The Knights of Erador (The Echoes Saga: Book 7), page 9
Russell sighed and let his head hang to his chest. “You stubborn sack of hammers… Fine. I’m coming with you.”
The son of Dorain strapped his axe to his back and turned once again on the old wolf. “What are ye abou’? Ye’ve got a tavern to run. Like ye said, ye’ve been workin’ on this place for years.”
“I’ve got savings to see me through, don’t you fret. Besides,” Russell continued with a touch of melancholy, “this might be my last real outing in the world before these old bones give up…”
Doran quibbled over his response, his honesty fighting with his desire to bolster his friend. “Nonsense, lad! There’s plenty o’ life left in those rusty bones o’ yers!”
“Either way; I’m coming with you.”
Doran could see Russell wasn’t to be discouraged. “Then I shall appreciate the company. Will ye be bringin’ some o’ ye wares?” he added, sliding his eye towards the ales on the shelf behind the bar.
Russell scowled at the dwarf and turned to Asher. “Will you be joining us?”
The ranger appeared to struggle with the question. “I would gladly accompany you, if only to make sure Doran doesn’t end up on the sharp end of a dwarven axe. But the contract I have been offered holds the lives of others in the balance.”
Doran’s eyes lit up for the first time since reading his brother’s letter. “Oh aye! I forgot abou’ that! What’s the coin?”
“What’s the job?” Russell asked with a sideways glance at the dwarf.
“It’s… complicated. More political than I would like, but the job has an appeal beyond the coin.” Asher dropped a fist-size bag of coins on the table in front of Doran. “That should be recompense for the job you lost.”
Doran opened the sack with an impressed eye. “Ye don’ ’ave to do that, lad…”
“It’s yours,” Asher insisted.
“The Mother an’ Father ’ave blessed me with good friends.” Doran did his best to say it without getting choked up.
“That isn’t even half,” Asher replied.
The son of Dorain turned on the ranger in disbelief. “Ye don’ say!”
“Are you going far?” Russell enquired.
“No. Lady Gracen would have me journey into the thick of The Evermoore.”
The old wolf caught onto a thread. “The Drakes?”
Asher nodded. “Hunters from Wood Vale who need persuading to find a new prey.”
Russell nodded along. “The Drakes are quite the topic in Lirian. There’s been arguments for years about sharing the land with them.”
“A noble job,” Doran proclaimed. “One deservin’ o’ yer blade, Asher. Ye’d be wasted accompanyin’ us; there won’ be no fightin’ for sure… probably.”
Russell didn’t look so convinced. “Let’s take a trip down to the locker and stock up on a few things anyway.”
“I have all I need,” Asher replied, facing the tavern door. “I will see you… when I see you.”
Doran understood, as they all did. Whenever the rangers parted ways, they did so with the knowledge that they might never see each other again. Such was the nature of their job. The son of Dorain could be arrogant at times, but he wasn’t cocky enough to believe that it would be he who returned and not Asher: the man simply refused to die.
“The last one back ’ere is buyin’ the first round,” the dwarf told them.
Asher smiled. “Better save some of that coin then.” And with his parting words, the ranger left The Pick-Axe.
Doran laughed to himself. “He’s the only person I know who would choose to enter The Evermoore at night.”
Russell made for the door that led to the basement. “He’s also the only person you know who can see in the dark better than he can see in the light.”
The dwarf had to agree. “Wait,” he demanded with the tone of a sigh. “’ere, this is for ye…” Doran took two coins out of the sack, pocketed them, and then threw the sack to Russell. “For the damage.”
Russell had the look of deep appreciation. “You know this doesn’t even come close to covering your tab…”
Doran swore.
6
Reunion
Deep inside The Black Fort, there was but one sound that filled its gloomy halls of ice and flame. Inara Galfrey danced around her enemies, her Vi’tari blade clashing again and again with the steel of Grey Stone.
They were proficient warriors all, likely among Thaddeus’s greatest soldiers. But none of them had ever faced a Dragorn. Despite her youthful appearance, Inara had just over forty years behind her, thirty years of which had been spent wielding a Vi’tari scimitar and training daily in the art of the Mag’dereth.
She was naught but fury.
In her wake, a red cloak billowed in every direction, accompanying her spins and jumps. The Dragorn weaved between their strikes and ducked under Thaddeus’s cleaver, sweeping her leg out to then knock the would-be king onto his back. A swift backhand battered another’s blade away and a boot to his chest sent him flying into the roaring hearth - his screams drowning out the next meeting of swords.
Enraged, another soldier raised his sword and charged her. Inara dashed to the side while simultaneously levelling her blade across his midriff. The collision of man and steel was momentary but mortally devastating for the soldier. Before the Dragorn was once again engaged in combat, her enchanted sword had already rid itself of the blood.
That didn’t last very long.
The next attempted, what he believed to be, a complex twist and spin of his sword. Perhaps once, such a strategy had disorientated his enemy and proven an efficient way to find a deadly blow. To Inara, the soldier might as well have announced his actions in time with his swordplay. First he lost his sword - batted away. Then his hand - severed at the wrist. This was quickly followed by his life - a clean swipe across his throat.
Thaddeus was losing men fast. The son of Thedomir growled as he pushed one soldier aside and came at Inara with his bloodless cleaver. The Dragorn side-stepped his obvious attack and spun around to bring the crystal pommel of her hilt into his nose. The bones and cartilage shattered, spreading pain across his face and splattering his mouth with blood. She followed up the encounter with an attack of her own and jammed the palm of her hand into his throat - she wanted him alive.
On the cold floor again, Thaddeus was a bloody mess who was too busy coughing and choking to assist what was left of his ambush. Inara called on her magic and pushed out her hand at the next soldier too stupid to realise he was already dead. The wave of telekinetic energy that scooped him off his feet drove him so hard into the pillar that the ancient stone cracked behind his head.
The second to last soldier hesitated, perhaps a notch smarter than his comrade. Inara wasn’t going to wait, however, her body having given in to the flow of form five and the urge of her enchanted scimitar. Her blade flicked up then down, knocking the soldier’s sword away, before her free hand shot up and launched an icy spell into his chest. So cold was the magic that the blood flowing in and out of his heart froze instantly, ensuring his death even before he was thrown into the chamber wall.
The last soldier lucky enough to still be in possession of a pulse was luckier yet. Coming for his attack, he had unknowingly matched his strike with the mage outside. A staccato of lightning was hurled at Athis, tearing at his scales and the muscles beneath. Inara cried out as the pain carried across their bond, her vision blinded by agony.
Only the magic within her Vi’tari blade saved her life. The scimitar reacted to the threat and forced her to raise her arm and block the man of Grey Stone. It could do nothing, unfortunately, against the boot that came up and kicked her in the ribs. With a yelp and a roll, the Dragorn took the hit and tumbled away, though she was quickly hounded by the soldier. His newly gained confidence, however, was to be the end of him. Inara had but to point her scimitar in his direction and the fool charged into it, impaling himself.
A shock of pain ran up the Dragorn’s spine - another salvo of spells from the mage outside - and she thrust her blade even deeper into the man’s gut. Rising slowly to her feet, Inara pushed him over and reclaimed her sword.
Athis?
This mage is tenacious! the dragon growled. She has mastered a great many defensive spells to resist my fire.
Facing Thaddeus again, Inara tried to suppress the rage swelling within Athis. If she gave in to the dragon’s anger, she would likely add another body to The Black Fort’s throne room…
“Explain yourself, Thaddeus,” she demanded. “I see fear in your eyes.”
The would-be king wiped the blood dripping over his lips away and sneered. “The difference between you and me, is that I know when I’m beaten.” He pointed his cleaver at the Dragorn. “It’ll make for a slow death…”
Before Inara could ask him anything else, Thaddeus ran at her with his cleaver in both hands. It would have been easy to let the Vi’tari blade assume control of her movements and have it take his head. But a man without a head couldn’t answer questions, and Inara had more than a few.
When the distance between them was just right, the Dragorn leaped forward with her leg flexed and aimed at his burly chest. Her speed, and certainly her strength, were magnitudes above that of the young man of Grey Stone and he fell victim to her surprise attack. After being launched in the opposite direction, Thaddeus looked up from his back and discovered Inara to be standing over him. Her fist dropped him into a world of darkness.
Inara yelled in pain again as Athis took another spell from the mage. The mage herself begged many questions but, right now, the Dragorn just wanted Athis to deal with her and save them both the pain.
His temper flaring dangerously out of control, Athis unleashed some of his animal savagery. His spiked tail came down on the mage again and again, hammering her shield relentlessly. Through their bond, Inara could see that the mage was beginning to tire. The dragon ceased his hammering and whipped his tail from left to right, clubbing the mage into the side of the cliff. Her shield blazed and dissipated around her.
Inara could feel what her companion was about to do. Don’t! she cried.
In his ire, the dragon dashed in and snatched the mage within his jaws. Inara could taste the blood in her mouth, a sensation that threatened to see her vomit over the floor. Athis refrained from eating the woman, however, and let her broken body fall from his razor-sharp teeth. There was no question - the mage was dead.
Athis didn’t apologise, nor would he ever for behaving as his nature demanded. Inara looked past it, doing her best to ignore the lingering taste in her mouth, and gripped Thaddeus by the ankle.
I’m coming out, she told her companion. I don’t suppose you could open the doors for me…
Inara dragged Thaddeus’s body through the halls of The Black Fort free of resistance. There wasn’t a soldier in sight; a fact that greatly disturbed the Dragorn. When she finally arrived at the sealed doors, the thick slabs were still closed. Inara waited patiently.
The entrance hall soon began to heat up and an orange glow appeared in the join between the doors. Burning bright, this orange glow swelled, expanding across the doors until molten chunks of iron were dropping onto the floor. Sensing her companion’s next action, Inara dragged Thaddeus’s body to the side and erected a shield in front of them both.
Athis wasted no time in swinging his tail, slamming it into the molten circle. The doors shook, freeing themselves of centuries’ worth of dust, but the circle of slag was launched into the entrance, filling the hall with smoke. Next, the dragon exhaled a breath of ice to cool the passage and allow Inara to pass through.
A starry night greeted the Dragorn, along with a graveyard. The snows around the main doors were strewn with bodies and licking flames. To the side, the mage’s body lay very still, her black robes flapping in the wind.
Inara dropped Thaddeus’s body in front of Athis. Bring them both.
With a body in each claw and Inara on his back, the red dragon took off into the sky before adjusting his angle to take them down towards Vighon’s camp. It was impossible to miss the fire. Inara leaned forward to better see the inferno that ran behind the Namdhorian line. A second fire was visible inside the woods, the light from its flames revealing bodies in the snow, many of which were also on fire.
To the north and south, Namdhorian soldiers were rounding up men of Grey Stone and binding their wrists before sorting them into camps. Within the barracks, bodies were being picked up and laid down again in neat rows, each placed under their navy cloaks. Inara’s heart sank. They had fallen for Thaddeus’s invitation and left the Namdhorians vulnerable to an ambush.
Can you see him?
Athis searched the chaos below. No, he replied. But the king’s tent is surrounded by his guard.
Inara chose to believe that meant Vighon was alive. Take me to him.
The closer they got the more ravenous the fire appeared. Inara had seen aggressive fire like that many times, but since Athis had been with her atop Grey Stone, she assumed it was magic in origin. Clearly, the mage hadn’t been working alone…
With no space to land within the campsite, Athis touched down in the space between the Namdhorians and the city. He released Thaddeus’s unconscious form and the mage’s body before bringing his front claws into the snow. Inara signalled a pair of soldiers, calling them away from their duties. She gave them instructions to have her prisoner and the body brought to the king’s tent. The Dragorn would have accompanied them herself, but she was anxious to lay eyes on Vighon and know that he was safe.
A pall of death had taken over the camp. Bodies riddled with arrows were littered everywhere and a handful of tents were still alight. More than once, Inara was forced to navigate around the carcass of a horse that looked as if it had been used for target practice.
Standing outside Vighon’s tent, his appearance less immaculate than usual, Sir Ruban Dardaris bowed his head upon her approach. Ruban’s presence was a good sign that Vighon was alive; the captain of the king’s guard would always die before the king came to harm.
“His Grace is inside,” he told her, a notable edge of unease about him.
Inara planted a friendly hand on his pauldron as she passed him by, her curiosity battling her fears. Beyond the flaps, the interior was illuminated by a simple array of candles, scattering the tent with shadows. Still, through the low light, Inara easily found Vighon on the other side of the table - not a mark on him, to her relief.
The smile slipped from her face after following his eyes to the corner of the tent. There stood a man in black armour, not dissimilar to a dragon’s scales, and a heavy dark cloak lined with scarlet. Chestnut hair framed his face and flowed over his shoulders, braids scattered throughout. Blue eyes, an identical shade to her own, looked back at her.
“Alijah…” she whispered.
“Hello, Inara.”
Hearing her brother’s voice brought a sense of relief she hadn’t realised she needed - it was like honey. Inara’s eyes welled and the instinct to launch herself on him and crush him inside her embrace was overwhelming. But there was something about her twin that kept her rooted to the spot, something that gnawed at the warrior within.
Any threat she felt from Alijah began to melt away with his smile. “I’ve missed you,” he said.
Inara glanced at Vighon, searching for any sign of ill intent that she might have missed, any sign of trickery. The king was entirely at ease, judging by the way he was leaning against the table.
“You’re really here,” Inara replied in disbelief.
Alijah flashed his disarming smile again. “Yes, Sister, I am really here. Now, are you just going to stand there or are you going to give me a hug?”
Inara took a much-needed breath and managed a smile. Only while embracing him did that smile become genuine and she squeezed him tightly. As they both pulled away, her fingers dragged along his arms.
“Are they actually…”
“Dragon scales,” Alijah finished proudly. “Most of the armour is made of it.”
Inara was taken aback. “It’s exquisite,” she admired.
“You look good,” Alijah complimented, taking in her brown leathers.
Inara wanted to ask a lot more questions about the nature of his armour, but her more pressing question was, “What are you doing here?”
Alijah opened his mouth to answer but instead looked to Vighon. “He’s come to help,” the king announced.
A knot formed in Inara’s brow. “Help?”
“Illian stands on the edge of war again,” Alijah explained needlessly. “A civil war will tear the country apart and see thousands die.”
Inara didn’t need telling, but Alijah’s timing and knowledge prevented her from taking joy in his return. “I don’t understand,” she began. “How could you know all this? Where have you been?”
Alijah put his hands up. “Forgive me; this isn’t how I wanted to return. I saw no other choice once I learned of Grey Stone’s treachery. As soon as I knew what Thedomir had planned, I left Erador immediately.”
“And I’m glad of it,” Vighon added. “Because of you and Malliath, there will be many more wives and mothers in Namdhor who will see their husbands and sons again.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question.” Inara didn’t mean to sound rude, but she couldn’t ignore the icy feeling that lingered in her gut.
“Inara…” Vighon pleaded.
“No, no, it’s fine. You would have asked me the same question if I hadn’t just come out and told you.” Alijah turned to his sister. “I hope you don’t think ill of me, but… I have been watching events from afar.”
The knot in Inara’s brow wasn’t going anywhere. “How long have you been in Illian?”
Alijah shook his head. “I haven’t been watching you from Illian. In fact, I never left Erador. There is a place, magical in nature, hidden well in the heights of Mount Kaliban, where one can observe all the world. You can even listen to conversations if you know where to be looking.”
There was something awfully wrong about that but, again, much like Alijah himself, Inara failed to pinpoint what the issue was. She didn’t know what to say, still flustered by his mere presence as well as the facts he was relaying.
