their companions, as Nylla had once done with the great Elandril, centuries ago. It had deeply offended him that Gideon would think Malliath capable of controlling him in such a way. To overcome his nagging doubt, however, Malliath had encouraged him to leave the sanctuary via the water and see for himself. He had emerged in the real world feeling no different, confident that Malliath had never attempted any kind of control to begin with.

  But here he was, standing with his feet in the surf and unable to recall his actual steps into the water years earlier. More images flowed through his mind, causing him to stagger forward into deeper water. He saw himself, full of conviction, aiming his Vi’tari blade at his father’s heart. If it hadn’t been for Inara’s intervention, he would surely have killed him.

  Then he saw his grandmother, Adilandra. His actions had sealed her fate and sent her to the watery grave in which she now rested. Heartbreaking as it was, to see the disappointment on her face at the end, it was even worse to see the men, elves, and dwarves he had condemned to death. There were so many of them. He fell to his knees and yelled at the storm before hammering the waves with his fists.

  Malliath had been behind it all…

  That singular thought began to sharpen as new memories came back to him, memories that had been scrubbed from his mind by the dragon. His every emotion had been manipulated to direct him down a particular path, a path of destruction. Malliath hated magic with every fibre of his being. He had been the victim of it time and time again throughout a history that was so long he had earned the title of ancient. But it didn’t
excuse the dragon for using him as a tool to meet his ends.

  Alijah’s shoulders sagged and his head turned to the sky. He had been used. Powerful forces had turned him into a weapon and handed him to the oldest being in the world, to be used however he saw fit. And what evil things he had done. Alijah looked at his hands, hands that Malliath had used to craft the darkest of magic and turn it upon the realm.

  He had been tainted to his very soul.

  It was all so painful to comprehend. There could be no redemption for him - he had become the embodiment of evil. There was a part of him that wanted to return to the real world and allow Malliath to maintain his influence, to erase these memories and feelings for good. But ignorance wasn’t bliss, it was dereliction of duty, a duty he had sworn to many years earlier when he had been in the company of good men like Hadavad… and Vighon. He had sworn to protect the people of the realm, not break them.

  Alijah looked down at the water and took a breath. He was going to plunge deep and emerge a free man, whatever that might be. And he would accept the consequences.

  Inches above the water, his head stopped before submerging. A single thought occurred to him. It was, perhaps, the clearest thought he had conjured in nearly twenty years. He thought of the battle raging in the sky above The Bastion. Athis was a powerful dragon, but Alijah knew what was in Malliath’s heart, in his iron will. Inevitably, Athis would fall to Malliath, as so many before him had fallen. And then Ilargo would take his place and find only the volcanic fury of the black dragon, his death assured. And without Alijah as his weapon, he would surely resort to burning all of Verda to the ground. There were simply none who could best him.

  Except one.

  The effects of the Crissalith were almost absolute, the sanctuary closing in on him. Yes, he thought. There was one who could beat Malliath the voiceless.

  All he had to do was let himself go and take a single step. To take a step was a simple thing, a small thing even. He had been in this moment before, in the hammering rain at the top of the world. He knew now, as he knew then, that it would take such a simple and small thing to change his destiny. He had tried that once before and failed.