A Clash of Fates

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Reyna swallowed in the absence of any real reply. She wasn’t meant to be queen - her mother was immortal! She had never had any qualms about being a princess for eternity, not when the alternative came with such tragic consequences.

  “As you say,” she croaked, “time and menace are against us. We will discuss this later. Right now we have to coordinate The Rebellion’s efforts.”

  “Reyna.” Faylen reached out, sensing her imminent departure.

  “I have to go,” Reyna insisted.

  She closed her eyes and opened them again to The Dragon Keep’s throne room. Vighon was standing beside Nathaniel at the head of the table, both deep in discussion. Noticing her return, Nathaniel looked upon her with sympathy and tears of his own, having heard the news of Adilandra from the king.

  “My love…” he began, offering his hand.

  Reyna didn’t move for a moment. The fact that she was seated on a throne was suddenly a distraction she had never anticipated. Something tickled both of her cheeks and she realised there were tears streaking down her face. After wiping them away, she stood up and accepted the comfort of her husband’s embrace. She felt Vighon’s hand rest on her back and she turned to see his dark eyes sharing her pain.

  At last, Reyna detached herself from Nathaniel and stood back. “There are two things we must now accept so that we might take our next step with efficiency. Adilandra, my mother, is gone.” Saying the words placed a weight on her chest, giving her pause.

  “And the other?” Vighon wondered.

  Reyna looked up at her husband. “We are now the king and queen of the elves.”

  7

  A Royal Gathering

  Descending beneath the clouds, The White Vale of Illian’s north dominated the horizon with a blanket of snow. Alijah sat up in his saddle, astride Malliath, and took it all in as his cloak and hair were swept out behind him. It was all so peaceful from their lofty vantage. It would have been easy to think that the realm enjoyed the same tranquility.

  But it didn’t.

  Unlike thousands of others who had worn the crown before him, Alijah was determined to keep his objectivity. No matter the vantage or luxury he enjoyed as king, he would never forget that there was a world beyond his view. A world of people.

  Narrowing his eyes, he could just make out the faded line of The Vengoran Mountains. Tracking them west would take any traveller to Namdhor and The King’s Lake. Of course, Malliath did not require such landmarks to know where he was flying. His bones were almost as ancient as those mountains.

  Banking slightly to the left, turning westward, the dragon’s wing twitched. Alijah patted his companion’s scales. They were both dealing with injuries but Malliath had shown unparalleled strength during their flight. And Alijah couldn’t say he hadn’t enjoyed the slower pace - the last two years had been relentless.

  Are you ready to do what must be done? Malliath’s voice was the perfect pitch inside his mind, a soothing melody compared to the barraging winds.

  With your power flowing through my veins, Alijah responded, I’m ready for everything.

  Tell me, Malliath purred.

  I will demand Vighon’s head. Any who defend him will share his fate.

  You will see, Malliath told him, that the people love you. They will gladly give him up.

  Alijah rubbed Malliath’s black scales. I don’t know if it will be their love for me or their fear of you.

  A wave of satisfaction rolled off Malliath. Both will be needed to rule all of Verda.

  Though Alijah agreed, it wasn’t the future he had always envisioned. There will be turmoil for some time, many years even. But, in generations to come, you will be loved not feared. Can you imagine that, old friend? There will be peace in every corner of the realm. Without magic there will be equality like never before and every man, woman, and child will look up at you with thanks. They will see you and know they are safe.

  Malliath’s muscles rippled beneath Alijah, telling of his anticipation. Our forces have almost converged on The Moonlit Plains, the dragon explained, moving the subject away from his feelings. It will be well defended by day’s end.

  Very good, Alijah noted, aware that Malliath’s mind was better suited to monitoring so many Reavers with little effort.

  Malliath continued his flight in silence for another mile. What will you do with Reyna and Nathaniel Galfrey? he finally probed.

  Alijah could feel the dragon pressing images upon him, each more grotesque than the last. The king shut his eyes, searching for his own feelings on the matter.

  You will not execute them? Malliath exclaimed.

  The king sharpened his focus, wondering what gap he had left for the dragon to see into his mind. They are assets we should not discard. With Adilandra dead, my parents will take command of the elves and all of Ayda with them.

  You would allow them to rule the east? There can only be one throne!

  And there will be! Alijah pushed back. But elves are immortal - they do not forget easily. Nor can we be everywhere at once. It will aid us to have them kept under better control while we see to Illian and Ayda. And without magic, they will pose no real threat.

  And what of the threat of your parents? Magic or not, they have a history we would be fools to ignore. They are more likely to lead a new rebellion against us than maintain peace in Ayda.

  If they step out of line I will—

  They have already chosen their side, Malliath argued, cutting Alijah short. They will be executed with the rest of The Rebellion. We do not need them to curb the elves.

  Alijah wanted to reinforce his opinion but he knew the dragon was right - they had abandoned him, disowned him, and replaced him. How could they come back from that? And how could Alijah find the heart for them when his love was for the entire realm?

  It will be hard, Malliath admitted, his tone soothing now. But we will do it together. And we will get through it together.

  The king sighed, and with it his worries were taken by the wind, leaving him with one thought.

  They will all die.

  Seated at the head of the table, his chair like any other, Vighon watched friends and allies materialise around him. Thanks to the diviner, in the centre of the table, and the Keeper, standing off to the side, Doran, Galanör, Faylen, and Sir Ruban Dardaris were given form in the empty chairs.

  As engrossing as it was to watch their ethereal bodies take shape, Vighon took the moment to glance at Reyna and Nathaniel, seated to his right. Both appeared to be in shock, though it was more likely, in Reyna’s case, that she was numb. Nathaniel’s expression had yet to change since he had been informed of his new station as king of the elves.

  Vighon felt for them both, wishing more than anything that he could take it all away for them. He knew the immense pressure of a crown being placed on one’s head as well as the suffering that accompanied the death of a mother. But he also knew there were no words that would make a difference.

  He had urged them to return to their chambers and take some time, but both had rebuffed the suggestion, stating that the meeting was too important.

  Turning to Kassian, seated on his left, the king noticed the Keeper’s attention was similarly on the Galfreys. Vighon had found a brief moment, before everyone took their seats, to inform him of Adilandra’s demise and the consequences for Reyna and Nathaniel. Of course, Kassian’s feelings on the pair becoming king and queen were impossible to read, even if it was clearly on his mind.

  And now, with the council at last assembled, Vighon was drawn immediately to Ruban, who was seated at the other end of the table. The northman hadn’t seen the knight since the battle on The Carpel Slopes - since he had walked away.

  Of all those seated around the able, Vighon could quite confidently say that Sir Ruban Dardaris, the captain of his King’s Guard and once squire, was his most loyal ally and friend. And still the king had walked away from him, leaving the knight to continue the good fight in his stead.

  The men held each ot
her’s gaze for the moment. Vighon was expecting some venom from Ruban, who was well within his rights to speak so. In fact, he was hoping the captain would have something to say on the matter; it was the least he deserved.

  “Is it true?” Doran broadcast from across the table. “Ye’ve taken Namdhor?” he added with a hearty laugh.

  Vighon tore his eyes from Ruban to address the dwarf. “We sit in the throne room as we speak, Doran.”

  The son of Dorain turned his head to better see the northman. “Aye, I knew it would be good to see ye, an’ it is, lad! ’ave ye got yer head sorted?” he asked more seriously. “Do ye know who ye are?”

  Vighon looked back at Ruban before answering. “I am the king of Illian,” he said evenly.

  The captain bowed his head. “On that we agree, your Grace. Namdhor is where you belong.”

  “Before we begin,” Vighon continued, “I would give you all my thanks and my apologies. I walked away and you kept fighting, every one of you. I thought I was doing the right thing for The Rebellion, but I see now that walking away was never going to help. We’re in a fight where every sword counts and every ally makes us stronger. Our enemy would see us divided and conquered. My heart breaks with apology knowing that I aided in that endeavour.

  “I can never thank you all enough for not only welcoming me back, but searching me out. I deserved neither. I again pledge myself to the crown and the realm, serving both until my last breath. I have nothing else to give.”

  “And I would serve no other king,” Sir Ruban announced sincerely. “You earned that crown once before. I have no doubt you will do it again. I am glad you know who you are now. But when we next meet, your Grace, I will put you on your back.”

  Vighon stifled his laugh. “That seems fair.”

  “Hugs and kisses for everyone!” Kassian interjected. “Can we get back to the end of the world now?”

  “Is that scoundrel still breathin’?” Doran spat.

  “This scoundrel,” Kassian countered, “helped to take the capital city with a handful of mages and a couple of spells!”

  Doran waved the achievement away. “I was gettin’ round to it.”

  Faylen raised her ethereal hand, bringing a halt to the bickering. “There is another who should be among us. One whose voice carried the weight of a queen and the wisdom of a thousand years.” The High Guardian looked across the table at Reyna. “Queen Adilandra’s death deserves acknowledging, her life given not only for The Rebellion but goodness itself.”

  All heads were bowed, though Vighon noticed Reyna maintained her posture, her stare piercing the stone beyond.

  “She stood the line between the light and the dark time and time again,” Faylen continued. “Her past deeds are the only reason any of us are here today.”

  Vighon would never argue that fact. Though he was born years later, he knew well of Adilandra’s efforts during The War for the Realm. Had she not convinced Rainael the emerald star to lead her kin against Valanis and the Darkakin, the world would be a darker place.

  Galanör straightened his back and looked directly at Reyna. “I offer my condolences and deepest regrets. It was my actions that led to your mother’s…” The elven ranger almost choked on his words. “I have wandered the realm for many years now, allied to neither Illian nor Ayda. By way of debt, I offer you my services, Queen Rey—”

  “Don’t say it,” Reyna cut in, speaking for the first time. “Your actions, nor those of any other, have ever swayed my mother. She was responsible for every step she took stretching back a millennium. So you see, Galanör of house Reveeri, you have no debt to pay.”

  The elven ranger looked to disagree but Nathaniel raised his fingers from the table top and gave a subtle shake of the head, dissuading him from extending his proposal. “Adilandra wouldn’t have wanted us to dwell on the past while there’s still a war to fight,” the old knight said artfully. “We will carry our grief until such a time it can be given its day. What news of the campaign?”

  Faylen nodded her overall agreement. “We suffered losses on Qamnaran,” she reported, forging through, “but we gained thousands more dwarves to our cause. Sadly, King Gaerhard was slain on the battlefield, leaving the Brightbeards in disarray.”

  “King Gaerhard?” Nathaniel questioned, his focus now well and truly returned to the present. “Besides King Dakmund, was he not the last king of Dhenaheim?”

  All eyes fell on the son of Dorain, their thoughts likely aligned. Vighon had to wonder how many kings and queens were seated around his table.

  “He was,” Doran confirmed in a perpetually tired voice. “Lord Kraiden saw to his end, right before I saw to his.”

  “Lord Kraiden is dead?” Vighon asked incredulously.

  “And Morgorth, his dragon,” Faylen replied happily. “The battle was a victory for The Rebellion.”

  “Aye, we left no Reavers on their feet,” Doran added.

  “And what of this tower?” Vighon pressed. “Do we know why Alijah had it constructed?”

  “No,” Galanör answered. “Nor can we say whether he achieved his goal,” he stressed. “If he did, the same has been done to me for I was there when the spell took effect.”

  This was enough to turn Reyna’s head. “Do you feel different?”

  “No,” the ranger said, shaking his head.

  Vighon waved a dismissive hand. “His intentions aside, the dwarves being held on that island enjoy freedom now - a great victory for The Rebellion. We too have seen victory here in the north. The capital is ours and Alijah has lost another Dragon Rider and his mount.”

  Doran slammed an enthusiastic fist into whatever table was actually in front of him. “Good on ye! Who did ye slay?”

  “Reyna took the head of Rengyr,” Vighon was pleased to inform. “She saved my life at the same time.”

  “You would have done the same for me,” Reyna replied, “were you not recovering from killing Karsak moments earlier.”

  “Dragon slayer, eh?” Doran cheered. “It seems ye’ve returned to us with some thunder in ye veins, lad!”

  Faylen turned to Vighon as if she had just recalled something. “Where is Inara?”

  “We know she returned to The Black Wood without the Dragorn,” Galanör added.

  Vighon took a breath, his fingers drumming against the table. “We cannot rely on the Dragorn, in this fight or any other. They have turned from the path of their predecessors, choosing now to live in peace among the older dragons.”

  Despite the finer features being robbed in their ethereal images, all four from distant lands expressed visible concern and surprise at the news.

  “It cannot be so,” Faylen pleaded.

  Galanör looked almost angry. “Gideon would not abandon the realm like this.”

  “Gideon was not in Dragons’ Reach,” Nathaniel expanded. “He journeyed to Erador to investigate Alijah some eight years ago. That is where Inara has gone, with Asher and Adan’Karth.”

  “Eight years ago!” Doran exclaimed.

  Vighon could see a flurry of questions inbound from all sides of the table. “I have spoken to her recently,” he interjected quickly. “Before Athis flew them west, Inara gave me Gideon’s diviner, the twin of her own.”

  “And what of Gideon?” Galanör demanded.

  “They found him - alive. Ilargo too, though I can say no more. After hearing of Alijah’s potential arrival, they are making haste to return.”

  Slumped in his chair, a wand slowly spinning between his fingers, Kassian said, “Adding two dragons to our defences could ensure our continued occupation. But if those Reavers are anything to go by, Alijah is almost upon us. I fear we will not last the day as we stand.”

  “He’s right,” Vighon concurred. “We have evacuated the lower town and prepared what catapults we can, but our numbers are too few to hold back Malliath, not to mention the Reavers and Alijah himself.”

  “We cannot offer aid,” Faylen said by way of apology. “We have taken shelter in what rem
ains of Ilythyra. It would take us days to reach you.”

  “And we are further still,” Ruban echoed.

  Vighon sat back against his chair and braced his arms against the table. “I care little for holding this city,” he declared, rousing surprise from many. “But I cannot leave the people to Alijah’s tyranny. Not again.” The northman tilted his head to regard the silvyr sword propped up against the table, its lion head pommel roaring for eternity. “We will hold Alijah and Malliath here for as long as we can. You should use the diversion to your advantage and attack the dig site in The Moonlit Plains. Together you have the numbers and you might never get another opportunity.”

  Faylen looked from Vighon to Reyna and back. “You will die if you stay in Namdhor!”

  “Thanks for the confidence,” Kassian quipped.

  Faylen ignored the Keeper’s comment. “I am the High Guardian of Elandril’s army, captain to the royal guard, and I will not allow my queen to die for the sake of a diversion!”

  Reyna’s emerald eyes flashed over her old guardian. “Faylen,” she said softly, if firmly. “As your queen, I command you to rally my army and free those dwarves.”

  Faylen quavered with no one to turn to. “If Inara does not return in time you—”

  “I know,” Reyna stated, cutting her off. “But Vighon is right. These people need defending and it is likely Alijah will take retribution upon them for fighting with us. We are all where we’re meant to be.”

  Bells. Bells were ringing outside the keep.

  Vighon whipped his head around to the open dragon gate but it was Kassian who jumped up first and dashed to the platform.

  “What’s happenin’?” Doran huffed.

  Kassian stopped in the morning air and looked out across the city and The White Vale beyond. Turning back to the council, a grim shadow had overcome his features. “He’s here.”

  Vighon hadn’t noticed his own hand reach out and grip the hilt of his sword, but he looked at it now with a single thought: he was going to kill his oldest friend with it.