Age of the King, page 39
part #6 of The Echoes Saga Series
Struggling to maintain control on his anger, Alijah turned around and looked to the north, hoping to see his destination. With the sun hidden and the rain pouring, there was nothing to see but sheets of grey. If he stayed in the boat, however, he could be taken anywhere by the sea. Alijah considered swimming before realising the same could be said if he left the boat; there was no beating the ocean.
Despite the jarring sounds of the storm, Alijah found himself being pulled into a quiet place. His surroundings fell away, taking the noise of the rain and the waves with it. His mind gave into the strange sensation until he was somewhere else entirely, somewhere you couldn’t find in the real world.
Darkness enveloped him, yet he could see himself perfectly. He looked around, curious, but there was no light to be found anywhere. He walked forward and felt the light resistance of water around his feet. He was standing in a puddle that stretched on as far the eye could see, which was quite far considering there was no sun, moon or firelight.
From behind him came the distinct sound of hot air being forced through the nostrils of a dragon. Alijah had heard that sound a thousand times during his weeks chained in the highest tower in The Bastion. It had provided him with warmth and comfort at the time.
Turning around slowly, the half-elf came to look upon Malliath, though the black dragon’s bulk melted into the inky abyss behind him. Another gust of hot air flared from his nostrils and blew ripples across the water between them. Alijah couldn’t help but walk towards his companion’s purple eyes, their beauty almost hypnotic.
“Is this a… a sanctuary?” he asked.
Inara had spoken of such a place that she shared with Athis, though his sister described their private realm as a mountain range. An even earlier memory reminded him that Gideon shared a vast forest with Ilargo, a place that resided under the stars for eternity.
When Malliath didn’t respond to his question, Alijah reached out to touch him. The dragon shook his horned head and pulled away, taking with him the fabric of their sanctuary. The half-elf felt his mind snap back with such a force that his physical body was flung back and thrown over the side of the boat. After a disorientating splash, he discovered a moment of peace beneath the violent waves. He used that moment to ground himself back in reality and fight the urge to return to the sanctuary.
With a gasp for air, Alijah burst from the depths to find his boat had already drifted beyond his reach. Despair would have been easy to give in to, but his time in The Bastion would never leave him, reminding him that his destiny was far grander than drowning in the middle of the ocean.
A flash exploded before his eyes, immediately followed by a crack of thunder, and, for just a second, it etched a dark island that rose up from The Adean. Another flash of lightning highlighted the island, giving Alijah a better sense of its size but, more importantly, what dominated the island.
Korkanath…
Alijah swam with all haste, battling the waves that tried to push him west, past the island. That brief swim was almost as tiring as rowing the boat, but he finally made it to the rocky shore where he was able to crawl onto hard ground. It was tempting to lie there and fall asleep, regardless of the freezing rain that battered him relentlessly. Malliath was close, however, his presence an undeniable force that gave the half-elf just enough energy to keep going.
Standing on the shore, Alijah cracked his back and looked up at the school for mages. It was a ruin, its high walls brought down by dragon’s fire, specifically that of Malliath’s. He could still see the island burning in his memories, the flames reaching for the sky, as Ilargo had made for Velia to repel the orcs. Like his memory of the library, that too felt like another life that he couldn’t claim to have been his own.
Seeing the scorched walls and the shattered towers, Alijah knew he should feel a sense of grief for the students and teachers who had died in the fires of Malliath’s rage.
But he didn’t feel anything like that.
In fact, he could feel a smile trying to creep up his face. It was a terrible thing to do in the sight of such destruction and death, yet there he was, standing in the rain with a feeling of satisfaction. For a thousand years the mages of this wretched place had imprisoned and enthralled Malliath to the island, forcing him to protect it with magic.
Adding insult to injury, they had perpetuated the lie for a millennium that Malliath had started The Dragon War against mankind, thus deserving his punishment. It had taken Gideon some years, but he had since rewritten history to reflect the truth about man’s greed and King Tion’s war against the dragons.
A whisper ran through Alijah’s mind, turning him east on the rocky beach. He followed the connection he felt, navigating the treacherous shore, until he came across the mouth of a cave large enough to accommodate a dragon of Malliath’s size.
Walking into the black, Alijah did so without an ounce of fear. Alijah had no trouble finding the dragon, his enormous body curled up in the pitted cavern beneath the school’s foundations. Malliath must have known he wasn’t alone anymore, but he made no effort to greet or expel Alijah.
The half-elf climbed down to the pit, his eyes rarely straying from the dragon. “I know why you came here,” he said quietly, preventing a loud echo.
Malliath didn’t move but for the exception of his continued breathing, the only sign that he was even alive. Alijah cautiously walked around his tail and wing to try and see his face, to see those blazing purple eyes. They were closed, but the bond that existed between them told the half-elf that Malliath wasn’t sleeping.
“I know why you came here,” he said a little louder this time. “Prisons have a way of feeling like home after a while. The Bastion is a part of me now, just like this island is a part of you. No matter how far we run, we’ll always feel the call to return.”
Malliath’s eyes opened, his reptilian pupils focused on the far wall before shifting to Alijah. To be caught in his sights was a death sentence for most, but not Alijah. Beside Malliath, he felt safer than he ever had, invincible almost. The black dragon slowly began to rise, bringing his jaws of razor-sharp teeth to hang over the half-elf.
For any other it would be a terrifying sight, but Alijah knew what was coming, he could feel it. Malliath was about to speak to him. It was an overwhelming feeling and the one thing Alijah had craved more than anything else.
The dragon, however, stared at him in silence.
“Say something,” he coaxed. “You can say anything to me.”
A low rumble erupted from Malliath’s throat and he brought his purple eyes down to Alijah. I can feel your pain…
Alijah hadn’t known what to expect, but he never would have guessed it to be that. “My pain?”
The dragon growled. There is always pain with your kind! You use your magic and steel, always biting, always ripping and tearing and wanting more!
Malliath stood tall and let loose an almighty roar that bounced off the walls with a discomforting effect that left Alijah wincing. Then, as quickly as he escalated, the dragon calmed down and exhaled a long breath.
“You have suffered,” Alijah stated, feeling Malliath’s emotions. “I can understand your desire to be left alone. I too feel the need to… leave everything behind.”
You talk like you know me, Malliath retorted. You haven’t even scratched the surface yet. Are you prepared for what you will find? My suffering dwarfs all others and you will have no choice but to take it on as your own.
“Your true feelings betray you,” Alijah told him. “Our bond is complete now, our minds one. I know how you have longed to meet me. You’ve wanted to meet me for thousands of years. How many dragons have you watched bond with their riders while you were left to continue your lonely existence?”
You do not know me, Malliath insisted, his conviction waning.
“Could I say the same to you?” Alijah countered. “Can you look at me and not see what lies beneath?
I look at you and see the weak creature that will be the death of me. Our bond is destined to doom me. I have seen history repeat itself enough to know that my kind will always suffer as long as your kind tethers us.
Alijah disagreed. “The magic that binds us is natural, a force that is beyond either of us. Fate brought us together; I know you can feel that. The first time you saw me, in Paldora’s Fall, your very soul reached out for mine. From that moment on, we were helpless to stop this.”
Magic… the dragon grumbled. Natural or not, it makes humans dangerous. Any balance achieved has always been tipped by mages.
Alijah could feel Malliath’s rage bubbling under the surface, his logic strained by centuries of pain and suffering.
“Things will be different now,” Alijah promised. “Balance is the reason you and I have been brought together. But first, we must find harmony…”
The half-elf raised his hand and left it there, an invitation. If Malliath felt even a small amount of what Alijah was feeling, the dragon wouldn’t be able to ignore that sense of completion that would come with his touch.
“I will take on your suffering as my own,” he said, his hand outstretched. “You don’t have to be alone anymore…”
Malliath remained very still, his predatory eyes shifting from Alijah’s face to his hand. He was asking a lot of the dragon, more than any other had ever asked. Letting each other in and accepting their bond would bind them mind, body, and soul. It would be painful and glorious all at once.
Very slowly, the black dragon lowered his head to meet Alijah. Hand and scales were only inches apart. The heat radiating from Malliath was welcoming, adding to the anticipation of their touch.
He could feel the turmoil swirling inside Malliath’s mind. Countless years of longing and rage battled together for dominance, but the power of their bond was all-consuming, leaving neither of them with a real choice.
Malliath pressed forward as Alijah reached out and the two came together for the first time.
Forever more, they would be one…
28
The Kings of Dhenaheim
For a dwarf, there was nothing worse than sitting still. For this reason, Doran Heavybelly had paced the inside of his room all night and most of the morning. Sleep escaped him, leaving his single bed untouched, the blankets still crisp and the pillow smooth.
It wasn’t the room he had expected to be held in. In fact, the son of Dorain was surprised he was still in Grimwhal’s halls having been sure he was destined for the cells of Karak-Nor. The quarters he had been given were void of all but a bed, however, lending it the appearance of a cell none the less.
Most disturbing was his isolation. After being escorted from the throne room, he had also been split up from Galanör and Russell. He could only hope that they too had been given rooms like this one and spared the hell of Karak-Nor.
“What were ye thinkin’?” he muttered to himself for the hundredth time. “Should never ’ave come back…”
The sound of a key turning a heavy lock stopped Doran in his tracks. Since being deposited here, no one had interacted with him, not even to bring him water. The door opened without a sound, a testament to dwarvish craftsmanship, and two people entered his room, both of which he knew intimately.
“Mother, Dak…” Doran looked them over curiously. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a disguise to be visiting me?”
His mother glanced at Dakmund and his younger brother quickly closed the door behind them, shutting out the guards. Once alone, the queen of Grimwhal stepped forward and clipped Doran around the back of his head.
“Fool of a Heavybelly!” she scolded. “We risked everything for you. I gave you one instruction, Doran! One! I don’t recall dropping you on your head yet here you are. Do you want to die? If so, I will send you to the Mother and Father myself!”
Doran rubbed his sore head. “You saw what I brought with me!” he argued. “I wouldn’t have returned if the fate of the whole bloody world wasn’t in the balance!”
Now Dakmund stepped forward and clobbered his brother around the head. “How many men call Illian home? One of them couldn’t have dragged an orc across the snows?”
Doran rubbed the other side of his head and scolded at his younger brother. “What human could have found their way to the throne of Grimwhal? With an orc in tow no less!”
Queen Drelda was shaking her head with fury in her eyes. “With every day that passes our family loses a little more of its grip on this kingdom. Your return reminds the lords of these halls that our bloodline is too weak to wear the crown - their beliefs, not mine! But what you have failed to grasp, son of mine, is that those very lords will push for your execution.”
Doran raised a questioning eyebrow. “They’ll push for my execution? Does the king of Grimwhal really need the shove to make such a decision?”
His mother didn’t answer straight away, though she did give Dakmund a sidelong glance that begged more questions. “Your father knows that we helped you to escape Karak-Nor…”
That was a revelation Doran found very hard to accept. “How is it you’re both still breathing?”
Before either could answer, the door swung open without warning and the king of Grimwhal strode into the room. As always, he maintained a face of thunder shrouded in white hair and a bushy white beard.
Without taking his cold blue eyes off Doran, he commanded, “Leave us.”
Queen Drelda hesitated. “Dorain…”
“Now,” the king barked.
Dakmund shot his brother a sympathetic look before ushering his mother out of the door. Doran really didn’t want that door to close behind them. He hadn’t been alone with his father in over sixty years and there was a very good reason for that: they didn’t get on.
Without a word, the king removed the solid-looking crown from his head and tossed it to Doran, who caught it with both hands. It was heavy and no doubt uncomfortable.
“So, you can take the weight of it,” his father remarked sarcastically.
Doran held the crown in his hands awkwardly, unsure what to do with it now. “It was never a question of whether I was ready for the crown,” he explained. “It was whether the crown was ready for me…”
The king questioned his son with a look.
“One battle after another,” Doran continued. “On your command I killed my kin and my hands got bloodier every time. After so much killing, nothing made sense any more. If I was to take the throne, I would try to change everything. No more wars with the other clans, no scheming against the Stormshields, no senseless slaughtering of the Hammerkegs. And I definitely wouldn’t be kissing the arse of King Uthrad!”
His father snatched the crown from his hands. “You would undo our way of life! And why? Because you couldn’t handle a little blood on your hands? You’re supposed to be a dwarf! Prince Doran of clan Heavybelly! The promise of you kept everything together. The lords kept their mouths shut because Grimwhal’s greatest warrior was going to sit on the throne!” King Dorain dropped his head and shoulders, a look of defeat about him.
“I’m sorry, Father—”
The king raised his hand. “I’m sure neither of us know what you’re sorry about, boy. You should be sorry for the position you put your mother in, your brother too! Whatever you might think and whatever the lords of my kingdom might whisper, I am not a fool. Your mother’s aid in Karak-Nor didn’t go unnoticed and it was left to me to seal lips and keep them safe.”
Doran couldn’t imagine his father taking steps to cover up his mother’s secret deeds. “I didn’t mean for them to—”
“You don’t mean for anything to happen!” Dorain snapped. “You just do! No thought for the consequences.” The king stopped and took a breath. “I mourned for you. When you didn’t return from battle, we thought you dead, your body lost among the others. Then, reports came in from witnesses who had watched you walk away. I punished all of them for their lies! My boy wouldn’t abandon me, I said! But there was no fighting the truth…”
Doran didn’t know what to say. To apologise now would only anger his father, but it would also be an empty apology. If he had a second chance, he would still walk away from it all.
“I’m not the son you wanted and I’m not the prince Grimwhal wanted. I have come to terms with that during my time in Illian. And you’re right; I wouldn’t know what to say sorry for. We were once a noble race that put honour before all else. Now, we’re greedy and selfish to the bone. We spill our own blood so we can say we have more! That’s not a world I want to be a part of.”
Dorain turned on his son with wild eyes. “You can say the world of man is any better?”
“At least they strive for peace!” Doran countered. “We work towards nothing but war!”
“Yet here you are!” the king spat. “Pleading for Dhenaheim to march to war!”
Doran shook his head in the face of his father’s ignorance. “I would see Dhenaheim march against the enemy that fractured our people! Fighting the orcs could unify us, Father!”
“Don’t be so foolish, boy! You think the kings of Dhenaheim would give up their crowns and kingdoms and bow to Uthrad?”
“They already bow to him,” Doran pointed out. “All of you possess your kingdoms because he allows you to.”
Dorain waved his son’s remark away. “You know nothing of what you speak! Your mind has been spoiled by the humans and their world!”
“Their world has opened my eyes! I see now what you wanted of me, but I could never be that king—”
His father raised a hand again, his seething anger struggling to contend with the limitations of his advanced age. “Do you think me so cruel and greedy that I would want to be that king?”
The question shocked Doran, as well as his father’s weary tone. For the longest time King Dorain had used one voice and it was nothing if not commanding.
