The Knights of Erador (The Echoes Saga: Book 7), page 58
With her blade in his hand, Vighon found his feet and turned around to see more Reavers than he could count approaching along the rampart. Every one of her arrows flew true and dropped one of the undead soldiers, but they were nocking arrows themselves.
The first salvo to come their way was deflected by the elf’s shield, a flaring wall of magic that curved around them. “Help him!” she said, nodding her head at Galanör.
Trusting the elf, he turned around and searched for the best place to insert himself into the duel - no easy task…
To Inara’s eyes, the situation had actually become worse, despite Galanör’s perfectly timed arrival. Beyond his fight with Alijah, a few hundred Reavers were approaching on foot, many of whom were armed with bows and were letting loose with abandon.
Whatever they had all hoped to achieve this day, they had to leave, and they had to leave right now.
Athis! she called.
Her eternal companion collided with the dragon Morgorth and used all four of his claws to ram the undead beast into the main wall of the keep. It would have been spectacular to witness, but Inara was too busy fighting back to back with Asher. They felt the quake that rippled under their feet, but all combatants remained standing this time.
Athis! she called again.
The red dragon extracted himself from the debris and immediately flew north before disappearing altogether. I will retrieve Adan’Karth, he told her. Be ready for my return - I will not be stopping.
Inara shoulder barged Asher, pushing him beyond the reach of Lord Kraiden’s poisoned blade. “Athis is coming!” she told him. “We need to leave!”
Her last words were drowned out by the Reaver dragons, all of which flew over their heads in pursuit of Athis, to the north.
Movement to her left caught Inara’s eye: Malliath was taking more of an interest in Alijah’s new opponent. Galanör, one of the realm’s greatest fighters, possessed one more blade than Alijah and commanded a degree of magic that made him significantly more dangerous than Vighon. If the black dragon decided to take more than an interest in his companion’s battle, this would all be over very soon.
Beyond them, Galanör’s friend was alternating between her shield and volleying arrows into the approaching Reavers. More than a few got past her and nearly hit Vighon, who was doing his best to join Galanör’s efforts.
“We need to get closer to them!”
Asher managed to grip the haft of Gondrith’s hammer and reverse its direction into the Dragon Rider’s face. A boot to the chest put the fiend on his back, offering them a momentary opening.
“Then run!” the ranger suggested, making a break for the others.
Inara dashed out of the melee and followed Asher along the ramparts, her Vi’tari blade flicking out at regular intervals to deflect stray arrows. Asher, blindfolded as he was, could detect the incoming missiles and simply ran between them.
Malliath’s head had turned. He was tracking them.
Inara reached out in search of Athis and discovered he was already on his way back. “Get ready!” she warned.
Galanör released a concussive wave, his spell directed at Alijah. The half-elf staggered back, his own defensive spell repelling the majority of the blow. He gripped his ribs, however, and winced in pain. Inara was impressed by her brother’s prowess, if a little terrified. His skills had increased dramatically during his time in Erador.
Vighon jumped in, curving his borrowed scimitar in a wide attack. Alijah pushed through his obvious pain and parried the blow with his cursed blade. Continuing his defence, the half-elf turned on his heel in one smooth motion and kicked Galanör away.
With his back to Vighon, this would have been the northman’s opportune moment to strike, but he was just as dumbstruck as Inara was. Having climbed over the wall, there was now another person standing on the rampart, beside Vighon. Her shock of blonde hair caught the dawn and the rain gave her angular face a glistening sheen.
“Mother!” Inara’s tone was full of concern.
Reyna leaned in and said something to Vighon that Inara couldn’t hear. Then she put something in the northman’s hand and flashed her daughter with a warm smile that the Dragorn couldn’t understand. Stepping in front of Vighon, she faced her son.
“Mother!” Inara called again, closing the gap between them.
Alijah turned from Galanör and looked upon his mother. The sight of her softened his features.
Athis crested the top of the keep and angled his flight to take him along the outside wall, along the rampart. He was closely hounded by the Reaver dragons, who snapped at the air and shrieked in their terrible cry.
What happened next was hard to comprehend, given that everything happened at once and, to Inara, it was both slow and fast.
Galanör shouted something to his companion, who ceased her defence against the incoming arrows. Together, the elves made for the edge of the outer wall.
Vighon stepped back from Alijah and Reyna, looking at the object in his hand.
The sound of Athis’s beating wings came to an end as he tucked in his wings with one powerful push to bring him as close to the wall as possible.
The Dragon Riders were almost upon Inara again, their task unfulfilled.
Asher bellowed Vighon’s name and pointed to the edge of the wall.
Though not entirely an elf, Inara’s eyes had inherited their extraordinary sight. It was these extraordinary eyes, a rich shade of blue, that saw the approaching arrow. It curved over Alijah’s right shoulder, skimming his armour, before arching into her mother’s chest.
Together, the twins cried, “NO!”
Asher’s arm came around the back of Inara and his hand gripped her shoulder. She was powerless against his forceful shove that took her with him over the outer wall. Just ahead of them, Vighon jumped over the edge, shortly followed by Galanör and his companion. The elves mirrored Inara’s grace and adjusted to Athis passing speed with incredible dexterity. Asher tumbled back, towards the tail, but managed to hold on and even snatch Vighon’s hand, pulling him with them.
Clearing the keep and even Namdhor’s rise, Athis beat his wings again, giving them height. Inara used Athis’s spikes to stand up and hold her position - her gaze was cast back at the keep.
Reyna was caught by Alijah before she could hit the floor and he crouched down with her in his hands. He turned around with an outstretched arm and a wave of magic washed over the first few lines of Reavers, reducing them to nothing more than scattered limbs.
Then everything stopped. The Reaver dragons almost fell out of the sky and the legion of soldiers on the ramparts staggered to a stop, with some even crumpling to the stone. It was as if the north had held its breath.
“Why are they not pursuing?” Galanör questioned, his chestnut hair whipping about his face - he hadn’t seen Reyna take the arrow.
Inara’s vision blurred with the tears welling in her eyes. Farther down Athis’s back, Asher roared as his grief and rage collided together. Vighon was clinging to the dragon for dear life, his expression devoid of anything readable.
With Adan’Karth in his claws, Athis flew east, away from Namdhor and across The White Vale, a baron, yet beautiful landscape of snowy plains and mountains. They were unhindered in their escape, a remarkable turn of events.
It had taken a little time, but Asher and Vighon had been assisted to reach the base of Athis’s neck. The ranger had removed his blindfold to reveal glassy eyes. His chest was heaving and his leathers stained with blood - when his potions wore off completely, he would need to rest for days, if not weeks.
Vighon had informed Galanör and his companion, Aenwyn, of the wretched arrow. A great depression settled over them all, Athis included, who shared Inara’s emotions in this.
“What happened back there?” Galanör asked after some time. “We should not have escaped that?”
“He lost control,” Inara answered absently.
Aenwyn frowned. “Control?”
“His will controls the Reavers,” Asher growled.
His answer and tone were sufficient enough to bring about another time of silence. Then Inara looked through the mess of images and sounds in her mind and recalled the events prior to her mother being shot.
“What did she give you?”
Vighon patted his belt until he retrieved a small object between his finger and thumb. He placed it carefully in Inara’s palm, revealing the item to be a small golden ring - Reyna’s wedding ring.
“Why would she give it to me?” the northman asked.
Inara knew why. She put the ring on her own finger and held out her hand. Her finger twitched and guided her arm to the right, a south-easterly heading.
Athis…
I know. The dragon altered his flight path and followed the ring’s guidance.
“It’s paired with my father’s,” she told them.
Thanks to the magic of Galanör and Aenwyn, they were kept warm on their journey to find Nathaniel. Inara hated the silence. Her mind relived the moment over and over again. She should have done more. She should have saved her mother. If only there had been enough magic left in her reserves she could have turned the arrow to ash mid-flight.
As her thoughts spiralled to dark places, her gaze drifted out across Athis’s beating wing. Her focus sharpened just enough to make her realise how hurt he was. The dragon had suffered in his own fight, losing scales, flesh, and even muscles in places. His wings appeared damaged, both across the membranes and the bone. One of his horns had been broken too, an irritation more than pain. Looking over the side, the leg that carried Adan’Karth was torn in several places by razor-sharp claws.
It was all very alarming, but what alarmed the Dragorn all the more was her lack of injury. Inara gave herself a quick check over, making certain that shock wasn’t to blame, but Athis’s wounds were not mirrored anywhere on her body…
I told you, the dragon said into her mind. Our bond is forever changed.
In that moment, his words only saddened Inara all the more. She lay as flat as she could against his warm scales and rubbed him with the palm of her hand.
The world she knew no longer existed…
50
Aftermath
Having followed the ring’s constant directions, Athis was eventually flying over The Black Wood, north of Dunwich. Inara had to wonder what her father was doing in the forest. Why hadn’t he been with her mother?
The answer came soon enough. From their lofty vantage, they could all see the dwarven camp that sprawled across the clearings in the heart of the forest. There seemed some alarm on the forest floor. Inara noted multiple crossbows and spears aimed up at them.
Slowly, Athis descended into the only space that could accommodate his bulk. Perhaps it was his colour that convinced the dwarves of clan Heavybelly to hold off any attack, or maybe it was because he didn’t share the same skeletal and ragged appearance as the Reavers.
Inara was just glad there was to be no more violence. The dawn had brought enough for one day…
Their arrival was somewhat chaotic and even tense as they all wearily climbed down from Athis’s back. It didn’t help that the dwarves, a species notorious for shunning outsiders, were confronted by two elves, a Drake, two humans, and a Dragorn.
It was all resolved when Doran Heavybelly, Russell Maybury, and her father pushed through the cautious dwarves, followed by Sir Ruban and a handful of the king’s guard. There were greetings made and embraces had between them. For Inara and her father, however, there was nothing but a telling look.
They came face to face. “You saw her?”
Inara nodded, her eyes tearing up again, just as her father’s were.
“Is she… Is she…”
“I don’t know,” Inara had to admit. “I didn’t see… We had to leave. She took an arrow to the…” Her words died away and her father pulled her in to a tight embrace.
After a grieving reunion, they parted to see Asher standing close by. Nathaniel held out his arm and the two men gripped each other’s forearms before succumbing to a hug.
“She was alive,” the ranger whispered, causing Nathaniel to step back. “At least… her heart was beating.”
Nathaniel nodded his understanding and clapped his old friend on the shoulder. He had no words for either of them. Inara removed the band from her finger and offered it to her father. He took it in his hand and clenched it, his grief palpable.
Beside them, Doran was motionless, his mouth ajar, and an expression of deep sorrow. He looked to all three of them, seemingly speechless.
“Low is the day when the dawn brin’s dark tidin’s,” he lamented. “Ye should all follow me…”
Trailing the son of Dorain, they were brought to the largest tent in the camp. Upon entering the gloomy abode, they were hit by the strong scent of lavender. Inara was quick to take in the surroundings and those present. Logic told her that the dwarf lying in the only bed was King Dakmund, Doran’s younger brother. The older dwarf beside him was most likely their mother, Queen Drelda. Besides a few servants, there was only one person she couldn’t explain.
A Keeper of Valatos…
Sandy haired and grubby from head to toe, he stood up from the king’s bedside with his wand in hand. “I’m trying everything I know, Doran. The only thing I’ve been able to affect is the smell in here. The poison that troubles his wound is… aggressive, for lack of a better word. It doesn’t respond to magic very well.”
Doran wiped a hand over his forehead. “Please, lad, keep tryin’.” The queen-mother said something in dwarvish and Doran replied, “They’re allies. More than that… they’re friends.” This satisfied Queen Drelda, who remained silent thereafter. “Oh!” The stout ranger appeared flustered for a moment and turned to the side. “This is King Vighon o’, ye know, Illian.”
The northman didn’t look much like a king but, then again, that had always been part of Vighon’s charm.
Doran cleared his throat, signalling for the tent’s occupants to pay some kind of respect. “Ye’re supposed to bow,” he hissed.
Vighon waved the notion away. “Perhaps we should allow King Dakmund to rest. Is there somewhere we can all talk?”
That somewhere was far more crowded than Inara had expected. The tent wasn’t quite as large as the king’s, but it was so full of dwarves that it wouldn’t have mattered either way. Most looked to be high ranking soldiers in the Heavybelly army with a lot of white beards and frowning faces. It appeared, though Inara couldn’t fathom how it had happened, that Doran was now the highest-ranking dwarf in the clan. It also appeared that not everyone was happy about it…
And so began a series of accounts from a number of people, herself included, that helped them to put the larger picture together. None of it was good. The Heavybellys especially were displeased with Asher’s news that the rest of the clans were being moved south at that very moment, halting any battle plans they had previously drawn up.
What was more disturbing was the ominous reason they were being moved in the first place. The Moonlit Plains was an odd place to deliberately situate thousands of dwarves. The ranger had also made mention of silvyr being transported to Qamnaran, an island known only for its Demetrium deposits. It all gave Inara an uneasy feeling.
Galanör gave them hope and despair in the same breath. It was uplifting to hear that so many elves were now safe and hiding in The Evermoore, especially given the illegal nature of their presence on Illian soil now. But the elven ranger had also told of Lady Ellöria’s death battling Alijah and Malliath - which explained their injuries. For Inara, it was another member of her family to be claimed by this invasion.
No, she told herself. Her mother may yet live; there were none stronger than Reyna Galfrey, that much she knew.
There was unrest amongst the dwarves, though most humans and elves would call it a raging argument. There emerged a camp who believed Grarfath would richly reward them if they continued with their plan and marched on Namdhor. They were decidedly against Doran in every way.
The War Mason, as he was now referred to, explained to them that such a battle would only result in the annihilation of clan Heavybelly. They had to adjust their tactics now, being the minority and many miles within enemy territory. Every non-dwarf agreed with him, including the Keeper, Kassian, who had expressed an almost desperate urge to kill Alijah and Malliath.
“Why should we care what he has to offer?” one dwarf challenged, wagging his finger at Vighon. “He’s the king o’ nothin’ now! He’s got, what? Five soldiers still bearin’ his sigil?”
Sir Ruban looked to challenge him but Vighon held his hand out, calming the captain. “I still have two thousand loyal soldiers stationed in Grey Stone. Another thousand await my command in Velia. Tregaran, in The Arid Lands, has remained untouched as far as I know. Any man who can wield a sword in the desert owes his allegiance to me.”
“For how long?” another dwarf spoke up. “There’s a new king on yer throne now. What man will refuse to bend the knee when he is confronted by the black dragon?”
Vighon had no answer to that. “Tregaran or not, we can do a lot with three thousand men.”
“We?” one of the generals echoed. “Our alliance ended with trade, your Grace…”
Doran hammered his fist onto the only table in the middle of the tent. “Enough! Forget all that has ever been - this is a different kind o’ war. We’re outnumbered ten to one by an enemy that doesn’ feel pain, that doesn’ fear our mettle, that never even tires! Gone are the days o’ marchin’ gloriously into battle. We’re goin’ to ’ave to fight on more than one front. We’re goin to ’ave to fight in foreign territory. From now on, there are only two sides: Reavers an’ everyone else. Is that clear?”
There was no protest given, a sign of their compliance if not their agreement. Galanör gave them a rough idea on elven numbers to add to this growing allegiance, as well as confirmation that Inara’s grandmother, Queen Adilandra, had been contacted. It was hard to see, but a small spark of hope was rising amongst them.
