Age of the King, page 16
part #6 of The Echoes Saga Series
Alone in Vighon’s chamber, the three Galfreys shared a quiet moment as they all dwelled on Alijah. Asher’s news had broken them all in some way and added to their resolve in another. For Inara, it was mostly shock mixed with the kind of fear that opened a pit within her stomach. She couldn’t help but think of all the things that could have been done to prevent his fate, though The Crow would have foreseen such a thing.
Her mother eventually pulled away from her with tears bridging her eyelashes. “Did Asher reach the ground?”
Inara nodded. “Athis tells me he’s already heading to the lower camp.”
Reyna smiled and nodded along, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. “We should go down ourselves and find Aunt Ellöria. She will shelter Asher, but Ellöria doesn’t like to be in the dark on matters.”
“Inara…” Nathaniel turned away from the window and faced his family. “Regardless of what Gideon commands or what Asher tells us, you will take us to The Bastion, won’t you?”
Inara had never seen her father so desperate, nor her mother so distracted. “I have a duty…” she whispered, hating herself for falling back on such a response.
“Do you not have a duty to your brother?” Nathaniel countered, ignoring his wife’s silent plea to calm down.
“Of course I do!” Inara shot back. “Do you think it doesn’t tear me up inside knowing that he’s out there being…” She couldn’t say the word. To think of someone harming her twin brother was enough to make her feel physically sick.
“There are tens of thousands of people in the north right now,” Inara continued. “I’m needed here.”
Desperate as he was, Nathaniel heard none of it. “It will take us days, weeks even to reach The Vrost Mountains. Asher said The Bastion is high up; we would find it quicker with Athis’s sight.”
Inara had no reply, having said all she could on the matter. Of course she wanted to go and rescue her brother, but if she was to return and find that all of Namdhor had perished in her absence, the young Dragorn would never forgive herself.
It was her mother, however, who spoke reason. “Inara,” she began softly. “If Asher is right, then The Crow is going to turn your brother into something else, something that might even threaten Verda. If we save him before it’s too late, the duty we all have to the realm will be fulfilled.”
Some of that made sense to Inara. “Asher told us The Crow wants a king, a good king. What he’s doing is twisted and beyond evil, but why should we fear Alijah?”
Reyna guarded her expression. “The Crow has used dark magic to see Alijah’s future,” she said gravely. “Such a thing can alter one’s perspective. And, in all my time, I have never seen evil fail to breed evil. I want my son away from him at all costs.”
Inara couldn’t argue with the wisdom of her mother’s words and neither could Athis.
There is a reason dark magic is forbidden, the red dragon said into her mind. It wasn’t banished eons ago to ensure a balance between mages. It is known that such a thing can break the mind, body, and soul…
Before Inara could reply, a vigorous knock beat against the door. “In the name of the king, open this door!”
Inara scowled and let her hand fall onto the hilt of her Vi’tari blade. Seeing as her father looked to be in the mood to punch someone, again, the young Dragorn crossed the room and greeted the knocker. She was quickly forced to step aside as three Namdhorian soldiers pushed their way through, making room for the king himself. Remaining outside, Sir Borin the Dread stood as a sentinel at his master’s back.
Arlon scanned his son’s room before resting on Reyna. “Ah, it warms my heart to see you back to health, Ambassador!” Inara had seen a more genuine smile on a Gobber. “I see we’re having a lovely little reunion. How nice.” The king’s demeanour finally turned sour. “I’m not a religious man, I don’t see the divine instead of coincidence and, tonight, a very suspicious coincidence has taken place.”
Nathaniel started forward. “Arlon… your Grace. My wife has not long awoken, she needs to rest a while longer.”
“Not long awoken,” Arlon repeated, his eyes roaming over Reyna’s boots. “Don’t get me wrong, any excuse to get me out of the old war-witch’s funeral is a welcome one. Tonight, however, Namdhor’s most dangerous prisoner escaped the dungeon, apparently aided by a woman. Also tonight, Reyna Sevari miraculously awakens from her deep slumber. I find it hard to believe that a woman could aid Asher in his escape, but an elf? Elves are notoriously stronger, faster… sneakier.”
Reyna squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “Are you accusing me of something, your Grace?”
The king sauntered around the room, confident that every inch belonged to him. “Accusing the princess of Elandril would be a serious thing,” he continued. “Especially when I’m hoping that, with your help, we might strengthen the bond between Illian and Ayda.”
Reyna bowed her head in agreement. “An alliance between our two shores would be a mutually beneficial one.”
“Excellent!” Arlon threw his hands up. “Then I can count on the Galfreys for support? And any sign of Asher will be reported? I would hate to start issuing decrees with the words treason or execution in them.”
Again, Reyna bowed her head. “You can always count on us to do what is best for the realm, your Grace.”
Arlon maintained his gaze a moment longer: only a fool would miss what she had really said. “Very good,” he finally replied. “My army is preparing to take the fight to the orcs. As legendary as your skills in battle are, neither of you are expected to join the melee, obviously. I will have chambers made up for you, so that you might stay in The Dragon Keep as my guests.”
Nathaniel opened his mouth with what could only be a scornful rejection but, thankfully, his wife beat him to their response.
“That is very generous of you, your Grace. I’m not feeling completely myself yet.”
Arlon briefly narrowed his eyes at Inara on his way out. “Master Galfrey. The same cannot be said of you, I’m afraid. You and your dragon are valuable assets to Namdhor’s battle plans.”
Inara glanced at her parents before addressing the king. “The Dragorn will always keep the dark at bay, your Grace.” It was the best answer she could give, torn as she was.
In the king’s absence, the Galfreys took a collective breath. Arlon Draqaro had a way of sucking all the air out of a room, his very presence a threat.
Nathaniel checked the view from the window. “The funeral is ending,” he reported. “We should use the cover of the masses to reach Ellöria’s camp. Arlon is sure to have his Ironsworn watching us.”
Inara was about to agree when a sharp sense of urgency crossed her bond from Athis. The initial emotion was despair, its source a great deal of pain.
It’s Thraden! Athis told her, already on the move.
Inara wanted to ask what was happening, but she already knew the terrible answer. “I have to go!” she blurted, heading for the door.
“What’s wrong?” her mother asked.
Inara paused in the doorway, her face ashen. “The orcs are hurting Arathor…”
Her time in the air was brief, though Inara was unable to enjoy even a second of it. Any time with Athis was a joy, but being in the air, above it all, was easily the best feeling in the world. Now, soaring low towards the edge of The King’s Lake, the only feeling the young Dragorn had was a sinking one.
Thraden was visible along the shore, his devastating tail hammering the frozen surface of the lake. His roar was distorted, wracked with pain and suffering. His thick claws raked the ground and the spikes on his back quivered.
Blood was seeping into the lake…
Ilargo and Gideon touched down first and approached Thraden with caution. A wounded dragon could always be helped, but a dragon in the throes of intense pain was akin to a cornered animal - there was no telling how it would react.
Athis fanned his wings, cutting his speed to land beside the shore on all four of his powerful legs. Inara jumped down and ran to Gideon’s side as the dragons deliberately placed themselves between their Dragorn riders and Thraden.
All of them opened their minds to the bond, allowing the dragons to share everyone’s thoughts. Thraden wasn’t saying anything intelligible, his pain too intense. Inara moved to get a better look at him but Athis turned his head back with a warning in his crystal blue eyes.
Stay behind us, he cautioned.
Ilargo edged forwards. Thraden?
The blue dragon tried to writhe on all fours but his front right leg gave way and he roared as his jaw hit the ground. There were new gashes along his body and his red eyes were clearly swollen. It broke Inara’s heart, if it could be broken any more. She couldn’t stand to think of what was being done to Arathor…
Ilargo inhaled a sharp breath and exhaled a torrent of icy air to cover Thraden’s wounded side. It soothed the dragon for a moment, allowing him enough control to give them a pleading look.
Inara watched Gideon closely, well aware of the decision that sat on his shoulders. The young Dragorn had been very against killing Thraden to end their suffering, but that was before the torture began. Now, seeing the blue dragon at the mercy of the orcs, Inara wasn’t sure it was such a terrible idea.
Thraden, Ilargo tried again, what can you see?
Thraden’s roar died down and a trickle of blood oozed from between his fangs. The king… he whined.
Gideon’s jaw clamped hard. Karakulak, the Master Dragorn seethed. Arathor is his prisoner?
Yes! Thraden’s response exploded into a new roar of pain. They are deep in the mountain, he hissed. The orc lands of Vengora…
Inara recalled a segment from an old tome in the library on The Lifeless Isles, written by Valtyr, an ancient master of the Dragorn. Her studies had been brief, too brief in hindsight, but the orc lands had sounded exciting at the time, drawing her in. It didn’t sound exciting now. Beneath the dwarven halls of stone lay their dark dwelling, a place where even Arathor couldn’t survive.
Another spasm of pain shot through Thraden’s body and a handful of scales fell away to reveal fresh wounds. The dragon shrieked and his anger rose to the surface in a bid to combat the fear and pain. Athis quickly shifted his bulk in front of Inara and Gideon and raised his far wing to shield them all from Thraden’s flames. Athis was, of course, immune to the fire, but Inara could still feel the intense heat on the left side of her body.
Through their bond, they all felt Ilargo’s intentions a moment before he acted. The green dragon swung his tail around with enough force to tear a tree in half. In this case, it was just enough to rob Thraden of consciousness. The dragon’s head snapped to the side and his body followed it down to the ground with an earth-shaking thud.
Athis blew freezing air over flames before lowering his wing and moving aside. Between them and Thraden’s body was a fog of smoke and scorched ground. Gideon crossed the black earth and placed a hand on Thraden’s face, beneath his eye. The strain of it all was beginning to show on him.
“I remember when Arathor met Thraden for the first time,” Gideon reminisced. “I remember their trials, their success, their struggles.” The Master Dragorn took his hand back and stared at the dragon, his shoulders sagged. “I can’t do it…” he whispered.
Inara reached out and placed Gideon’s hand in hers. “We can’t let them suffer.”
Gideon’s dispirited demeanour began to harden until he was the perfect display of determination. “I won’t let one more Dragorn die,” he insisted, squeezing her hand. “Not one.”
Inara watched Gideon storm away, returning to the rise of Namdhor. “Where are you going?” she called after him, certain that they had been moments away from ending Thraden and Arathor’s life.
Gideon replied over his shoulder, “To figure out how we save the world…”
In a bid to remain inconspicuous, Inara and Gideon made their way to the lower camps on foot, leaving the dragons to tend to Thraden, should he wake up. The trek had been a quiet one, with Gideon wrapped up in his own thoughts and stubborn will. That suited Inara, who felt she had an imminent decision to make.
Upon their arrival among the camps, the sun was beginning to rise in the east. It was the only time the sun could be glimpsed, as it passed between the horizon and the dark clouds of ash. It was beautiful, and it reminded Inara that the sun hadn’t been destroyed, but merely hidden.
The masses of refugees who had filled Namdhor’s main street were now flooding the camps again. The added foot traffic compounded the chaos of the lower grounds, filling the air with more aromas than Inara could say were pleasant. The atmosphere was tense, as any campsite would be when it was occupied by various cultures, all of whom had been forced into becoming Namdhorians to survive.
Here and there, Inara caught sight of sigils carved or scribed in chalk on tent poles and fabrics. The wolf of Velia and the bear of Grey Stone were more prominent than the stag of Lirian or the horse of Tregaran. The alliance that existed between these people was thin. Bleak was their common ground, considering they were all camped on The White Vale, a mile away from the Namdhorian army and an inevitable battleground.
Both Dragorn kept their hoods up and their eyes averted, hoping to blend through the camp and make it to the elves unseen. There was no hiding their Vi’tari blades, unfortunately. Gideon’s Mournblade possessed a hilt of red and gold and was topped with a golden dragon’s claw. The hilt of Inara’s enchanted blade housed a crystal gifted to her from her grandmother, Queen Adilandra, and was a sight to behold.
More than one person stopped what they were doing to watch the pair walk by, their eyes naturally drawn to the swords. Inara offered kind smiles and friendly nods where she could, her hand resting directly over the crystal.
The elven camp was situated on the outskirts, the farthest point from the lower town of Namdhor. It was also the only patch of ground that had flowers poking through the snow, while even the grass had grown longer and thicker. Rather than feeble tent poles, the elves of Ilythyra had used magic to pull roots from the earth, twisting them into various shapes that could be draped in fabrics.
As messy as the whole campsite was, the elves made it look homely, though Inara wondered if that was the elf in her talking.
The Dragorn were allowed to walk freely through the area, but they were both stopped outside the entrance to the largest tent, in the centre. The elven guards that greeted them were far more regal than any Gold Cloak of Namdhor. Their long, braided hair fell gracefully over their armour, an amalgamation of iron feathers and leaves stained gold and purple. Each had a bow slung over their shoulder and a double-handed scimitar on their hip.
Recognising the Dragorn only required an extra moment before they were shown inside. A fire pit decorated the centre of the tent since there was no pole required for support. The licking flames highlighted Lady Ellöria’s sharp features, where she resided beyond the central fire, on a small throne made entirely of roots. A handful of elves surrounded her, dressed in long ethereal robes and furs, none of which were even half as dirty as they should have been given their circumstances.
Their keen gaze fell on Gideon and Inara - judgmental, but not condemning. It was the way of her mother’s people, a culture of observers who had time on their side to perfect such a hobby.
Rounding the fire, Inara’s parents came into view, beside Vighon and Asher. The ranger had been given fresh clothing and a chance to wash his face, revealing the black tattoo under his left eye, a small fang to Inara’s eyes.
From the looks of it, Inara guessed the group had been deep in discussion before their arrival. That was to be expected, of course, for Lady Ellöria was known for being the most well-informed person in all of Illian.
As was dictated by all formality and ceremony, the Dragorn stopped in front of Lady Ellöria and bowed their heads out of respect. Ellöria’s interest roamed over Gideon, but her eyes, exquisite orbs of emerald, rested on Inara, her sister’s granddaughter.
Ellöria raised her chin. “A shame that such dire circumstances are needed to bring our family together.” Her tone was such that Inara found it hard to gauge her sincerity. “Still, you have arrived at the perfect moment. Our new friend, Asher, here was about to regale us with a story even older than myself.”
Gideon bowed his head again. “Thank you, Lady Ellöria, for the privacy and shelter you offer.”
Remaining immaculately still, Ellöria replied, “I only hope, for the sake of the realm, that you can achieve more in here than you could inside that dreadful keep.”
“Quite,” Gideon agreed. It was clear to Inara that her master was still on edge, his nerves battling with the need to act and the necessity of planning.
A disturbance by the entrance of the tent halted their conversation before it could go any further. Galanör entered first, though the elven ranger was not the source of the disturbance.
“If ye’ve come ’ere lookin’ for supplies, elf, ye’re not goin’ to find any that will help ye in Dhenaheim, mark me words.” The dwarf was entirely inside the tent by the time he realised where he really was.
Behind him, Russell Maybury’s broad shoulders filled the entrance. The tavern owner took in the occupants far quicker than the son of Dorain, his yellow eyes settling promptly on Asher.
“What’s all this then?” Doran asked nervously, shifting his girth. Then, he too noticed the old ranger, standing quietly beside the Galfreys, though the dwarf looked rapidly from Asher to Reyna. “Me Lady!”
Ignoring everyone else, the Lady of Ilythyra included, Doran ran over to Reyna and slammed into her with a tight embrace. Inara’s mother smiled down at the son of Dorain and wrapped her arm around his blond head.
With glistening eyes, he pulled away and gazed up at her. “I thought ye lost to us, me Lady.”
“Fear not, Doran, son of Dorain. I am still here…”
