A Clash of Fates

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Asher was no stranger to the harshness of the elements, especially so far north that The Vengoran Mountains dominated the horizon. For the first time in his life, however, he faced this winter from the comfort of the air, accompanied by a warming spell and Avandriell’s dreams for their future.

  The pair would touch down every evening and enjoy the company of others over a meal. Sometimes they assisted in hunting down food to be dispersed through the camp. Mostly, Asher enjoyed being above the grief that permeated the once rebel forces. They all felt the sting of losing Athis and the rulers among them had yet to rise above their sorrow.

  Reyna and Nathaniel were recovering quicker than Inara but, having spoken to them many times since leaving the mountains, Asher knew that they had started mourning the loss of their son long before his death. For Inara, her loss was still so raw.

  A celebration is needed, Avandriell had opined several times along their journey. A great victory has been won, she would say. Evil has been vanquished. The efforts of the brave should not be idly put aside in favour of the keen loss felt by the few.

  Time, Asher had replied. Something you haven’t had much of. But you’ll see. Take it from the man with a thousand years behind him. Time heals all.

  I have no doubt, Avandriell had agreed. But the thousands of people beneath us require something to remind them.

  Asher had tilted his head to catch one of her golden eyes. Remind them of what?

  That they won, Avandriell had answered.

  After a long journey, nearing three weeks, it seemed the people of Namdhor had heard the dragon. Avandriell took to the ground and walked alongside the horses and Warhogs to get in the middle of it. Having seen the large force approaching from some way, the people had gathered in the lower town and lined the main road that ran all the way up the centre of the city, ending at The Dragon Keep.

  Trumpets blared, drums beat rhythmically, shakers filled with grain were rattled high in the air, and the music of three dozen lutes had their tunes carried in the breeze. The crowds cheered the victorious return of their king and their loved ones. Vighon, and even Inara, waved and smiled at the people as they rode up on their horses. Beyond the lower town, rising into the city proper, confetti seeds were thrown over them all in celebration.

  Within the royal party, though slightly behind Vighon and Inara, Reyna and Nathaniel rode side by side with a small entourage of elves, including Faylen. The remaining elves marched in tight formation behind the human army, a spectacle for the humans of Namdhor. Further still were the dwarves of Dhenaheim, though their king and his mother journeyed through the city beside the Galfreys.

  Wait until the dwarves make camp, Avandriell said. Then the party will really start!

  Asher had to laugh at the thought - she was absolutely right. A group of children dashing between the parade caught the ranger’s eyes and he followed them to the side of the road. There, he noticed a great throng who simply stood staring at Avandriell, captured by her beauty.

  My ferocity, the dragon corrected, picking up on his observation.

  I don’t think they’ve ever seen a dragon as small as you, Asher quipped, careful to guard his amusement.

  I am not small! Avandriell protested.

  Only then did Asher laugh to himself and bring her in to the joke. You shall be mighty in both size and strength, young one!

  Avandriell exhaled a sharp breath via her nostrils, displeased with the connotations that accompanied being young. I will not be young forever, she promised.

  No, Asher agreed. But you’ll always be young to me, he added with an affectionate pat to her neck.

  Ilargo’s shadow came over them both. The green dragon flew on ahead, his magnificent wings blowing snow from the rooftops.

  A welcoming party greeted them all outside the main gates. It was only then, at the top of the capital city, that Asher realised the banner of the flaming sword was displayed throughout Namdhor, wiping away any trace of the black dragon sigil. It brought a rare smile to Asher’s face, one that spoke of hope for a future he didn’t often consider.

  The afternoon, and what remained of the light, was taken up by the finer details of where everyone was sleeping and, thankfully, what celebrations were to be had. It was a moment for the dwarves to come into their own, a people who knew how to celebrate. The elves contributed, and even Reyna, who was slowly emerging from her shell, was able to advise on a few elements. Kegs of ale, beer, and wine were located throughout the city and distributed to places in need of good drink. Food had been sourced from other towns and cities after news of victory had spread, though much of it was directed to those in the lower town and the poorer districts in the city’s fringes.

  As nightfall crept over Namdhor, it brought with it an ocean of stars to mark the occasion. Having avoided the various meetings taking place, and kept very much to the fringes of the keep, Asher found himself wandering out onto the northern ramparts. The King’s Lake, the largest body of water in all of Illian, was a slab of ice below. Its furthest edges met the curving mountain range of Vengora, which stood as no more than a black silhouette against a starry backdrop.

  Movement drew his eyes to the pointed plateau of rock that extended beyond the keep and hung over the lake. He soon recognised the red cloak of Inara Galfrey gently blowing in the wind as she stood by the jagged edge. Swiftly, if quietly, the ranger made his way down and left the keep behind to meet her on the plateau.

  “Inara?” he called softly.

  The Guardian briefly regarded him over her shoulder before returning her gaze to the horizon. “It’s a strange feeling,” she said, as he joined her by the edge, “to know that I can fall and he won’t catch me.” Inara peered down at the drop. “It suddenly feels like such a long way.”

  “Perhaps you don’t need to be caught,” Asher posed.

  “I have heard this speech,” she interjected. “I know my own strength. I still command a level of magic many would envy and my skill with a blade puts me above most. I’m set to become the ruler of the biggest kingdom in Verda. My words will carry across the realm and it will be reshaped because of it. I know I don’t need to be caught,” she echoed. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to be.”

  Asher’s gaze lingered over her sharp features a moment longer. She had come a long way in a few weeks; even the timbre of her voice was a display of her inner strength, a strength Athis had helped her to build through the years.

  “I think it’s you who will need to do the catching now,” Asher replied. “Only it isn’t a single person relying on you to be there.” He half turned over his shoulder, a gesture to the rest of the realm behind them.

  “Then it’s a good thing I will have help,” Inara said, giving him a glance.

  The ranger responded with a light shrug. “Avandriell and I will always be around. As will Gideon and Ilargo, I’m sure.”

  Inara bit her lip. “I wouldn’t count on them being around too much. I have a feeling Gideon and Ilargo are destined for the west.”

  Asher nodded his understanding. It didn’t surprise him either to think of the pair returning to Drakanan or even Erador having spent years in that land.

  “You don’t need reminding of your allies,” he said. “Nor the troubles that still lie ahead of you,” he added, referring to the colossal task of putting the realm back together. “Your name, your deeds, your loss… history will note them all. And ever will Athis the ironheart be regarded as the greatest hero of the Fourth Age. But, again, you know all that.”

  “What is it I don’t know?” Inara asked with a hint of irritation.

  Asher turned to face her. He could see the cavernous hollow that Athis had left in her, a place where his love had once burned with abandon. It was the same kind of love Asher could feel every second of the day emanating from Avandriell. It was like air for his lungs.

  “You are still fiercely loved,” he told her, turning the half-elf’s blue eyes on him. “And not just by Vighon, but by so many more
… including me,” he added before the lump in his throat prevented him. “Nothing will ever replace Athis’s love, but there is so much more love you have yet to experience.”

  Inara wrapped her arms around him before any tears could streak down her face. “I couldn’t save either of them,” she wept in his embrace.

  Asher held her close. “You weren’t meant to,” he whispered. “The choice was theirs. You only did what had to be done. What no other could.”

  Inara squeezed him, reminding the ranger the elf in her was much stronger than him. “Thank you,” she uttered.

  It wasn’t long before Vighon arrived, as if a sixth sense had told the northman his love was in need of him. Asher took his arm back and happily accepted a kiss on the cheek from Inara. He left them there, high above the world and returned to the warmth of The Dragon Keep.

  The ranger passed the early hours of the evening with the hottest and most satisfying bath of his life. He informed Avandriell that she had seen the last of him, for he was never leaving the bath nor the comforts of the keep. That was until a knock graced his door with a message from the king of Illian.

  Now, walking through the halls of the keep, Asher came across Galanör and Aenwyn as they exited their room.

  “Summoned to the throne room?” Galanör enquired, falling in beside the ranger.

  “You too?” Asher replied.

  The elf nodded his response and glanced out of the passing window. “Where is Avandriell?”

  “She wanted to go down and see the dwarves,” Asher told him. “She’s grown fond of their… culture,” he added with some amusement and a shrug. “I’m never going to get used to seeing you with only one blade,” he remarked, as they turned down the next passage.

  “Imagine how I feel,” Galanör agonised, his hand reaching for his belt. “I feel like I’ve forgotten something all the time.”

  Never one for idle chat, Asher was glad to reach the throne room only a minute later. The chamber looked to be in the middle of decoration, but the servants had all left before completing the job. Instead, the throne room was occupied by only a few, if a powerful few.

  The ranger met Gideon and Faylen with a nod, but he hesitated when faced with Reyna, Nathaniel, and Doran, all of whom now inhabited stations that required more respect than a simple nod of the head. Rather than look like a dithering fool, Asher gave them all a bow.

  “Asher.” Reyna said his name lightly and bowed her head in return, though Nathaniel looked somewhat awkward about the whole affair.

  The same could not be said of Doran, who accepted Asher’s bow with a broad grin. “Maybe I could get used to this kingly business.”

  Asher narrowed his eyes at the dwarf before returning his grin. “And maybe you will suit it, Heavybelly.”

  “Am I late?” Kassian asked as he entered the throne room, his limp long gone thanks to his fellow Keepers and some additional spells from elven healers.

  “You’re right on time,” Vighon announced, emerging from a side door with Inara and Sir Ruban Dardaris. “Soon, this hall will be filled and the revelry will begin in earnest.” The king paused and shared a brief moment with Inara. “Before that happens,” he continued, “we wanted to make an announcement—”

  “To our family,” Inara expanded, with a quick look in Asher’s direction. The ranger was just happy to see something of a genuine smile on her face.

  “Yes,” Vighon agreed, taking Inara by the hand. “We are engaged to be married!” he exclaimed.

  There were cheers and applause in response, including a, “Finally!” from Doran. The couple descended the steps from the throne and accepted hugs from all. Reyna and Nathaniel embraced their daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law with tears in their eyes. It was a joyous moment they had all been in much need of.

  And, as Vighon had promised, revels were soon upon them. After their private celebration, servants of the keep welcomed everyone from lords to decorated soldiers who had fought in The Rebellion. Under one roof, dwarves, elves, and humans joined in merriment for the first time since victory had been claimed. Asher couldn’t remember the last time he had drunk anything from a goblet. Doran had brought his own goblet of sorts, though it was more comparable to a bucket with a handle on the side.

  Before volume and potency left every member of the party inebriated, Vighon stood above all on the podium, before his throne. “Victory,” he declared simply, drawing every set of eyes to him. “It is not given. It is earned. It’s earned with blood… and sacrifice. This chamber, if not the realm itself, should be filled to bursting with glorious heroes who fought for what was in their hearts. But without their blood, without their sacrifice, we would not be here to celebrate this moment. This victory. So raise your drinks,” he said, lifting his cup. “Raise them to those who cannot stand with us. To absent friends!”

  The latter was echoed throughout as the chamber drank to the fallen. Asher’s goblet touched his lips but he paused before consuming the beer. He thought of Russell Maybury, Adan’Karth, Athis the ironheart, and… Alijah Galfrey. They and so many more had been taken by a fated war.

  After the king’s speech, the celebration was renewed and the hall was alive with chatter and laughter. Asher drifted through, allowing himself to be pulled into various conversations and debates, until he found himself alone on the dragon platform overlooking the city. From top to bottom it was awash with a multitude of overlapping parties. Every inn, tavern, and house was brimming with people and cheer. Beyond the lower town, illuminated by thousands of torches and sporadic fires, was the combined dwarven and elven camp, whose merriment carried all the way up to The Dragon Keep.

  A great gust of wind battered the ranger, throwing his hair and cloak out. He turned to see Ilargo land on the platform, his golden speckles glistening in the moonlight. Gideon climbed down from his saddle having left the throne room shortly after Vighon’s speech.

  “It’s ready,” he said to Asher on his way inside.

  Asher acknowledged the news with merely a look. I’m almost with you, Avandriell spoke into his mind.

  The ranger watched as Gideon discreetly informed the selected few of the same thing he had told him moments ago. One by one, they excused themselves from their conversations and quietly made for the main doors.

  Jump! Avandriell insisted.

  Asher could feel her presence and knew she was close. I’m not doing that, he replied with a light chuckle and a glance over the edge. And besides, you’ve had way too much dwarven ale.

  Accompanying the others, Asher took the traditional route out of The Dragon Keep, if on this occasion a more secretive one. Cloaked, hooded, and unchaperoned by guards, the kings and queens of the world made their way down through the city and back on themselves to reach the lake. Galanör, Aenwyn, and Faylen made their own journey together, separate from the monarchs so as to move in smaller, less noticeable groups. Kassian, however, had declined to accompany them, choosing, instead, to remain in the keep. Only Asher, after meeting up with Avandriell outside the keep, and Gideon made their way by dragon flight.

  Now, under the King’s Hollow, between Namdhor’s rising slope and the rocky pillar that supported its weight, those few gathered around a pyre. It was a space traditionally reserved for the crowning of Namdhor’s kings and queens but, tonight, it was a place to say farewell to one.

  Before the fire grew and consumed the pyre, Asher looked upon the body that rested there. A few elves, those Faylen had assured Reyna were their most loyal, had placed a stasis spell over Alijah before they had set off from The Vrost Mountains. And so, weeks later, he looked just as he had the day he died. Gideon stood before the pyre and made a snatching motion with his hand, bringing an end to the spell and leaving Alijah’s body to the flames.

  “Here lies Alijah Galfrey,” Gideon announced, “a prince of Elandril, a Dragon Rider in his heart, and a good man. May it be, that one day, the realm comes to learn the truth of his life, the truth of the light that lived in him, even when the
darkness claimed him as its own. For now, his sacrifice will remain with us, those who loved him, who knew him as that good man.” After receiving a nod from Reyna and Nathaniel, Gideon waved his hand across the pyre and increased the flames.

  Standing next to Avandriell, Asher watched the fire rise from the back of the group. Inara and Vighon remained close, wrapped in each other’s arms - as did Reyna and Nathaniel. Gideon stepped away from the fire and returned to Ilargo’s side, where Galanör and Aenwyn stood quietly together.

  A hand sneaked between Asher’s arm and chest as Faylen linked herself to him, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. The ranger had seen her coming but her actions still surprised him. Rather than question the affection, he squeezed her hand and lightly kissed the top of her head. Her friendship, he knew, was a comfort he had purposefully avoided. An immortal now, Asher was pleased to know that he had a very long time to work on their friendship and, perhaps, even give Nemir a chance.

  For now, he simply enjoyed their closeness and let his thoughts drift across the memories he retained from his brief bond with Alijah. Thankfully, Avandriell had pushed almost all of Malliath’s memories into the abyss, leaving only Alijah’s earlier life to recall. He had, indeed, been a good man.

  As the fire consumed his body, Asher dwelled on an image of the young half-elf from his time on the road with Vighon. He saw him wearing a green cloak, taken from Asher’s locker beneath The Pick-Axe, and a familiar silvyr short-sword and folded bow on his back, taken from the Galfreys’ home.

  Once upon a time, Alijah Galfrey had wanted to be just like him, a ranger doing his part for the world. That was the man Asher would remember.

  59

  New Beginnings

  It had been three weeks since the start of the victory celebrations, three weeks since The Rebellion had nothing to rebel against. In that time, winter had unleashed its full force, an unwelcome shield against the warmth of the sun. Namdhor was struck daily by blasting winds and the snow came day and night.