The Knights of Erador (The Echoes Saga: Book 7), page 41
Nathaniel looked bewildered. “And then what? Would you kill us too? Would you kill your parents for disagreeing with genocide?”
“This isn’t…” Alijah stopped himself from protesting any further. “You can’t see what needs to be done.”
“You have seen nothing,” Reyna said, speaking for the first time. “This is what he saw, isn’t it? This is The Crow’s vision for the world. Burn it down and start again, is that it?”
With teary eyes, Alijah shook his head. “I’m not just another monster threatening the world, Mother. My entire reason for existing is to save lives, even the ones that haven’t been born yet. I’m here to change everything, to break the scales!”
“You’re not saving anyone here,” Nathaniel countered with steel in his voice. “Look around you, Son. This is just murder.”
Alijah tore his eyes away from his mother. “You don’t understand yet,” he told them. “But you will. Even if it takes several lifetimes, you will come to see that there was no other way. I’m going to succeed where all those before me have failed. I’m going to bring peace to Verda.”
“These aren’t your words,” Reyna pressed. “They can’t be. The boy I raised knew the difference between good and evil, and this is evil, Alijah.”
“Sacrifice without hesitation,” Alijah declared. “This is what a good king must do. You can’t see it yet but that’s exactly what I’m doing. Until then, I think it would be best if you remained in The Dragon Keep, as my guests.”
“The Dragon Keep?” Nathaniel repeated with concern.
“Namdhor is mine,” Alijah confirmed. “All of Illian is mine now. And I did it without bringing war to the country,” he added, as if that would make all the difference. “It’s been the quietest invasion in history. Why? Because I orchestrated it that way. I told you,” he continued, looking to his mother, “I’ve come back to save lives, not take them.”
“Unless you deem their sacrifice is necessary,” Nathaniel pointed out. “Tell me, how many sacrifices will there be before you’re satisfied with your peace?”
Alijah’s expression turned hard. “As many as there have to be.”
His last word was punctuated by Malliath’s arrival. The black dragon came down behind his rider with thunderous claws and a mouth brimming with blood-soaked fangs. His purple eyes roamed over the ambassadors, ignoring Kassian completely.
The Keeper clenched his jaw and every muscle in his body did the same. That beast had robbed the world of its most precious and beautiful gem. He had pierced Kassian’s heart and left him ravaged, barely a man anymore.
Naturally, his hand dipped into the water and gripped the wand holstered to his leg. He knew of no spell that could slay a dragon, nor one as powerful as Alijah, but he knew a spell that could turn one of Malliath’s exquisite eyes to mush in his eye socket. That would hurt like hell. Maybe then, in their combined agony, he could strike Alijah with a more deadly spell, weakening them enough to give him time, time enough to draw his sword and take his head.
He wanted it to be bloody.
As the wand came free under the water, something clicked into place, illuminating Kassian’s mind with an idea and a memory all at once.
The Lexichronan!
“Please,” Alijah pleaded, “don’t fight this. Go to Namdhor and just—”
“You,” Kassian growled, stealing everyone’s attention. “You’re not welcome here…” With that, the Keeper hammered the tip of his wand into the base of the fountain, activating the magic granted solely to him by the Lexichronan.
At first, nothing happened, causing confusion among the Galfreys. Then, Valatos’s defences came to life all around them in the form of elemental monstrosities. The debris that littered the campus swirled together in a violent tornado, bringing rock and stone into the shape of a giant. Every drop of water rose into the air around Kassian, emptying the fountain. As one, the rock elemental clubbed Malliath across the face and the water swirled into a column and speared Alijah across the campus.
The dragon roared in defiance, revealing his cracked scales and bloody face. His tail whipped around and smashed the rock elemental to pieces, only to discover that those same pieces were quickly pulled back together.
Alijah was slammed into the base of the nearest building and nearly drowned by the water elemental. His drenched cloak clung to his suit of armour, hindering his limbs. Valatos, however, wasn’t finished flushing its unwelcome guests out. Malliath’s fires were dragged from their victims and blown over the half-elf by what could either have been a fire elemental or possibly one of air.
Unfortunately, he was able to shield himself before the conflagration could set him alight. What he failed to do, however, was shield himself from the next blow, delivered by the rock elemental into Malliath’s ribs.
“Come on!” Nathaniel yelled, yanking Kassian to his feet as both Alijah and Malliath howled in pain.
The Keeper tried to fight the old Graycoat off. “No! We need to finish this!”
“Trust me, this isn’t going to stop either of them and neither will we.”
Malliath attempted to take flight but was battered by a powerful air elemental into the building behind him. The walls came down on top of the dragon in a cascade of bricks, partially burying his hind legs.
Alijah suffered equally and collapsed to his knees as the water elemental rose over him in a tidal wave. Kassian fought through the pain in his head and gripped the hilt of his sword.
Nathaniel’s hand came down on top of his. “Don’t be a fool! Survive today and fight tomorrow!”
What little remained of Kassian’s rational mind heard the sense in Nathaniel’s words. He looked to Reyna, who was still standing in the same place. She watched her son take the elementals’ wrath with tears running down her face, though she made no attempt to help him, her feet firmly rooted to the spot.
“We need to leave!” Nathaniel shouted at them both.
Kassian took one last look at his wife’s body before he allowed Nathaniel to drag him away beside Reyna. Behind them, Alijah fired spell after spell at the rock elemental while Malliath unleashed his fiery breath on the water elemental. Even if the pair survived Valatos’s defences, at least they would be distracted long enough for the mages to flee and take shelter in the city.
Numb, Kassian ran beside the Galfreys because all he could do was keep moving. They fell in with other mages and Keepers trying to escape the campus. It was a chaotic free for all. No one understood why this cataclysm had befallen their home but all looked to have lost something more than bricks and mortar.
Outside Valatos’s walls, the streets were packed with terrified mages and Velians, many of whom had generously opened their doors to the families who had nowhere but the alleys to flee to.
Kassian pushed his way through beside Nathaniel, who was still guiding Reyna with both hands. As the mob began to thin out, Velian soldiers quickly filled the gaps, maintaining an air of chaos to it all. None of them was interested in being herded or organised by the soldiers and continued along their path, heading for the city’s main gate.
“Where are we going?” the Keeper demanded, shoving past a group of curious onlookers.
Nathaniel looked at his wife, huddled in his arms, before boldly replying, “We’re going exactly where he told us to. We’re going to Namdhor…”
34
Divergence
Several miles east of Namdhor, where tall pines marked the base of Vengora, Athis the ironheart touched down in the snow. It wasn’t his most graceful landing, but the dragon was hindered by the Warhog in one claw and a general level of exhaustion that Inara shared with him.
The very second Pig was offered enough room to move within Athis’s claws, the Warhog shot away at full speed, kicking up snow in its wake. Doran attempted to holler at his stubborn mount, but the dwarf had problems of his own.
“How in Grarfath’s name are ye supposed to get down from—” The end of his question was answered by the dwarf himself. He combined sliding with falling until he hit the ground face-first.
Inara winced. “Are you hurt?” she called down.
Doran’s face came up laughing. “I’m never leavin’ ye again!” he proclaimed, kissing the ground.
The Dragorn would have laughed herself but she was far from a jovial mood. Despite her fatigue, Inara employed her inherent grace and descended to the ground. She deliberately avoided Athis’s eyes, still struggling to find any harmony between them.
We should talk about it, the dragon suggested, just as he had many times on their journey over the tops of Vengora. You didn’t enter the cave, he reminded her.
Would that be your influence? Inara retorted.
It has never worked that way, Athis tried to explain. Our bond has affected your feelings, not your direct thoughts. Your choices and actions have always been your own. My influence has never gone further than ensuring your distinction of good and evil.
You suggest that your own distinction is superior, Inara countered. Yet Malliath resides at the heart of my brother’s misdeeds. Is my humanity such a threat to you, to the realm? Is it threat enough that you would keep this from me?
I was wrong to withhold this from you, Athis conceded. Your heart has always been pure; I saw that the moment we met. But this has been the way of things since Elandril bonded with Nylla, five thousand years ago. Malliath and Alijah are an example of what happens when a dragon’s mind is influenced by a human.
You can’t possibly believe that Alijah is the root of this?
In all Malliath’s long life, he has never pitted himself against the realm as he now does. Alijah’s mind has been spoiled by The Crow and now he shares that mind with a dragon. He told you himself; he has entered that part of his sanctuary, exposing Malliath to—
“You’re wrong!” Inara blurted aloud, startling the son of Dorain.
The dwarf was poised to reply but his only eye simply shifted from Inara to Athis and back. “Right…” he said, straightening himself up. “We should probably get goin’. If me clan has flanked the Reavers, ye can bet I want to add Andaljor to the battle!”
Inara quashed her frustration and looked Athis in the eyes. We will finish this another time, she told him.
Leaving Athis behind, dwarf and Dragorn set off along the tree line, heading west. It would take them most of the day to reach Namdhor on foot, but at least they would avoid Malliath’s detection. They trekked in silence until Athis was out of sight and Pig was found, snuffling in the foliage between the trees.
It took Doran some time to settle the Warhog after a traumatic journey in the clutches of a dragon. The dwarf had to drag him by the reins for a quarter of a mile before the mount felt safe enough to trot beside Inara.
“So…” Doran dragged the word out. “Is everythin’ a’right between ye an’ Athis?”
It wasn’t a topic she wanted to discuss with the dwarf, especially given the fact that Athis would be privy to every word. “Everything’s fine,” she lied, though her tone did her no favours.
“If ye say so,” Doran replied, clearly unconvinced.
Inara had nothing to say. Her mind was consumed by a tumultuous storm that denied her peace. She felt betrayed by those closest to her heart and she feared for the rest. The knights of Erador had most certainly fallen upon the capital. What had become of Vighon? Her parents?
Answers would only come if she continued to put one foot in front of the other. And so she did. The summer sun passed through the sky, overtaking them to reach the west.
When, at last, Namdhor was in sight, the clear, blue sky was just beginning to change colour, casting the capital city in orange hues.
Quite shocking, if not horrifying, was the ruined field of charred corpses, possessing both dwarven and Warhog alike. It was a black stain on the white landscape, just as it was a stain on any hope Doran had harboured. The son of Dorain choked on his words and staggered towards the massacre.
As shocking as it was, Inara took an extra moment to assess all of their surroundings. A strip of dragon’s fire parted the northern barracks from the city. She couldn’t make out any Namdhorian soldiers, but she could easily see the Reavers, clad in their black armour. They were everywhere, throughout the outer lands as well as the city. Spread out beyond the charred bodies lay a campsite of dwarves, their numbers in the thousands.
“We’re too late,” Doran lamented.
Inara’s right hand curled up to her belt where her fingers crept around to the diviner on her hip. She had been tempted to use it many times over the last fifteen years but had always refrained. Whatever the situation, the Dragorn had never failed to find her own way of dealing with the problem. But now, seeing Namdhor in the grip of such evil, she needed Gideon Thorn.
Her hand gripped the spherical object and hesitated to remove it. For just a moment, Inara was seized by shame. Under her watch, Illian had been invaded, both herself and the king had been manipulated and tricked, and thousands of dwarves had already died. How could she tell her old mentor of this?
Athis made his presence known in her mind and washed away her hubris, reminding her that their feelings were trivial. Inara would never say so but, in that moment, she was glad of the dragon’s influence. With finger and thumb, she untied the knot and dipped her hand into the pouch, feeling the diviner’s glassy surface.
Her hand froze. A twig had snapped not far from their position. Her instincts immediately told her danger was close. Releasing her grip on the diviner, she instead grabbed Pig by the reins and pulled hard, guiding the mount and its rider into the trees. Doran’s state of shock kept any protests at bay and his eyes firmly on the landscape. As they disappeared behind the trees, a pair of riders emerged farther up, missing them by moments. The Dragorn held a finger to her lips, signalling the dwarf to be quiet while she acquired a closer look.
Two Reavers on horseback were making their way towards the city, thankfully oblivious to Inara and Doran. The Dragorn looked about, wary of any other patrols in the area.
“Scouts,” Doran whispered from behind. “I say we cleave their heads an’ be done with ’em,” he added with hatred.
Inara placed a hand on his shoulder, calming the dwarf. “Let’s leave the cleaving for later, shall we? Right now, we need to learn the state of things.”
Doran huffed. “State o’ things? The state is bloody obvious!”
“Then where is Malliath?” Inara countered. “He could be anywhere out there and we need to get eyes on him before we make our next move.”
The dwarf looked in need of convincing. “An’ what exactly is to be our next move?”
Inara poured all of her determination into her next words. “We kill them all.”
Satisfied with the plan, Doran and Pig fell in behind Inara as they made their way closer to the city from within the trees. The Dragorn kept her eyes moving, always surveying the land ahead, behind, and above. They were well and truly behind enemy lines now, a statement that Inara struggled to consider given the city in question.
After spending some time watching patrols, noting their repeating patterns, Inara and Doran made a dash from the trees and headed north-west, towards the sprawling camp. They were vulnerable in that open stretch, a feeling that Athis shared from miles away. Were Malliath to descend on them now, their time in Verda would be at an end and any hope of rebellion with them.
It was a moment of great relief when they passed beyond the outer edges of the camp and into the hubbub. That relief, sadly, was quashed by dismay. All around them, the dwarves were grieving, pained by their loss. Children were crying in the arms of their weeping mothers while others cried out from wounds new and old. Adding to the chaos, it was cramped and busy with activity, all of which was underpinned with a general sense of anger and mistrust.
Inara ignored the looks shot her way and ploughed through the narrow passages, towards the base of Namdhor. Every few steps, the Dragorn was forced to stop as dwarves crossed her path, paying her no heed. It was infuriatingly slow progress, but it was better than walking in the open, exposed to the Reavers.
Just as the lower town was coming into view, a tall stranger blocked her path, cloaked and hooded in green. Initially, Inara objected to the man standing in her way, but a moment’s pause revealed his identity, gleaned from his weapons if not the cut of his grizzled jaw.
“Asher!”
The ranger flicked his head to the side. “Follow me,” he instructed simply.
“What in all the hells are ye doin’ ’ere?” Doran asked, trailing closely behind Inara. “I left ye in Lirian!”
Asher offered no response but to continue leading them through the camp, away from the city. They passed through a large makeshift tent filled with steam and banging pots as dwarves cooked great vats of beef stew and other dishes that made Inara’s stomach growl. Outside was a smaller tent, capable of fitting no more than four dwarves and their gear.
The ranger held back the flap and gestured for them to get inside. “Quickly,” he urged, scanning the paths that led off from the tent.
Inside, Inara discovered the last thing she had thought to find. “A Drake,” she said without meaning to.
Doran was the last to enter, behind Asher, after tying his Warhog to a post - though there was no telling how long it would remain secure. The dwarf gave the Drake a long hard stare before turning to Asher.
“Somethin’ tells me ye’ve acquired another extraordinary tale, as if ye didn’ ’ave enough!”
Asher pushed back his hood, revealing features far too youthful for a man of his age. “I could say the same of you, travelling in such company.”
Doran looked at Inara. “Our tale is not a light one…”
“Nor mine,” Asher replied.
“Does yours end with my brother trying to kill you,” Inara quipped, unsure if she was able to speak about his betrayal with any serious tone.
Asher stared at her, his answer horribly clear.
