Waddling under the weight of his armour, Thaligg approached the War Mason with a hint of apprehension about him. “If ye’ve words for me then spill ’em,” Doran commanded.
Thaligg waited until he was right beside Pig to speak his mind. “Are ye sure to be puttin’ Commander Rolgoth in charge in our absence, me Lord?”
Doran looked down on him, already aware of the dwarf’s concern. “Ye’ve a problem with Rolgoth?”
Thaligg glanced over his shoulder, checking for those who might be eavesdropping. “He’s a Battleborn, me Lord.”
“Oh,” Doran replied sarcastically, “was it the sigil tattooed across his entire face that gave ’im away?”
The younger dwarf ignored the jibe. “Our clan is in a place o’ strength right now. Shouldn’ we put a Heavybelly in charge while we’re gone?”
“It’s because he’s a Battleborn that I’m puttin’ ’im in charge,” the son of Dorain countered. “Battleborns ’ave been at the top o’ Dhenaheim’s hierarchy for centuries. That’s hundreds o’ years forbidden from attackin’ the clans beneath ’em an’ hundreds o’ years spent diggin’ in an’ defendin’.” He paused to point at the distant pit. “That’s exactly what we’re doin’ ’ere.”
Thaligg’s mouth twisted this way and that as he considered Doran’s choices. “Aye, I suppose that makes sense,” he finally muttered.
Doran’s eye went wide. “Oh, well if ye suppose…” The War Mason thumbed over his shoulder. “Get saddled an’ get this lot movin’!”
With Thaligg’s departure, he turned Pig to better see those of his company. He was glad to see a great number of volunteers step forward to join him. He only hoped they chose to do so out of loyalty rather than a desire to depart The Moonlit Plains. He had cause to look twice at one particular dwarf joining his company. The tattoo on his arm identified him as a Hammerkeg, a clan that had resided beneath the Heavybellys for centuries.
“You, lad!” he called in dwarvish. “What’s your name?”
The younger dwarf hesitated before approaching the War Mason. “Finrig, son of Fearn, my Lord.”
“You would cross Illian with me, Finrig? To The Black Wood?”
“Aye, my Lord,” the dwarf answered without his previous hesitation.
Doran licked his lips. “It’s mostly Heavybellys up there,” he warned.
Finrig appeared tempted to avert his gaze but he possessed enough military discipline to look his superior in the eye. “You saved my life on the battlefield,” he explained as a matter of fact, though Doran could not recall anything of the such. “And my friend, Kalagad, would have perished on Qamnaran were it not for your axe and hammer, my Lord. There are more like me and Kalagad. Thousands more, all saved by those of another clan who march on your orders. We would follow you into The Dread Wood if you so commanded it.”
Doran was quite taken aback by the response. “There’s no place for great names and hard lines on a map anymore. We need to look after each other. Oh, and should the day come that I issue a command to enter The Dread Wood, Finrig, you have my permission to strike me on the head with Andaljor!”
35
An Intimation of Hope
Deep inside his sanctuary, a physical realm that bridged his mind to Ilargo’s, Gideon turned away from the perpetual night sky and ocean of stars. Instead, he looked to his companion, who rested on the lush plains of their quiet haven. The dragon’s rich blue eyes bore into the dark orbs of the old master’s.
You’re sure? the old master asked him for possibly the tenth time, aware that Ilargo could think twice as fast as any human or elf.
No more than I was the last time you asked. Our options are limited and time is against us. If this is truly the path we wish to commit ourselves to, we must simply act.
Gideon slowly nodded in agreement, though he would have liked their odds of success to be a little higher. Still, it felt like the right thing to do, so what else could he do?
I will take this to Inara, he said.
I would not, Ilargo cautioned. We have disagreed with them on this matter. I do not believe their minds have been changed since last we spoke.
Gideon quietly sighed. I have to try. She has buried her feelings. I know there is still a part of her that wants to save him.
Ilargo’s head shifted and his gaze with it. They are preparing to leave. If you must speak with her, now is the time.
Gideon took a breath, closed his eyes, and re-emerged in the real world. He was standing beside Reyna and Nathaniel, who had both offered farewells to their daughter. Asher and Avandriell were a little further away, closer to Ilargo who was watching Gideon with sharp eyes. Kassian and Adan’Karth were already astride Athis, though the Keeper looked as if he was ready to get down before they took off into the sky.
Only Inara remained on the ground, pulling away from Vighon after a tight embrace and a handful of private words. It was the most open either had been about their relationship and Gideon could see the joy it brought to Reyna, beside him.
“Inara!” the old master called, breaking away from the Galfreys. He passed the king and continued until he was face to face with his previous student. “I know time is short,” he began before Inara could make any protest. “Just listen to me,” he pleaded. “Ilargo and I have been thinking about Alijah.”
Inara gave him a patronising look and half turned as if to walk away from him. “We’ve been over this, Gideon. Malliath or not, Alijah has made himself the enemy.” After delivering her response, the Guardian turned her back on him.
“We think there’s a way to save him.” Gideon put it as simply as he could, but kept his voice low enough so that only Inara could hear him.
Inara stopped on her way to Athis and reluctantly turned back to her old master. “I don’t even know what you’re thinking, but I know you must be
