The Knights of Erador (The Echoes Saga: Book 7), page 42
“Ye’ve had a run in with Alijah too?”
“Of course you have,” Inara uttered, thinking like Alijah. “He would see you as a threat…”
“He came for me in Ikirith,” Asher explained, glancing at the Drake. “That’s where I met Adan’Karth here.” The half-elf, half-dragon gave them a polite nod and a smile. “Adan’Karth saved my life, but Alijah and Malliath still razed Ikirith to the ground.”
Inara should have been shocked and hurt, but the Dragorn had endured enough heartbreak to harden her against such news. “Are they here? In Namdhor?”
Asher shook his head. “We’ve been here for a few days and seen no dragon.”
I’m coming to you, Athis said into her mind.
Hug the mountains and find somewhere by the lake, out of sight. He could return at any time.
“A few days?” Doran echoed. “Whose tent is this?”
“Battleborns, soldiers of King Uthrad who died with him out there.”
Doran’s face dropped. “Uthrad is… The king o’ Silvyr Hall is dead?”
“So they tell me.” The ranger elaborated, “Your kin witnessed me slaying a couple of Reavers, a feat that granted us favour among them. They showed us to this tent. Since then, I’ve been gathering what information I could.”
Doran wiped his hand over his face. “Uthrad is dead,” he said to himself. “I can’ believe it.”
“They’ve tried to reclaim his body,” Asher continued, “but the Reavers always stop them. I think Alijah wants the dead to stay right where they are.”
“For all to see,” Inara concluded.
“Wait,” Doran commanded, holding up a hand. “Where’s me own clan? Where’re the Heavybellys?”
“They’re not here,” Asher told them. “I’ve looked for them myself. There isn’t one in this camp, save for yourself.”
The dwarf furrowed his hairy brow. “I don’ understand,” he stammered. “They should o’ been ’ere days ago, before ye even got ’ere.”
“Somebody would have noticed an entire clan arriving,” Asher reasoned. “They’re not here, Doran.”
Now the son of Dorain looked concerned. “Well, I need to find ’em!” he declared, rising to his feet. “Me brother was wounded bad. An’ me mother was among ’em. I need—”
“Doran.” Inara said his name with authority. “We need to think clearly. Look at where we are. Our every move must be calculated lest we attract the Reavers.”
“I can handle a few Reavers,” Doran argued.
“Can you handle ten thousand Reavers?” Asher queried. “I’ve seen hundreds march south yet thousands still remain in Namdhor.”
Despite their words, the dwarf’s rage continued to flow. “I will kill every single Reaver who gets between me an’ mine, ye hear, Ranger?”
Asher remained calm in the face of the angry dwarf. “From what I can tell, the Reavers are very particular about keeping your kin confined to this place. I’ve seen some make it as far as half a mile, but the Reavers always pursue. Your departure wouldn’t go unnoticed.”
“Why are they keeping the dwarves here?” Inara picked up.
Asher shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. From observation, they aren’t stopping people coming in and out of the city, but no dwarf has been allowed to travel much farther than the camp boundary.”
“Brilliant,” Doran remarked sarcastically. “Ye’ve walked me right into a damned prison, girl!”
“Call me girl again and you’ll walk right into Grarfath’s Hall,” Inara snapped. The unusually sharp retort silenced the dwarf immediately, sobering his ire. The Dragorn shrugged off the looks she received and waited for Doran to sit down again. “What have you heard of Vighon?” she asked.
Asher spared a glance for Doran before he answered. “I’ve ventured into the city only once, but what I heard isn’t good.”
“Is he alive?”
“Apparently,” Asher replied, hesitant, it seemed, to grasp a strand of hope. “Rumour is he’s in the dungeons of the keep. He didn’t have many soldiers up here, but those he did have can no longer fight. The Reavers have stripped them all of armour and rank, dismissing them to their homes.”
“Why didn’ he kill the king?” Doran questioned. “It wouldn’ be his first, eh,” he added bitterly.
“At this point,” Asher assumed, “I can only imagine he has something worse in mind.”
Inara shook her head. “If Vighon is inside that keep I’m getting him out. Whatever is to come, we will need him if we are to fight back.” Her mind began to run through the layout of The Dragon Keep. “There’s only one way in and out of the dungeons, but we might be able to get inside the keep via the—”
“There’s no we, Inara.” Asher’s response cut right through her.
“What do you mean?”
Curiously, Asher looked at the Drake before replying. “I agree that Vighon should be rescued, but I’m not here for that.”
Inara was struggling to guess at his reasons for being in Namdhor if not to help her save the king. How many times had the ranger stepped in to keep the realm from falling into darkness?
“Then why are you here?”
Asher remained silent, his eyes averted.
“I know why he’s ’ere,” Doran said, capturing the ranger’s attention. “Ye’re meanin’ to kill ’im, aren’ ye? Ye’re ’ere to kill Alijah.”
Inara was instantly conflicted, aware that if anyone could get close enough to her brother and actually murder him, it would be one trained in the art of the Arakesh. “I thought your assassin days were behind you,” she commented.
“I thought so too, but then he returned - in just the manner I warned he would - and forced me to re-evaluate my position on it.”
“You can’t be serious?” Inara argued.
“I told all of you what he really was, years ago. I warned you of the things I saw inside his mind, inside Malliath’s mind. I fought him, Inara. Trust me, there’s only one way to stop him and it isn’t in combat and it isn’t with an army at my back. I’m going to come at him sideways. He won’t even know he’s dead.”
“We can’t kill him,” Inara stated flatly.
“The hell I can’t. I’ve been killing people since before you were born; I’ve got pretty good at it.”
“Aren’ ye gettin’ too old for that kind o’ work, lad?” Doran insisted. “Ye’re not a killer anymore. If ye go back down that path ye might not come back…”
“We can’t kill him because this isn’t his fault,” Inara said, renewing her argument. “That is to say; this isn’t his doing. It can’t be. It must be Malliath—”
“Of course it’s Malliath,” Asher agreed, surprising the Dragorn. “The Crow emptied your brother out and allowed Malliath to pour in, filling him with over ten thousand years of rage and bitterness. This might not be Alijah, at least not the Alijah you knew, but you know as well as I do that there’s no separating them now. And since I can’t kill a dragon, I’m going to kill its rider.”
Inara had nothing to counter his point - he was right in every regard. “But he’s still my brother,” she managed, aware that it wasn’t enough of an argument to dissuade the ranger.
Asher didn’t miss a beat. “That’s why I’m going to kill him.”
“Ye’re not thinkin’ straight,” Doran maintained. “Don’ get me wrong; I’m o’ a mind to kill the lad meself! But think abou’ Reyna! An’ Nathaniel! Ye’re gonna kill their boy?”
Exasperated, Asher replied, “He’s not their boy anymore! Just as he’s not your brother! Or your friend! Alijah Galfrey died fifteen years ago, the very moment he and Malliath laid eyes on each other. Trust me, I know better than most when fate deals you its worst hand…”
Inara was only too eager to match his ire, desperate for a fight. “What do you know of such hands? I’d say you look awfully good for a man maligned of fate.”
Displaying a measure of control and discipline that Inara knew she should be the one to exhibit, Asher relaxed his shoulders and glanced at Adan’Karth. “There’s magic in my bones,” he declared with little enthusiasm.
Doran raised a bushy eyebrow. “There’s what?”
“The Drakes - they told me there’s residual magic lingering in my bones, from Paldora’s gem. That’s why I’m not ageing.” Asher leaned forward and looked directly at Inara. “That’s why I’m still here. That’s why I’m still fighting and bleeding. That’s the hand fate has dealt me - to endure. It also imparted me with a set of skills,” he added, removing a red strip of cloth from his belt. “So I’m going to use what I have and set things right.”
Inara was taken back to the end of The Ash War, before those final days of violence. Lady Ellöria had offered them all encouraging speeches, words for each that would resonate with them and set them on their chosen path. They were powerful words for all, though the Dragorn still recalled her great aunt’s words for the ranger.
“Prove to us now that you still live to unbalance the scales of fate…”
Those same scales had once again been tipped against the realm, surely sealing Verda’s fate in the grip of Alijah and Malliath. And here was Asher once again, placed in the middle of it all with undeniable, if deplorable, skills to unbalance the scales of fate. Inara had to ask herself if she even should get between the ranger and his intended goal.
She resisted the urge to seek Athis’s counsel.
“Then we are on separate paths, Ranger,” she said instead, “regardless of our convergence. I assume you will attempt your assassination in The Dragon Keep, where Malliath can’t help him.”
Asher had a suspicious look about him. “Most likely,” he replied in his gruff voice.
“Vighon is inside those same walls. I suggest we combine our talents and knowledge of the keep and achieve both our aims at once.”
“If I succeed,” Asher pointed out, “Vighon won’t need rescuing. Perhaps you should simply aid me instead.”
Inara paused. “I’m not killing him,” she said slowly. “I’m also planning as if you’re going to fail,” she added in a lighter, yet practical, tone.
Asher thumbed the red cloth in his hand. “That was my problem; I never failed…”
Doran finally removed Andaljor from his back and placed it between himself and the Drake. “This all seems rather redundant given that Alijah ain’ even in the north right now.”
“He’ll be back,” Asher guaranteed. “We use this time to plan our way inside - from there we can go our separate ways.”
The dwarf sighed, halting any further conversation. “As ye said, Asher: there is no we, I’m afraid.”
Inara turned on the son of Dorain, fearful that her list of allies was dwindling by the second. “Do I even need to ask where you’re going?”
Doran looked pained to answer. “If I had a choice, I’d fight by yer side until Vighon was freed or death claimed me. But me clan is out there somewhere. They’re on Illian soil, a land they know nothin’ abou’, surrounded by enemies who want to pen ’em in. I walked away from ’em once an’ me brother suffered for it. I won’ walk away again.”
Though his mission was not to be the same as her own, Doran’s need to help his people was just as righteous as her need to help Vighon. “I hope you find them,” she offered. “What will you do should you cross their path?”
Doran repeated his sigh. “Steer ’em well clear o’ this place for starters. I don’ know why Alijah would want to be keepin’ dwarves for pets but I know it ain’ for nothin’ good. In time, though, I’d like to find a way to help ’em all.”
“You’ve got to get out of here first,” Asher reminded the dwarf.
“Don’ go worryin’ abou’ that, lad,” Doran said with a mischievous grin. “I’ve got out o’ far worse than this. Besides, with ol’ Andaljor ’ere there ain’ none abou’ that can stop me. Not yet anyway,” he added. “The way I see it, I’m better makin’ me way out now before Alijah an’ Malliath return.”
The three sat in silence for a moment, contemplating the very different paths that lay before them. Inara was sorry to be seeing the back of Doran and conflicted about Asher’s mission to kill her brother. Somewhere in all that mess she had to rescue the king of Illian and that was without taking a moment to figure out what they did next. If she focused on the hopelessness of it all, however, the Dragorn was sure to lose all heart.
“And where does he fit in to all of this?” she asked, looking to the silent Drake.
Asher regarded Adan’Karth as if he were more of a nuisance than anything else. “He doesn’t fit into any of this. Drakes abhor violence; they would rather die than kill to survive.”
“So we just leave him here? With the dwarves?”
“I stay with you,” Adan’Karth stated quickly, his accent almost too thick to understand.
The ranger scrutinised the Drake. “You pick up languages pretty quick.”
Adan’Karth gestured to one of his pointed ears. “I see.”
Asher grumbled. “Still a way to go though. You can’t come with me,” he added in elvish, much to Doran’s dismay. “I’m going to hurt people.”
Inara could see that the Drake was conflicted by this. “Athis, my dragon, is on his way. You can stay with him. We will find you… when we’re done.” Adan’Karth appeared hesitant to leave Asher’s side, but he eventually nodded in agreement.
Doran looked from one to the other expectantly. “Is that it? Are we done speakin’ in singalong? Good! I suggest we all get out there an’ start gatherin’ as much information as possible. I’ll comb the camp since I can’ leave. Ye two check out the city an’ this keep ye’re both determined to break into. An’ ye…” The dwarf eyeballed the Drake. “Ye jus’… stay ’ere I suppose.”
Inara was more than happy to leave the tent and stretch her legs elsewhere. Her emotions were frayed, leaving her teetering on the edge between wanting to cry and needing a good fight.
“Oh an’ whatever ye do,” Doran called after them, “don’ come back ’ere without somethin’ for us all to eat!”
35
A Resistance Born
Under Ilythyra’s thick canopy, only slivers of starlight could be seen from the forest floor. The evening was like any other the warm summer had offered, bringing with it a tranquil atmosphere. The surrounding bird song was steadily being replaced by the chatter of crickets, all background to the running stream that weaved between the enormous trees.
Seated amongst it all, with his legs crossed, was Galanör, the eldest son of house Reveeri. Unlike the rest of his kin who shared Ilythyra, Galanör chose to meditate on his own. The isolation was calming, allowing the warrior in him to rest. Around others, especially with his eyes closed, his other senses would heighten to compensate, feeding him information counter-productive to meditation.
He had been in the same position for several hours now and his mind was yet to find its serenity. His muscles ached to explode with energy, propelling him through the world like a storm. How many monsters had claimed victims because he had put down his blades?
That question haunted him.
“I can feel your unease from here,” came a pleasant voice.
Galanör’s eyes snapped open and he turned to see Aenwyn standing between the trees. “How long have you been watching me?” he asked with the hint of a smile.
“You flatter yourself,” Aenwyn replied, padding over the soft moss. “Lady Ellöria has tasked me with the impossible.”
“I’m assuming that would be to help me.”
“Indeed,” Aenwyn agreed. “Quite the impossible,” she repeated.
“You speak in man’s tongue,” he observed. “You’ve never spoken in their language to me before.”
“Nor have you,” Aenwyn quipped in return. “We each have centuries of life that neither can know of. As for the language of man… I enjoy the way it feels in my mouth. It’s different. A bit like you.”
Galanör tried to absorb this new piece of information about her, just like he did with everything she had ever told him. “The Lady herself has taken me through the various rituals to enter meditation,” he explained. “I fail to see what you can do to further my progress, regardless of which language you prefer.”
Aenwyn gave the slightest shrug of her shoulders. “Since you’re just sitting with your eyes closed and your brow furrowed, I would say you have yet to make any progress.”
Galanör opened his mouth to reply but found he could do nothing but agree with her.
“Meditation isn’t for everyone,” Aenwyn continued, coming to sit in front of him. “For the majority of our people it serves them well, allowing for memories to be sorted and emotions to be managed. For others, they simply need someone to talk to… like me.”
The elven ranger narrowed his eyes with suspicion. “You don’t meditate?”
Aenwyn shook her head of lustrous dark hair. “I have always found that putting thought into words is the best way to understand myself and the world around me. Lady Ellöria believes the same of you.”
Galanör had never considered it. “I’ve always held my words in reserve,” he admitted. “I was raised to speak when spoken to and instructed to say only what needed to be said.” He looked away wistfully. “My time with the humans, however, has done nothing if not undo my father’s work.”
Aenwyn smiled. “You have come to enjoy talking,” she concluded.
“I have found one or two among the humans who bring that side out in me,” he reasoned, thinking of Vighon, Gideon, even Alijah for a time.
“Then why have you only spoken with a handful of people since arriving here?” she questioned.
Galanör didn’t answer right away but, instead, looked down at his hands. “Because…” He paused to lick his lips, considering his words carefully. “Because they can see the blood on my hands.”
Aenwyn scrutinised his hands with a raised eyebrow. “I see no blood.”
“You all know my history. You know what I did for King Elym, at Korkanath. I tried to help him start a war that would have consumed Illian. My efforts ensured the deaths of too many humans.”
