Mount Garganafan was easily the biggest thing Gideon had ever seen, with its bulk dominating the landscape and its snow-capped peak kissing the heavens. The mountain was surrounded by luscious green fields and forests of tall pine. They were well and truly in northern Ayda now… elf country.
I would love to see it too! Ilargo exclaimed, sensing Gideon’s desire to fly further north and see Elandril, the city of elves.
Perhaps one day we will, he replied hopefully.
Adriel and Galandavax shot by them like a bolt from a ballista, heading straight for the base of the mountain.
Follow us, Adriel bade.
Ilargo tucked in his wings and Gideon clenched his whole body, ready for the plummet. Where once the mage would have dreaded such a drastic change in direction, the newly unleashed Dragorn howled with excitement. Just as Ilargo felt at home in the sky, so too did Gideon. He did his best to let the dragon in and strengthen the bond between them, so much so, that when the mage stretched out his fingers along Ilargo’s green scales, he could no longer tell where his fingertips ended and the scales began. Their bodies felt as one, filling Gideon with all the power and magic stored inside Ilargo.
Both of the dragons spread their majestic wings and glided over the trees, banking to the left as the forest disappeared beneath them. Galandavax landed first and trotted at a horse’s gallop towards the wall of rock, at the base of the mountain. Ilargo glided a little further before arching back around and landing beside the ebony dragon.
“The Dragon Wall…” Gideon uttered, his gaze fixed on the thirty-feet of flat wall engraved in elven glyphs.
Both man and elf jumped down onto the rocky ground and approached the wall on foot. Rows of elven hieroglyphs lined the rock, forming beautiful patterns from end-to-end.
“These were put on after we left,” Adriel explained. “I remember it as if it were yesterday. Great crowds came out to see the last of the dragons, hoping to glimpse the eggs before they were locked inside.”
“Is that what you told them?” Gideon asked.
“No.” Adriel sighed. “People believe what they want to believe. It was a dark time for elves. The dragon eggs were a symbol of hope, the hope that all that we once knew would return. In place of that new dawn, however, my people turned to the sword, to the way of war.”
Adriel had always come across as being sure about his decisions and the decisions of the past, but his tone told of the weight upon the elf, a burden of guilt that had been allowed to resurface.
“The old ways might yet return,” Gideon offered. When Adriel could provide no response, the young Dragorn changed the subject. “So how do we get inside the mountain?”
I will open it. The words thundered in Gideon’s mind, leaving no doubt as to who had spoken.
Galandavax’s voice was deep and resonated with unbelievable strength. The mage had wondered when he would begin to hear other dragons, as he had with Rainael. Growing in his bond with Ilargo appeared to be the key to unlocking his full potential as a Dragorn.
They both stepped away and allowed the ebony dragon to stand before the engraved wall. Gideon was excited to see exactly how Galandavax would open the slab of rock, whether it be with fire or even the strength in his bones. The dragon did neither as expected, but instead, ducked his head low and breathed on the wall. The air was expelled from his great maw with enough force to knock even an elf off their feet, but his breath was not as ordinary as any creature of Verda. The air between Galnadvax’s mouth and the wall shimmered, fracturing like glass and stained with every colour. Observing any spectacle of magic filled Gideon with awe, but bearing witness to the never-ending wonders of dragons made the Dragorn realise that anything was possible.
The elven markings were quickly scrubbed away and the thick rock blasted in every direction. Gideon instinctively lifted his hand and commanded a magical shield to form in front of him. Stones and broken rock ricocheted off the shield, flaring with brilliant blues and pure white. It took the mage an extra second to see that he had erected a shield without his wand or staff. It was liberating to use magic without any aid as if he were an elf.
The Dragon Wall had begun to crack and become concave under the enormous pressure. Gideon turned to ask Adriel what exactly he was observing, but the ancient elf was no longer by his side, having returned to the plains behind them.
This will take some time, Ilargo said. The green dragon subtly gestured to the elf.
“Adriel!” the mage called, jogging to catch him up. “Where are you going?”
“Where are we going?” Adriel corrected. “It will take some time for Galandavax to break through; we must use every moment we have to further your training.”
“What is Galandavax doing?” Gideon asked.
“Undoing the very spell he cast upon the rock. It was Galandavax who sealed the mountain, so he will get through it quicker than any other, still, it was an effective spell, designed to keep the most powerful of casters from gaining entry.” Adriel stopped on the grass and gestured for Gideon to stand beside him. “Form one,” he instructed.
Gideon did as he was told and fell into form one of the Mag’dereth. His movements had become more fluid and precise, though he still struggled to get his breathing under control as quickly as Adriel. The two fell into the rhythm of the technique, swinging their arms and legs around in slow, but powerful patterns. Ilargo’s eyes were on him, he could tell, but he could also feel the dragon’s energy flowing through him.
It was this connection which offered Gideon a warning before Adriel attacked him with his dagger. The Dragorn could sense the danger that Ilargo could see and he moved accordingly, as if watching himself from afar, through the dragon’s eyes. When the mage came up from his role, Adriel was advancing on him with his curved dagger. Old instincts, however, proved to get the better of the young Dragorn, who swiftly pointed Abigail’s wand at the elf. The spell rebounded off of Adriel’s shield and Gideon realised that magic was not what the elf was testing.
Two kicks and an elbow came at Gideon with deadly accuracy, and despite his ability to block all three attacks, Adriel’s dagger still managed to swipe the leather jacket across his ribs. The danger posed by the dagger put the young Dragorn on a bad footing and the elf took advantage with a push-kick to the chest.
Adriel’s words could just be heard over the sound of Gideon’s body rolling across the ground. “The most powerful weapon in the world is resting on your hip. Use it!”
The elf came at him again and again, except this time Gideon evaded and moved to give himself enough space to retrieve Mournblade. The scimitar made a satisfying sound when pulled from its scabbard and its gleaming steel shone brightly under the sun. A sense of calm overcame the young Dragorn, a quiet confidence. Adriel dashed forward with all the speed of an elf and lunged at Gideon with his dagger.
“No, don't!” the mage warned, suddenly remembering what happened to the Darkakin who attacked him in Malaysai.
Adriel ignored his warning and lashed out with forms three and four of the Mag’dereth. Mournblade took over. The scimitar and Gideon became one, an extension of the other in the oldest of dances. The young Dragorn succumbed to the blade’s demands and moved with it, twirling this way and that. His hands and fingers moved in ways he didn't think they could, manipulating the blade with more finesse than any man could hope to achieve. Adriel’s dagger was helpless to find a way past his defences and even his fists and feet were blocked and countered by Gideon.
When the mage had had enough, Mournblade adapted to his wishes and found a way to end the fight. A quick tap on the elf’s head, with the base of the scimitar’s hilt, and a swift open-palm to the chest put Adriel on his back. A final flourish with the tip of the blade had the elf’s dagger flying out of his hand and into the field.
“That was foolish,” Gideon said through laboured breath. “I could have killed you!”
Adriel rose from the ground with all the grace he could muster. “Did you want to kill me?�
�� he asked.
“Of course not, but…”
Adriel spoke over the young Dragorn. “Then you could not have taken my life, at least not with Mournblade in hand.”
“I don't understand,” Gideon replied. “I barely feel in control of it. It knows only death.”
The elf smiled knowingly. “It knows only control. A Vi’tari blade serves its master, not the other way around. Had you wanted to kill me it would have seen me to my end.”
Gideon looked at the glyphs running down the length of the blade. “I’m still not accustomed to using it. It just wants to kill…”
“It doesn't want anything, Gideon. A Vi’tari is a tool, a powerful one, but a tool all the same. You must learn to wield it or it will wield you.”
“That sounds ominous,” Gideon said.
“You are a Dragorn, yes, but you are still a man and as such your stamina has its boundaries. Mournblade was wielded by Elandril for centuries, it will take some time to adjust to you. Should you use it for too long, the blade will no doubt exhaust you.”
Gideon drove the scimitar into the ground and sat on the nearest boulder. “It feels odd to possess a blade which belonged to another, but to know that it belonged to Elandril… I feel unworthy of it. How can I compare with his deeds?”
Adriel retrieved his dagger and sheathed it on his belt. “Elandril was not born the leader he became, nor the hero he is called to this day. He wielded Mournblade for years before either garnered any fame.”
Gideon admired the magnificent hilt, glittering in the sun. “You told me Elandril was killed by an… an orc?”
Adriel took in a deep breath, centering himself. “Show me form two and I will tell you of your predecessor.”
“Predecessor?” Gideon echoed.
“Elandril was the first of a new generation to become a Dragorn. Now you are the first of yours…”
“That sounds like a lot of responsibility to me.” The mage could feel his stomach churning with the implications.
“Don't worry, you have Ilargo to help you shoulder it.”
The two Dragorn fell back into the rhythm of the Mag’dereth, side by side. Gideon was waiting for Adriel to tell him of Elandril and the orc, but the elf remained as quiet as a stone.
“You were going to tell…”
“Patience, Gideon. Use your bond with Ilargo to connect with the world around you. Feel the breeze blowing through the blades of grass, the moisture on the rocks. Can you hear the trees? They’re singing.”
Gideon closed his eyes and submerged further into the ever-constant presence of Ilargo. The two melded into one and the land of Ayda came to life around him. All of the dragon’s senses were now his own, including the magical aura that clung to Ilargo like a second set of scales. Nature itself became a living entity that breathed and moved just as he did.
Through the dragons, Adriel’s thoughts merged with Gideon’s. It felt intrusive at first and left the mage feeling vulnerable, but Ilargo poured his soothing emotions into the bond and put him at ease. That was when everything changed. The beautiful vista that surrounded them began to decay, as the fields turned yellow and then brown . The trees withered in rapid succession, reduced to nothing but dead stumps. Smoke rose on the horizon and fire consumed the forests until the light of the sun was forever concealed. Gideon felt as if eyes were on him, predators hiding in the shadows…
Before this new, wretched world could claim him, the vibrant hum of nature returned and the young Dragorn opened his eyes to all the colour of the land. He knew immediately that what he had seen was Adriel’s doing.
“What was that?” he asked, disturbed by the elf’s mental abilities.
“That is the world Elandril saved us from. Orcs would ruin Verda’s surface, strip it for resources and leave it a barren wasteland. They are death.”
“But what are they?” the mage asked.
“They were a magnitude of evil you cannot know,” Adriel explained as he merged into form three of the Mag’dereth. “They were beings of rage with a hunger for dominance. Thanks to the Dragorn their stain was wiped from the world before mankind left The Wild Moores. No one knows where orcs came from. They were first discovered by the dwarves in the mines of Vengora. Their battles quickly spread across the land and into the realm of my kin. It was the only time in history that dwarf and elf have been united under one banner, an alliance forged by Elandril.”
“How did he defeat them?” Gideon asked.
“Not on his own, and not by any one deed.” Adriel was already flowing into form five. “The war raged for years before they were driven into The Undying Mountains. Orcs despise the light. That fact made them predictable to some extent. They could only travel through the Neverdark at night or be forced to navigate Illian by it’s underground.”
“Neverdark?” Gideon missed a movement in form four and hoped it went unnoticed by the elf.
“It was the name given to the surface-world by the orcs.” Adriel glanced up at the sky, where the sun blanketed them in warm rays. “When the armies of Illian trapped them in the south, Elandril and his dragon, Nylla, collapsed the mountain on top of them. The filthy beasts would have been forced to eat each other to survive.”
“How did Elandril die then?”
Adriel stopped performing the Mag’dereth. “Despite their monstrous appearance, orcs are just as intelligent as us, perhaps more so. They despise magic almost as much as the light, but in shunning magic they became extraordinarily proficient in alchemy, engineering, machines of war…” The elf sighed before continuing. “The king of their kind could not best Elandril in combat, but they knew that killing a dragon killed their Dragorn. In the same moment Mournblade pierced the orc king’s heart, a hidden ballista fired a silvyr tipped bolt into Nylla’s heart.”
The sound of a small avalanche carried across the field from the base of the mountain. A plume of dust had risen into the air and half of Galandavax was completely inside the new cave.
There is an entrance fit for the two of you, the ebony dragon said.
Adriel turned to Gideon before they made their way over. “Let Elandril’s death be a lesson in itself. The life of a Dragorn is treacherous and filled with great peril. You will be expected to be the first line of defence against any and all evil that threatens the realm. When you make enemies, so to does Ilargo. Protect each other and you will see those enemies pushed back.” Adriel clapped him on the back. “But whether you like it or not, the burden of destiny is upon you, Gideon Thorn…”
19
exile
Valanis could feel it in the air. He could taste it on his lips it was so strong. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and his fingers vibrated with the great change happening all around him. The magical realm, which overlapped their own, was coming alive in a way he hadn't felt since…
“It cannot be,” he whispered to himself.
Standing on the balcony at Kaliban, Valanis could sense the presence of dragons a world away. The wind blew so hard that he could hear nothing but his hood flapping against his iron mask, and the chill was such that any being detached from magic would freeze to death, but the elf’s senses could never be blinded to the difference dragons made in the world.
It was too much of a coincidence.
The gods would never have seen to the emergence of dragons again, not after the wars they fought at the dawn of the world. This must be his enemies working against him, but the herald of the gods failed to see how this could have happened. For forty years he had planned the fall of both Illian and Ayda, taking great care to ensure that dragons had no part to play. Malliath the voiceless had been taken out of the game by his spies on the elven team who infiltrated Korkanath. The rest of his kind were…
A thought passed through Valanis’ mind and had him thinking about Mount Garganafan, in the east. Had the elves opened the mountain and released the dragon eggs? It mattered little if they had; baby dragons posed no threat to his plans. It was impossible, he deci
ded. The elves were crossing The Adean and only days away from attacking Velia, as Valanis was with the savage Darkakin.
You have enemies you cannot see…
Paldora’s sweet voice whispered in his ear. How great it was to hear the words of a god again! Valanis could always hear them so well in the halls of Kaliban. It was one of the reasons he hesitated leaving the old fortress, but a herald of the gods was no good standing still.
They have revealed themselves at last… Naius, the god of magic joined them.
Lord Krayt, the god of war, filled Valanis’ mind and body, gripping his heart until the elf’s pulse was beating in his ears. We must be set free to finish the war! The wretched beasts must be dealt with!
Valanis was holding onto the broken rail now in an attempt to gain control of his heartbeat. The urge to jump off the edge and wreak chaos across the land was overwhelming. The elf called on the shard of Paldora’s gem to centre himself, but this awakening had the gods in a flurry.
As quickly as the pantheon consumed his thoughts, they were silent again. The terrifying presence of Atilan settled over the ancient elf, as the king of the gods made himself known.
The Veil will reveal itself soon. It will be brought to you by the immortal man. If you do not have Paldora’s gem by then, you will fail to prevent The Veil’s destruction.
Valanis couldn't say he understood every word the king of the gods spoke to him, but he accepted it as truth. When the elf opened his eyes again he was no longer standing on the balcony. While under the influence of the gods he had been directed to another room inside of Kaliban, the armoury. The dusty chamber wasn't a place he frequented often, finding little use for the weapons therein. In some ways he found it strange that the gods would ever require such tools as a sword, but he couldn't say what entertained them during their days as physical beings. Perhaps killing a dragon with a blade was simply more entertaining than using magic.
Valanis felt his focus being physically moved by the gods, an intoxicating feeling. The elf drew back his hood and removed the mask to look up at a wall of very long spears draped in cobwebs.
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