The Fall of Neverdark

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Morvir moved aside with some swiftness to avoid the Dragon Knight. “Lord Crow, I have received—”

  Morvir’s words were cut off when Karakulak strode out of the tunnel and pushed the wizard aside. His dominating frame eclipsed the first servant, leaving The Crow with nothing but the orc to look at.

  “My kin lie dead at your feet, Crow,” the king stated. “I hope your magic was worth it.”

  The leader of The Black Hand met the orc’s eyes, wondering if and when the king would understand his place in their arrangement. “It was worth it when my magic gained you a throne, was it not? What has transpired here, tonight, will see to your victory,” he lied boldly.

  “For six of your years, Wizard, you have made promises, each one as mysterious to me as you yourself…”

  The Crow moved his robes with such subtlety that the appearance of his wand seemed almost natural. He was happy to see the king recoil from the sight.

  Karakulak bared his fangs but kept his growl in check as he called upon his resolve. “The time for magic is at an end, Crow. My army craves battle.”

  “The fall of Neverdark may begin…” The Crow replied offhandedly, his mind struggling to stay in the present.

  “What of the dragon and its rider?” the king asked pointedly, his gaze lifting to the floating boulders above.

  The wizard turned his back on Karakulak, a statement in itself. “After tonight, your greatest adversary is going to be the Dragorn. Your numbers will count for naught against so many dragons and their riders. Consider it another gift.”

  Karakulak sneered. “You can keep your gifts, Wizard. My ancestors slaughtered hundreds of dragons in The Great War.”

  The Crow rolled his eyes in the shadow of the torchlight. “An exaggeration, good king.” He turned on the orc with his wand clearly displayed, dissuading Karakulak from arguing the point. “Malliath and his rider, Asher, are to be considered allies. They will keep the Dragorn from decimating your army as well as distracting the more powerful individuals of the realm.”

  “I am to give the beast commands?” Karakulak asked incredulously.

  “No,” The Crow replied firmly. “The magic that binds them can only be controlled by me. Rest assured, King Karakulak, they will serve you well in battle.” Having walked up the dais, Morvir came back into sight. “Are we prepared for the journey, Morvir?”

  The first servant glanced nervously from the king to his master. “The Grim Stalker tribe have supplied the required number of orcs, Lord Crow.”

  “As I ordered,” Karakulak added. “You may have a new pet, Crow, but the orcs obey only me.”

  “They obey the strong,” the wizard corrected slyly.

  His meaning hadn’t been lost on the king, but Karakulak dismissed the comment. “What do you need with my Grim Stalkers, Wizard. Does your magic not suffice?”

  The Crow’s eyes went wide, stretching his creases and scars. “Didn’t we have a conversation about using such big words?” Karakulak looked ready to rip his head off with his bare hands, but the wizard waved the comment away. “You are to attack Tregaran first, yes? As we discussed.”

  The orc king held The Crow’s gaze a moment longer before replying, “My forces are amassing under the city as we speak.”

  “Excellent. The city is yours, of course, but while you are there, I would have you take one life in particular.”

  Karakulak tilted his head. “One life? When I am finished with Tregaran, there won’t be a soul left alive.”

  “Yes, but I would ask that you seek out this person and see to their death before all else.”

  Karakulak huffed, ready to storm away. “I have a war to begin!” he cried over his shoulder.

  “If you want to win this war, King Karakulak,” The Crow’s tone halted the orc’s mighty strides, “I would suggest heeding my advice. I have seen how you win against the free folk,” he lied. “But you must adhere to the plan…”

  “Your god’s plan?” Karakulak clarified with a mocking tone.

  “You stand now as the king of The Under Realm,” The Crow countered, reminding the orc that he was the reason Karakulak held such a title. “Listen to me a little longer and you will be king of the world.”

  Karakulak took a deep breath and made The Crow wait for his answer. “Who is this human you would have me kill?”

  The wizard smiled, happy to see that he still held the leash. The Crow walked over and tapped his thumb against the bony ridge above the king’s eyes. It was an elven technique, but a useful one for transferring an image from one mind to another. Karakulak stumbled backwards and blinked hard, snatching at the air in front of his face.

  “Find that man,” he reiterated, “and kill him.”

  Karakulak reorientated himself and squared his shoulders to regain his regal composure. “Anything less than the world, Crow, and your head will become part of my throne.” With that, the pale orc disappeared back into the tunnel.

  The Crow massaged his eyes, rubbing the thin skin of his wrinkled lids. Like all kings, Karakulak was exhausting…

  Morvir watched the orc disappear. “I hope I can be there to see his face when all of this—”

  The Crow held a finger up to his lips, silencing his first servant. “There are ears in every shadow.”

  Morvir bowed his head in apology. “Everything is prepared for our journey, Lord Crow.” He hesitated before speaking again. “Are we really going there, Master?”

  The wizard considered his first servant’s reservations, sharing many of them himself. “The blood of a dragon stains the ground, Morvir. After tonight, we will have gained more enemies than just the mage. Illian’s strongest will rise up to meet the threat we pose on their way of life. We will need strong warriors of our own, warriors who do not fear the sun or bend the knee to a king.”

  The Crow looked over his surroundings, sad, in a way, to leave such a place. There were very few places in the world where the currents of magic flowed so freely. It felt like bathing in a warm bath, another luxury he had long forgotten.

  “Come, Morvir,” he bade. “The assassins of Nightfall await…”

  21

  On the Other Side

  Alijah could feel his companions’ eyes on him, but his own were glued to the morning sky. So much had happened in one night that he struggled to form a coherent thought.

  Inara…

  He hadn’t seen his sister in four years and this was far from the reunion he had expected. Still, the desert skies were clear of dragons, good or bad.

  “Come on, mate,” Vighon encouraged Ned, his horse, to keep going a bit farther. They had ridden out of Syla’s Pass with all haste and forced the horses to put as much distance as possible between them and Malliath.

  “He’s tired,” Alijah observed, sat behind Vighon in the saddle. “Like all of us.”

  Astride Alijah’s black horse, Hadavad dug his heels in and rode out in front to block them off. The mage fixed Alijah within his gaze and Vighon pulled on Ned’s reins.

  “The sky is clear and Syla’s Gate is behind us now,” Hadavad began. “I would learn all that you know, Alijah Galfrey.”

  Alijah sighed, feeling too tired to recall the night’s events. He climbed down from Ned and Vighon followed him, only his friend grunted in pain and reached for his back under the shield. The hardy northerner waved his concerns away and removed his enchanted shield. Considering it had been hit by numerous spells and a rather powerful bolt of lightning, the shield appeared brand new.

  “This is no time for dawdling, boy.” Hadavad pushed past Vighon and came face to face with Alijah. “You said Asher.” The mage looked almost furious. “Did you really see him?”

  Galanör climbed down from his swift steed and joined them. “He’s never even seen Asher,” the elf pointed out. “Alijah was born after The War for the Realm.”

  Hadavad reached out and gripped Alijah’s arms, pulling the rogue’s attention back to him. “Was it Asher?”

  Alijah pulled away an
d found some space. He had dirt and sand smudged over his face, his fingerless gloves were in tatters, and new aches and cuts were beginning to make themselves known. He was exhausted. When he closed his eyes, however, he could still see the skeleton on the dais coming to life.

  “The Black Hand have been excavating in Vengora,” Alijah finally said. “What did they find up there, Hadavad?”

  The mage raised his chin. “A skeleton.”

  Alijah nodded. “We came to the conclusion, in your absence, that there were only two things of value in those mountains. A pair of skeletons: Valanis and Asher.” The half-elf turned back to look at the distant gates strewn across the desert, guarded by the high walls of The Undying Mountains. “We assumed they were searching for Valanis’s bones. We were wrong. The thing that found new life in Paldora’s Fall was not an elf.”

  “Are you sure?” Hadavad asked with some urgency in his voice.

  “Elves don’t have grey hair,” Alijah replied, turning back to his companions. “They don’t have stubble on their face and, though I haven’t met every elf, I would wager that none of them have a black-fang tattoo under their left eye…”

  Hadavad bowed his head so that his dreadlocks concealed his expression. Galanör cupped his mouth and found something on the horizon to stare at. Behind them both, Vighon continued to stretch his back, almost oblivious to their conversation.

  Almost…

  “Isn’t that a good thing?” the northerner asked. “I mean, the alternative was an all-powerful, genocidal maniac of an elf. I suppose there’s still the issue of the dragon…”

  Hadavad stomped his staff once into the ground, silencing Vighon. “That was not the Asher I knew. And he was never bonded with Malliath the voiceless. What happened in there, Alijah?”

  The rogue wiped his forehead, freeing the strands of hair matted to his face. “That might not be the Asher you knew, but The Crow performed an Astari ritual. Asher is no Reaver. Before The Crow cast his binding spell there was a moment…” Alijah could see Asher’s first few seconds of life in his mind. “For just a moment he was Asher.”

  The mage took a step forward. “Tell me of the binding spell.”

  Alijah scraped his loose hair and braids back as he recalled events. “The Crow burnt an ancient symbol into Asher’s chest, but I couldn’t see it clearly. After that, he wasn’t really Asher anymore.”

  Hadavad gripped his staff all the tighter and sighed. “That could be any number of binding spells…”

  “There’s more,” Alijah said. “Whatever spell he used, it was reinforced by another.”

  The mage locked eyes with the rogue. “Malliath.”

  Alijah nodded. “Malliath was bound and chained by those pale creatures.” The thought of it still pained the half-elf. “The Crow performed another spell that bound Asher to Malliath.”

  Galanör shook his head. “I thought that was impossible.”

  Hadavad raised a single eyebrow. “The bonding of Dragorn and dragon is a mystery to most. If there is such a spell, I would assume it to be ancient and its origins that of dark magic.”

  “It still makes no sense,” Galanör continued. “Why would The Black Hand bring Asher back in the first place? Why not Valanis?”

  “Their motives and allegiance with those pale creatures remain a mystery,” Hadavad replied as he leaned onto his staff. “As does the pain you experienced in Syla’s Pass, Alijah.” The mage’s last comment turned the eyes of the other two towards the rogue, as if they had only just remembered his fits of agony.

  “What was that?” Vighon asked, the pain in his back quickly forgotten.

  Alijah suddenly felt like retreating into himself, as if he had just been asked the most intimate question. Successfully lying to these particular individuals would be difficult, so he settled for the vaguest answer he could.

  “As The Crow was enacting his spells, he froze me to the spot and made me watch. He said…” Alijah swallowed the truth of The Crow’s apology. “He said it would hurt.”

  Hadavad scrunched up his face. “He said the binding spell between Asher and Malliath would hurt you?”

  “Well, it looked as if it worked,” Vighon chipped in. “Every time Malliath took a beating you knew about it.”

  Galanör and Hadavad shared a look, but it was the mage who spoke up. “Perhaps the spell is even more complex than I first imagined. It would seem The Crow has tied you into their bond, ensuring Malliath’s and Asher’s safety.”

  “Wait,” Vighon said, holding up his hand. “Are you saying that if Malliath or Asher die, so does Alijah?”

  Hadavad chewed over his answer, but Alijah didn’t like the way the mage continued to share a silent conversation with the elven ranger. “I’m not sure what I’m saying. We only have pieces of the whole and it isn’t enough to make a picture.”

  “There’s a prophecy,” Galanör announced ominously.

  Hadavad looked from the elf to Alijah. “You found it then?” he asked eagerly. “The Echoes’ cave?”

  With all that had happened, Alijah had forgotten about the prophecy. “It’s not intact,” he warned. “The scroll we found had been in that cave for a very long time.”

  “But it’s signed, yes?” Hadavad pressed. “With a black hand?”

  Alijah pulled the ancient scroll from between his blade and quiver. The mage tentatively took it in his hands and unrolled it. His eyes lit up and took in every line and glyph with a hunger that Alijah rarely saw in Hadavad.

  “This is why we came south,” Galanör explained. “It speaks of—”

  “A fallen star,” Hadavad finished, his eyes on the second verse. The mage parted his lips to speak again, but the distinct sound of beating wings froze them all.

  Alijah turned back to The Undying Mountains to discover a red dragon descending from the vast blue above.

  The ground was shaken as Athis touched down with all four of his legs. The dragon flared his wings dramatically and lifted himself up on his hind legs to reveal his hardened chest of slate grey scales. As his front legs came back down, Inara gracefully landed beside Athis’s head.

  Alijah had exiled himself for a reason, but seeing his twin sister now made it very hard to remember why.

  Inara strode towards them with the confidence befitting of a Dragorn. Her hair, a shade darker than his own, rained down in perfect ringlets, but it was her eyes that tugged at the rogue’s heart. The deep blue of her eyes was that of his own.

  Attired in armoured brown leathers and gripping the hilt of her Vi’tari scimitar, Inara looked more the warrior than when they last met. Blood and dirt stained her skin and leathers, but none of it could detract from her youthful beauty, something she would maintain for eternity.

  Alijah gritted his teeth and held onto the resolve he had found four years previously.

  “Brother!” Inara crashed into him and wrapped her arms around him in a bear-like embrace.

  It pained Alijah to simply pat her back lightly, desperate as he was to hold her close. Inara pulled away with a wounded and confused expression marring her beautiful features.

  “It’s good to see you,” Alijah managed. “Are you hurt?”

  Inara looked to be reading his mind as she took another step back. “No, I’m fine…” Her reply was absent of its melodic tone.

  “Inara…” Vighon stepped forward, his movements awkward. Inara and Alijah hadn’t seen each other in four years, but Vighon hadn’t seen Inara in more than twice that.

  It was clear to see from Vighon’s expression that the torch he carried for Inara was still there, despite their decade apart.

  Fool was the word that sprang to Alijah’s mind.

  Inara didn’t appear to share the sentiment. She did, however, glance back at Alijah, the flash of her eyes asking a hundred questions at once.

  Thankfully, Hadavad and Galanör made themselves known, bowing their heads at both Inara and Athis.

  The mage said happily, “It is good to see you again so soon, Inara
Galfrey.” That statement saw an inordinate amount of confusion creep over Alijah’s face.

  “And your timing saved us all,” Galanör added.

  “So soon?” Alijah asked, ignoring the elf’s comment. “The two of you have…”

  “We met a few days past, in The Undying Mountains,” Inara answered.

  Alijah turned his confused and hurt expression on Hadavad.

  The mage shrugged. “Did you want me to tell you in Paldora’s Fall? Or as we fled for our lives?”

  The rogue sighed and let it go, though he was entirely unhappy with the growing situation.

  A sharp huff resounded from Athis’s mouth. “This is Athis the ironheart,” his sister said, shifting her shoulders to regard the dragon.

  Alijah glanced at Athis and felt a wave of caution overcome him, drawing his gaze back to the dragon’s reptilian eyes. The half-elf suddenly felt like tip-toeing around Inara and being as nice as possible.

  Inara turned to face Athis and the feeling dissipated as suddenly as it came on. Having his emotions affected by a dragon was one thing, but seeing his sister hold a silent conversation that excluded him in every way was far more painful.

  “It is an honour to meet you,” Galanör said to the dragon.

  “Wait,” Alijah interjected. “There were two of you.”

  Inara’s expression told them everything they needed to know about the fate of the other Dragorn. “Edrik and Aldreon died fighting Malliath and…” The Dragorn looked up to meet them all, her eyes searching for the truth in theirs.

  “Asher,” Hadavad said. “I am sorry for your loss and grateful for your intervention.”

  “So, it was really him…” Galanör said absently. “They actually did it.”

  Inara looked at Alijah but asked the mage her question. “Do you know how this came to be? How Asher has returned? His bond with Malliath?”

  Hadavad twisted his mouth. “That’s three questions, Miss Galfrey.”

  Whatever the mage meant by that, it annoyed Inara instantly. “I’m not playing games, Hadavad. For the first time since the new order, a Dragorn and his dragon have been killed. I want answers.”