A Clash of Fates: The Echoes Saga: Book Nine

by Quaintrell, Philip C.

  By the time he reached the next passage, her red cloak was just vanishing through a door that led down to the back of the keep. Vighon couldn’t think of any reason why Inara would be heading towards the back of the keep, so she must be expecting him to follow. If she didn’t, the king had no idea what he was going to say when he caught up with her.

  It wasn’t long before he was outside and walking down to the main courtyard. His black furs and thick cloak helped to keep winter’s touch at bay, but there was no protection from the mob of Namdhorians yet to vacate the keep. People of every age tried to reach out and touch him, offering their thanks and loyalty. It was overwhelming, as noted by a few of his guards. They jostled their way through and tried to give the king some space, but it was ultimately Sir Borin’s towering presence that parted the crowd.

  Irritated by the enormous and forbidding shadow that refused to give him peace, Vighon commanded the Golem to the ramparts, reminding Sir Borin that he could watch his master from afar.

  Free of the walking nightmare, the king took the time to shake several hands, greeting his people, as well as crouching to talk to some of the children, reassuring them all that they had nothing to be concerned about. He encouraged them all to return to their homes and help source supplies where they could. Most, it seemed, didn’t feel it was safe enough to leave the keep yet. There was a degree of terror in the eyes of them all. They feared for their elderly parents and their young children.

  Having done all he could with words, Vighon turned away and made for the north gate. It was the only place Inara could have gone, he reasoned. The guards remained stationed at the gate, ensuring the king wasn’t followed by any of the crowd. He wanted to do so much more for them, but he couldn’t give them anything but hope without an actual victory to claim.

  Navigating the outer walls of the keep, Vighon walked round the cliff edge until he spotted Inara. She was standing on the most northern outcropping of rock, where Namdhor’s mountainous slope extended another hundred feet beyond the keep. Her red cloak was billowing in the wind as she looked out on The King’s Lake.

  The northman approached, his feet crunching through the snow. He did his best to ignore the unnerving feeling that crept into his hands and feet when he took in the severe drop either side of the pointed bluff. When finally he reached her side, there was just enough room to stand shoulder to shoulder.

  This wasn’t the first time they had shared this particular ground.

  “Do you remember the last time we were here together?” he asked.

  Inara maintained her distant gaze. “You kissed me if I recall.”

  Vighon chortled. “If you recall? Was it not memorable?”

  Inara smiled. “Have you come to kiss me again?” she replied evenly.

  The king hesitated, taken aback by the direct question. “I wanted to offer my condolences,” he began. “We haven’t had any time since you arrived. I would have told you about Adilandra myself, but…”

  Inara was already shrugging off any apology or condolences. “My grandmother had a warrior’s heart… and a warrior’s death. I expect we will all meet a similar end, if we’re lucky.”

  Vighon couldn’t help his look of surprise. “Expect? You’re expecting us all to die?”

  “Why not?” Inara countered. “The best of us already have.”

  “You have ever been a beacon of hope, Inara, for all of us. Don’t lose that now,” he beseeched.

  “I have carried hope for others for so long,” she replied wearily. “Where do I get it from?”

  Vighon extended his hand and squeezed Inara’s fingers. The lines between them had blurred of late, tempting him to offer a part of himself as hope, but he feared she would reject him again. To hear those words would open a scar that had never truly healed.

  “I only wish this war hadn’t made me so numb,” Inara continued. “It’s getting harder to feel anything anymore. Especially when your own brother can take everything you love away from you.”

  Indeed, Vighon could hear the difference in her voice now. Before hearing of her grandmother’s death, Inara had sounded her hopeful self. Now, however, she had lost her softer edges in the wake of yet more grief.

  “It was here that you told me of your love,” he said. “For the realm and the people. For Alijah.”

  Inara cast her eyes down at the lake. “There is nothing left of my brother to love. The Crow hollowed him out.”

  Vighon was inclined to agree. There was nothing in his old friend he recognised anymore - just an insatiable hunger to conquer the world.

  “Do not let it hollow you out,” he warned. “Your love for the people is displayed in your bravery every day.”

  “What about my love for you?” she posed quietly, taking the king by surprise. “What display of that is there?”

  Vighon swallowed hard, hoping the butterflies in his stomach would settle down. He still relived their recent conversation in The Black Wood, in which Inara had spoken of a kiss she might have given him. He had hoped, more than anything, that he was seeing something of his Inara in that moment, but he didn’t dare cling to something that could shatter his heart.

  “I do love you,” Inara whispered, turning her glassy blue eyes on the king.

  Vighon looked back at her, barely catching her words in the breeze. “I know,” he uttered. “You told me as much the last time we were here. You told me you couldn’t love in the way I wanted you to - in the way I love you.”

  “I was wrong.” Inara maintained her intense gaze. “I never stopped loving you, even after I left for The Lifeless Isles. My bond with Athis quietened those feelings and kept me focused on my duty to the order. But they were still there, under the surface. Now, I struggle from day to day to fully grasp my own emotions. It’s like sailing in a storm. But every time I think of you, every time I hear your name or see your face, it’s everything else that quietens. That’s how I know I love you. That’s how I know I’ve always loved you.”

  Vighon could feel his eyes filling with tears. For so many years, the king had made every effort not to dwell on his loneliness, but hearing those words from Inara brought it all up from the depths of his heart.

  “I have tried, for so long, not to love you,” he confessed with an unsteady breath. “But it was like trying to rid the world of colour.” Turning his whole body towards her, he waited for Inara to do the same before gently touching her cheek. “I am desperately, hopelessly, in love with you.”

  “Are we fools to give in to this now?” Inara asked. “We would only be giving Alijah so much more to take from us.”

  “You fear our love would doom us?” Vighon reasoned.

  Inara tilted her head as their cloaks flapped around them. “I fear what losing you would do to me.”

  “I think it’s too late for that,” he countered, feeling Inara’s hand on the side of his neck. “Since you left for The Lifeless Isles, all those years ago, I have woken up every day feeling like I had already lost you. For whatever time I have left, before whatever doom might await us, I would see it through with you by my side.”

  Inara cupped his face in both hands and brought their lips together in an embrace that both had waited a lifetime for. Vighon pulled her in as close as he could, his arms wrapped around her. It wasn’t like the last time they had kissed with a moment of reservation from Inara. Now it felt like they were sixteen again, kissing in the shade of the trees on her parents’ land.

  When, finally, they parted again, the pair held each other in their arms as well as their gaze. Vighon would have given anything to stay in this moment, a moment he had dreamt of more times than he could recall.

  “What do we do now?” he asked.

  “Now we try not to die,” Inara replied, with some hope, at last, returning to her tone.

  “I’ve got pretty good at that,” Vighon quipped, with a coy grin.

  “Only because I’ve been watching your back,” Inara informed him.

  Vighon mirrored her smile
and kissed her again, only this time he had no intention of parting.

  14

  Not Forgotten

  Having raided the kitchens for raw meat, Asher, Gideon, and Avandriell made for the ramparts of the keep. The old master guided them towards the northern walls, where the view offered a jagged vista of snow-capped mountains surrounding The King’s Lake. The water’s surface would begin to freeze over soon, signalling winter’s hold.

  Asher tried to take it all in, but his concerns constantly returned to Avandriell, who was dragging a raw steak across the ramparts. She battled with it, rolling over herself while shaking the meat in her jaws. More than once he had to correct her wildness and prevent her from falling into the small courtyard below. Then he feared she would leap over the walls of the rampart and fall on the rocky shelf that loomed over the lake.

  “I feel for you,” Gideon said. “Young dragons are quite the handful, prone to impulses. I never had to experience it myself.”

  Asher caught sight of Ilargo gliding over the lake, his green scales glistening in the sunlight. “How long will it be before she possesses the wisdom of her mother?”

  Gideon leaned into the wall before turning to rest his back against it. “Thessaleia you said,” the old master mused. “She was likely very old and her lineage older still. It could take years, decades even, before Avandriell absorbs all the memories. She also has yours to contend with and you have more than most.”

  Asher felt sorry for her in that regard. “I can’t see Malliath anymore,” he revealed.

  Gideon looked at him. “You no longer carry his memories?”

  “I found a way to keep them down, but they were always there. Now, after Avandriell… they’re gone. It’s as if she’s purged them.”

  The old master cast a warm smile over the hatchling. “I think this is going to be the best thing that ever happened to you.”

  Asher couldn’t argue as he watched Avandriell tear off a chunk of meat and devour it whole. She was the thing his life had been missing. “It makes me feel sick,” he confessed, “the idea of leaving her to go and fight. But I can’t let Alijah harm that tree.”

  “I know that sense of vulnerability must be crushing,” Gideon sympathised. “She won’t be defenceless for long though,” he promised. “I’d say she’s pretty dangerous right now in fact.”

  Avandriell exhaled a jet of fire and enveloped the last chunk of meat in flames before picking it apart with her sharp fangs.

  “I can’t imagine what it’s like,” the master continued. “I read what I could in Drakanan but I’m sure the descriptions don’t do it justice.”

  “What did they say? The Riders.”

  Gideon looked out over the land, his memory casting back. “They describe an evolving bond, not dissimilar to that of a parent and child. It’s nothing like what Ilargo and I had when we met. In the beginning they said it was like becoming a mother or father - you care for your child. Then, in some ways, you become a master of sorts while you guide them in the ways of the world. Then the bond changes again and you become friends before, finally, you’re left with something akin to a brother or sister. They all said it gets easier though, once the hatchling takes on the wisdom of their parents.”

  That sounded like a long way off to the ranger. “What should I expect next then?”

  “She’s going to surprise you,” Gideon answered with some amusement.

  “How so?” the ranger pressed, never one for surprises.

  “A fundamental fact you need to know about all dragons: they’re magical in nature. In their eggs, they possess a portion of this magic, but it simply resides within them, dormant mostly. But, once they hatch, they begin to absorb magic from the other realm at a rapid rate. That abundance of energy has to go somewhere.”

  Asher looked expectantly from Avandriell to Gideon. “Where does it go?” he demanded.

  “Some of it will be siphoned off to you - which reminds me; you’re going to need some lessons in magic.”

  The ranger resisted the urge to sigh. “And what about the rest of it?”

  Gideon turned back to Avandriell. “She’s going to get big. Fast.”

  Asher raised an eyebrow. “How big and how fast?”

  “That’s hard to say. Her egg was sitting in Drakanan for more millennia than I can count, which might suggest there’s an awful lot of magic already flooding her bones. My physical experience with hatchlings is limited I’m afraid. Some of this you’ll have to learn as you go.”

  Now that was a concept Asher was familiar with. “I’ve adapted to new situations in the past, but my life was the only thing in the balance. I don’t know any of this,” he complained, gesturing to Avandriell. “I don’t know how to help her.”

  “Like Inara said: listen to your instincts.”

  “My instincts have no idea what’s going on,” he confessed. “When will she fly? When can we speak to each other? Is she going to influence my thoughts?” The ranger groaned. “I’m too old for something this new.”

  Gideon held up his hands to calm the situation. “You’re never too old for anything; words you should live by now that you’re immortal.” Asher threw him a look and Gideon stopped himself from laughing too much. “When will she fly?” he echoed. “Very soon. It’s instinctual, like their breath. Try not to be overly concerned with her attempts either. They have strong bones designed to take impacts. As for speaking to each other…” Gideon shrugged. “Her voice will mature the bigger she gets, but every dragon is different. Avandriell can hear your thoughts but, right now, your emotions will be communicating more than words.”

  The old master paused to watch Ilargo glide past the keep. Even after all their years together, he still looked at the dragon with wonder, his devotion easy to see.

  “You don’t need to worry about her influencing your thoughts,” he continued. “Avandriell is not from the line of dragons that filled the ranks of the Dragorn, so there is no elder to instruct her to do so and Ilargo certainly won’t. Your bond will be pure, just as it was meant to be. That’s not to say, however, that you won’t both influence each other as your bond grows. You will both come to share the same temperament, but always remember; Avandriell can breathe fire. That’s not to say you aren’t dangerous. But you will have to find ways to calm each other when needed.”

  Asher sighed. “It all sounds so… messy.”

  “That’s because it is,” Gideon confirmed. “Two minds, two souls, coming together in perfect harmony. It’s a strange way to live but, once you do, you will wonder how you ever lived any other way.”

  “Will we share pain?” Asher had to ask, despite Gideon’s recent description of their bond.

  “No. That kind of bond is a consequence of the influence. It was just another way to make the Dragorn feel like they were one person with their dragon. No,” he repeated. “Whatever sanctuary you form between your minds will be a construct of you both. No hidden doors.”

  The ranger let himself relax a little, happy to know that Avandriell would not suffer the inevitable injuries coming his way. “You still carry the shame,” Asher observed, having detected it in his voice.

  Gideon tilted his head, mulling over the comment. “Some of it belongs to Ilargo, though I do feel the weight of my guilt. I kept it a secret from them all. None of them were whole. They still aren’t.”

  Asher, who had long seen the world in a simpler way to most, had a different outlook on the whole affair. “You have read a lot about the Dragon Riders. How many of them turned from their order and caused chaos in Erador?”

  Gideon looked away for a moment. “There were several accounts of rogue Riders, scattered throughout their history. Some brought down entire cities.”

  “And how many Dragorn did the same?” Asher posed.

  The answer came to the old master much quicker. “None,” he replied.

  “Unnatural or not,” the ranger concluded, “a degree of influence over the Rider has proven a good way to protect the realm. Il
argo was only doing as he was taught and you were only doing what you thought was right. That’s all there is to it. Those in Dragons’ Reach are happy and safe. That’s more than the rest of us can say.”

  Gideon took a long breath and patted Asher on the shoulder. “Perhaps some of that wisdom is already taking hold,” he suggested.

  Asher shrugged. “I’ve always been wise.”

  Gideon laughed. “And humble too I believe.”

  “Of course,” the ranger jested. “In Nightfall, humility was taught right after the art of decapitation.”

  Both men shared a laugh in the cold air of the north before Gideon turned to Asher. “That second one was a real lesson, wasn’t it?”

  The ranger imitated a sword in his hands. “It’s all in the swing.”

  It felt good to laugh again and even better to see the elation mirrored in Avandriell, who flapped her wings and squawked with delight. Then she dashed off down the ramparts, forcing Asher and Gideon to follow her. The soldiers she passed were instantly dumbstruck by the mere sight of her and left gawping.

  All but one.

  Caught up himself, it took Asher an extra moment to notice the only Namdhorian guard who remained rooted to the spot. He was less animated than the others, who all pointed and gazed at Avandriell as she bounded down the nearest steps. Instead, his eyes shifted back and forth between the baby dragon and the ranger with a calculating expression.

  Then the rest of the picture fell into place for Asher. The guard’s uniform wasn’t quite right for his size - too baggy. His helmet didn’t sit properly on his head, sloping slightly to one side. The travelling boots were definitely his, but they weren’t the standard issue worn by the others. Then there was the dark patch staining the black material on the end of his left sleeve. Blood.