“Inara?”
“In the pit,” she said at last, “when we were fighting…” Her hand reached up to touch her neck. “I was sure I saw wounds appear from nowhere. It looked like a bite mark.” Inara shook her head. “It’s all so fuzzy. I must have been seeing things - I hit my head more than once.”
Gideon, Ilargo commanded. I bit Malliath’s neck after Alijah and Inara descended into the pit.
Indeed, a flash of memory informed Gideon of the details, including the taste of Malliath’s blood in Ilargo’s mouth. It also offered new and crucial pieces to the puzzle that had plagued them since Namdhor.
This could change everything, Gideon concluded.
For some, yes, Ilargo agreed. For others, it will not.
Gideon could think of a few who wouldn’t care at all. Then he wondered if he was one of those people.
“What’s wrong?” Inara asked. “You’re talking to Ilargo.”
Gideon took a breath and leaned forward on his elbows. “I think you saw what you saw.”
Inara groaned as she attempted to sit herself up but ultimately rested on her elbows. “How can that be? He told you their bond had never been like a Dragorn’s to begin with.”
Gideon nodded in agreement. “But what he told me and what we’ve both seen doesn’t match up.”
Inara frowned. “Both seen? What are you talking about, Gideon?”
The old master glanced out of the tent, in Ilargo’s direction. “When we confronted Alijah and Malliath, in Namdhor, they both bore injuries from Qamnaran.”
“Yes,” Inara replied. “Adilandra threw him into The Hox and Malliath dived in after him; I saw those wounds myself.”
“Did you notice Alijah’s limp?” Gideon questioned. “Malliath’s back left leg was barely touching the ground.”
“That isn’t proof,” Inara said, shaking her head.
“And the cut above Alijah’s eye?” Gideon continued.
“I saw it,” Inara confirmed.
“Malliath had the exact same cut in the exact same place. It was harder to see because of his dark scales but Ilargo didn’t miss it. Now you witness shared injuries as they actually happen. Inara, I don’t think you hit your head and imagined it. I think—”
“They’re still bonded like Dragorn,” Inara interjected, the revelation washing over her at last. “They share pain.”
“They share more than that,” Gideon determined. “If they share pain, they are one life. That also explains why Malliath kept Ilargo and Athis chasing him for so long rather than turning to fight them.”
“He couldn’t risk Alijah suffering his injuries while he needed to get to the doorway,” Inara continued, picking up the thread.
“It means Malliath has been, and is still, influencing Alijah’s thoughts and feelings,” Gideon elaborated.
Inara’s mouth fell open. “How can this be?” she questioned absently.
“It’s the only explanation for what we have both seen.”
“No, I mean how can this be? Alijah believes his bond is that of a Dragon Rider. He would know that to be a lie if they shared wounds.”
Dismayed, Gideon shrugged. “It is likely a testament to Malliath’s control over Alijah. He has been blinded to it all, tricked into believing they are his injuries alone. Or perhaps Malliath makes him oblivious to the wounds altogether.”
“How can Malliath’s influence be so consuming as to fool Alijah?” Inara queried. “Athis may have guided my emotions now and then to ensure I didn’t take the violent path, but he has promised me that was the extent of his abilities.”
“Ilargo was the same,” Gideon reassured. “He has never been able to directly control my thoughts and, from his mother’s memories, no dragon ever has in Elandril’s order.”
“Then what? My brother is a puppet?”
“There are extraordinary circumstances involved where Alijah is concerned. He was tormented in every way by The Crow. His mind was already being broken down before his bond with Malliath matured.”
“He was always strong of mind,” Inara said, shaking her head. “There’s a part of me that’s still angry with him for giving in to the pain, for taking on The Crow’s teachings.”
Gideon looked down, his thoughts running away with him. “What if he did resist?” he posed. “What if The Crow didn’t really get into his mind like we think? What if The Crow only sought to break Alijah down so Malliath could assume more control. He would seep into the cracks and bury Alijah under millennia of suffering and hate.”
“This hate of magic that drives him so fiercely does speak more of Malliath’s mind than his own,” Inara opined. “I suppose Malliath’s age could mean he is simply powerful enough to control Alijah.”
“Possibly,” Gideon reasoned. “He’s older than history.”
Inara leaned in. “If we’re right, that means there might be something of our Alijah still in there somewhere.”
“Somewhere would be accurate,” Gideon told her. “If he is still in there, he will be buried beneath The Crow’s brutal torment and Malliath’s over-bearing mind. Asher has spent years just trying to rid himself of Malliath’s echo. I can only imagine the oppression of being bonded to him.”
The revelation brought some new life to Inara, who managed to sit up on the edge of her cot. “So what do we do now?”
Gideon opened his mouth but nothing came out. He could feel Ilargo searching for an answer to that same question but even the dragon failed to grasp any option that could help them.
Finally, his response was identical to the last time he had been asked that question. “I don’t know.”
Inara sighed, the fight in her ebbing away. “Even if there was something we could do, we could also be wrong,” she theorised. “There might be nothing left of him in there. And if there was, how many people do you know who would be willing to try and save him? Everyone has lost someone and they all put the death toll at Alijah’s feet.”
“What if it’s the only way to beat him?” Gideon suggested. “He’s powerful. He has Jainus magic at his disposal and Malliath’s strength flowing through his veins. And that’s without taking Malliath himself into account. What if separating them is the only way to beat them?”
Inara tilted her head. “You’re talking about turning Alijah to our cause, pitting him against Malliath?”
Gideon locked his jaw while considering his next words. “Alijah might be the only one who can beat Malliath. We have to accept the fact that Ilargo and Athis cannot kill him.” The old master could feel an argument rising in his companion, leading him to quieten his bond temporarily.
“I think you might be overestimating Alijah,” Inara cautioned. “If we did find some way to pull them apart, the Alijah that we knew might not appear for some time, if at all. After all their time together, he could truly agree with Malliath and then we’ve just made it harder to kill them.”
There was a hard edge to her voice that jarred with Gideon. “So you think we should use this knowledge to focus our efforts on killing one so that we might kill them both?”
“Alijah couldn’t fight off all of us with Ilargo and Athis coming down on him,” Inara reasoned. “We now know that if we kill Alijah, we kill Malliath. Surely that is our only advantage from this.”
Gideon thought of the young man he had known, a man who only wanted to help the world, regardless of the cost to himself. It made his bones shiver to think of that same man being trapped inside his own mind, within a web of lies and deceit constructed by the one being who should love him the most.
“Do you want to save him?” he asked bluntly.
Inara held his gaze for a moment. “If we’re right about all of this - if you’re right about all of this - he was born to be the destroyer. He is here to be the evil that unifies the realm against him. Shouldn’t we seek to kill him? To end his threat?”
“Ending the threat he poses and killing him are two very different things, Inara. I’m talking about a way to free Alijah and of
fer him a real chance at redemption.”
“By having him kill Malliath?” Inara countered. “And that’s if he can. You could bring forth a broken shell of a man who doesn’t even know what world he’s living in. And that’s the good scenario. You could separate them and discover Alijah is just as twisted as we’ve thought all along. Then there’s two of them to fight.”
Gideon prepared his side of the argument as he shuffled forwards, but Inara beat him to it with a blunt question and a clipped tone. “Do you know how to separate a dragon from their Rider?”
The old master swallowed, his confidence faltering. “No.”
“What about the Jainus?” Inara pressed. “If anyone in history was going to try and find a way to do that it would be the Dragon Riders’ sworn enemies.”
“If they did I found no mention of it in their library,” Gideon replied. “Given that the Dragon Riders won the war, though, I imagine they destroyed anything that might harm them.”
Inara continued to look at him, her victory clear to see. “There you have it, from your own mouth. There is no way to separate them, which means there is no saving him, no redemption, and absolutely no chance of him killing Malliath for us. The advantage is simple - we focus all our efforts on killing Alijah alone.”
Gideon didn’t agree and he could feel Ilargo backing him up. “Our efforts should not be directed towards Alijah or Malliath right now. Both of our companions will die if we don’t try and find a way to save the tree.”
Their argument shifted, Inara paused to take a breath but it quickly led to her head dropping into her chest. Gideon could see the energy draining from his old student, her skin paling. He grasped her arms before she fainted and flopped onto the ground.
“Easy,” he cautioned. “You need more rest.”
Inara tried to argue the opposite as he guided her back down onto her cot. “We need…” Her chest heaved with the effort. “We need to…”
Gideon hushed her and draped a blanket up to her shoulders. “Sleep,” he whispered, though she already was.
As he exited the tent, Ilargo’s blue eyes were looking down at him. Defeating Alijah and Malliath will not undo the destruction they have wrought upon the realm of magic. And I’m afraid we no longer have the luxury of dealing with one problem at a time.
I agree, but I have no idea how to fix either problem.
Ilargo’s head perked up and his reptilian eyes cast across the plains. Captain Dardaris and his forces have arrived.
Better late than never I suppose. Gideon turned and walked away to get a better view across the camp. I will greet them, he said, watching the few thousand men as they marched north. Faylen and Galanör need to rest. As do you, he added, looking up at the dragon.
You will hear no arguments from me, Ilargo replied, lowering his wounded head to the ground.
Gideon made to leave, but he allowed himself an extra moment to look upon his companion with adoration. Theirs was a love he could not live without.
25
Survivors
The far-reaching hand of winter travelled with Vighon and his company. However far south they journeyed now, its bitter cold was waiting for them, with the first falls of snow. It was these icy winds that kept most inside their homes. Absent any walls or a roof, the northman adjusted the furs around his collar, sure to keep his dark cloak over his knees.
More than once he had climbed down from his saddle and walked beside his horse to get some warmth into his muscles. He was expecting a fight at the end of their journey and he didn’t want to be stiff entering a battlefield.
He hated to think of the carnage taking place only a few miles south of them. After an agonisingly long three days, they had entered The Moonlit Plains and even passed the ruins of West Fellion, but the ancient land just seemed to roll on, expanding into more open plains. He had hoped to arrive at the dig site that very morning, but that looked to be out of the question.
For most of their trek, the king had comforted himself with the knowledge that every mile they covered was a mile closer to Inara. Now, however, he couldn’t get rid of that itch to simply be there, adding his flaming sword to the fray.
Avandriell had proven to be something of a welcome distraction along the way. Vighon looked up at the dragon now and marvelled at her flight. Her recent growth spurt had been explained to him during their last camp. Since then, he couldn’t recall seeing her anywhere but in the sky. He hoped to live long enough to see her fully grown and Asher mounted on her back. Now that would be a sight, he thought.
Quite the opposite of her majesty, Sir Borin the Dread entered his vision astride the largest horse they could find for him. Thankfully, there had still been an armourer working in Namdhor. Now, the Golem’s gruesome body and face were covered by plate and a flat-topped helmet.
The sound of hooves, moving faster than the others, turned Vighon away from his bodyguard. Kassian Kantaris came up alongside him, his face partially concealed by a scarf and the collar of his long coat. The mage didn’t say anything for a while, content, it appeared, to ride beside the king. He wanted to say something, however - that much the northman could discern.
“Out with it, Keeper,” Vighon urged. “You’ve more than earned the right to speak your mind.”
Kassian licked his lips, his brow furrowed in contemplation. “We’re going to win this,” he said, without context.
Vighon glanced at him, assuming he could only be talking about the war. “Of course we are,” he replied, with as much confidence as he could muster. “Has that only just dawned on you?”
“Until recently, I didn’t really care.” Kassian’s tone spoke of honesty, a refreshing change to his usual sarcasm. “As far as I was concerned, I had already lost and there was nothing to win. There was just pain… and vengeance.”
Vighon was reminded of the vengeance that once drove him. It had been maddening, like an ache in his bones. The pain had demanded that he find and kill his father, the man responsible for his mother’s death. At least he had one or two people to blame and focus his wrath upon. Kassian lived with a burning hatred for the most powerful necromancer and dragon in the realm. Everywhere he went, Alijah’s mark stained the land, reminding him of what he had lost.
“Take it from me,” Vighon said, “there’s no clarity to be found in vengeance. That sweet release it offers is all too brief. In the end, you’re still left with the pain.”
“You’ve walked this path yourself?” Kassian enquired.
“During The Ash War,” the king answered.
“Did you have your vengeance?”
Vighon thought back, recalling with ease the moment he killed Godfrey Cross, the man his father had tasked with murdering his mother. Then, with perfect recall, he saw his father, Arlon Draqaro, walking down the main road of Namdhor, his wrists chained in manacles. The Peoples’ Justice had seen to his end with brutal efficiency. Had he made it to the bottom of the slope, Vighon was still unsure to this day whether he would really have set him free.
“I suppose I did,” he finally replied. “But it changed nothing. Vengeance never does.”
Kassian kept his thoughts to himself for a moment. “So how did you… move on?”
Vighon considered the question. “It’s hard to lose what you love. Your world shrinks. There is no tomorrow, only today.” The king turned to look at the Keeper. “It’s even harder to find a reason to keep going. Something to live for. But once you do, it soothes the soul. Then, like anything, time sweeps in and the pain begins to fade.”
Kassian’s head rolled back onto his shoulders and he sighed, exhaling a cloud of vapour into the air.
When he didn’t reply, Vighon pressed. “You said until recently you didn’t care.” The king left it there, opening the space for Kassian to talk about it if he wished. He had come to value the Keeper and not just for his skill with magic. The northman could see something of a great man under all the mage’s grief.
Kassian glanced over his shoulder at Aphira,
his fellow Keeper. “We’re going to win this,” he repeated, as if starting again. “When we do, we need to be ready to rebuild the realm.”
Vighon tried to contain his smile. “We?”
The Keeper took a long breath, his eyes struggling to meet the king’s. “All I have left of Clara is the pain. Her memory deserves more than that. And the conduits of this world deserve more than being hunted by Alijah’s beasts. I believe there is a way to serve both.”
Now Vighon was very intrigued. “By conduits you mean…”
“People touched by magic,” Kassian clarified. “The survivors of Valatos alone must number in the hundreds and they’re all out there, lost and afraid. And they’re just the ones with training. There could be thousands more out there who have no idea why they’re different. Without the proper guidance, they can be a danger to themselves and everyone around them.”
Vighon drew an easy conclusion. “You’re talking about a new Valatos? A new Korkanath?”
Kassian looked pained by the comparison. “Yes and no. They both possessed a good foundation but their vision was executed poorly. I’m talking about something that is better than both.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t know yet,” the Keeper confessed. “But I would like your help in building it. And I’m not talking about your coin,” he added quickly. “I want you to help me find a way that benefits the realm as well as these people. Coexisting is the only way we can forge a lasting future. I see that now.”
Vighon nodded in agreement. “I wish Alijah saw it your way,” he remarked.
“He sees people like me as a threat to the realm,” Kassian said.
“He’s not wrong about that,” Vighon replied, bringing out a frown in the Keeper. “His response to that fact is disproportionate,” the northman continued with a calming hand in the air. “I had similar fears when Valatos was built. We were still rebuilding in the wake of the destruction caused by The Crow. He showed all of us what magic is capable of when wielded by the wrong person.”
A Clash of Fates: The Echoes Saga: Book Nine Page 30
