“If you can’t stand the idea of saving him,” Gideon replied with his last ditch effort, “then consider it another tactic to defeat Malliath.”
Inara looked on him with pity. “Not everyone can be saved, Gideon.”
“I know you, of all people, do not really believe that.”
His words may have cut through her, but Inara was quick to harden herself against any truth he might spout. “Stay here,” she said firmly, though careful not to sound aggressive. “Guard the doorway.” Giving him no opportunity to say more, she made for Athis and climbed up his scales.
Gideon stepped back as Athis’s red wings gave them rise into the sky, a plume of snow and debris lifting with them. He quickly turned north and continued to ascend, heading for The Evermoore.
You tried, Ilargo said into his mind. She requires more time. I sensed a much greater curiosity in Athis.
In their absence, Gideon replied, we will turn to those who can aid us.
Ilargo arched his neck, raising his head to the west. He is among the wounded.
While those of the council who remained began to naturally gather, Gideon strode back into the thick of the camp. He weaved between the individual sites, avoiding the areas where food was being prepared and served to larger groups. The elves he passed knew exactly who he was and always bowed their heads out of respect. Most of the dwarves, however, didn’t know his face, but the children of the mountain had a better eye for steel than they did faces. The red and gold hilt of Mournblade turned more than a few heads among their number.
On the far side of the camp, where the wounded had been triaged into a system from injured to dying, Gideon began his search in earnest. A nudge from Ilargo, whose height gave him a view of the entire camp, pushed the old master in the right direction.
“You must be Aenwyn,” he said with a genuine smile.
The elf bowed her head. “It is an honour, Master Thorn.”
Moving past the lump in his throat, he waved the title away. “Please. It’s just Gideon.”
Aenwyn bowed her head one more time. “As you say.”
Gideon looked at the entrance to the tent beside her. “Is Galanör…”
“He is healing,” Aenwyn answered pleasantly.
Gideon battled the sense of urgency that demanded action. “Very good,” he said instead. “Actually, I’m most pleased to have met you. Galanör was telling me everything… Well,” he reconsidered, “Galanör’s never been one to tell everything.”
Aenwyn smiled knowingly. “He certainly makes you work for it,” she agreed.
“He spoke of his fondness for you though,” Gideon quickly added. “Indeed, I don’t believe he’s spoken of anyone the way he speaks of you. I have long worried that he was fated to wander the wilds with naught but his swords for company. I’m so happy for…” He trailed off as Galanör himself emerged from the tent, coated in a fine sweat.
“Gideon?” The ranger looked a little pained to straighten his back.
“Are you well?” The old master couldn’t hide his concern.
Galanör took Aenwyn’s offered arm to steady himself. “I’ll be fine by midday,” he reassured. “Healing magic is—”
“Hard,” Gideon finished. “That’s because you give a portion of yourself to every person you heal. You are not nearly schooled enough in this art to continue as you are.”
“There are no healers amongst my people who can teach me,” Galanör told him. “All are affected by the tree.”
Gideon nodded gravely. “You are a hero in more ways than one, Galanör Reveeri.”
The ranger shook his head. “The real heroes are dying all around us.”
Gideon didn’t want to disagree with him. “You’re doing good work here. How many are you able to save?”
The elven ranger looked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Two or three a day.”
“Any more and he risks his own life,” Aenwyn pointed out.
The old master looked out on the numerous makeshift tents, all filled with wounded warriors. “When we take the fight to Alijah, there will be fields of tents like these.”
Galanör narrowed his eyes questioningly at his old friend.
Gideon caught his look. “What I mean to say is: we need to stop this war before there’s no one left to rebuild whatever remains.”
Now Galanör looked suspicious. “Is there a reason you have sought me out, Gideon? Faylen has filled me in on the meetings.”
“I’m afraid there is no more to be gained from meetings,” Gideon stated boldly. “Now is the time to act.”
Galanör found the strength to stand on his own, regaining some of the posture that identified him as a warrior. “What are you hatching, Gideon?”
The old master responded with a coy smile. “One last adventure.”
A few hours after midday, when the winter sun was beginning its decline into an early rest, Gideon found his path blocked by six foot of human ranger. In all the time he had known Asher, Gideon could confidently say that he had never been truly intimidated by the man, but he still wouldn’t try and forcibly remove him.
“Asher.” The old master looked from the ranger to Avandriell, whose head rose just above his knee.
“Schemes do not become you,” Asher said, his eyes flitting over Gideon’s shoulder.
A quick glance informed Gideon that the ranger could see Galanör and Aenwyn collecting supplies from various sources. Further still, Ilargo had taken himself away from the bulk of the camp and was in the process of flexing his wings, preparing for a long flight.
“You don’t miss much, do you?”
“Apparently I’ve missed something,” Asher quipped.
Gideon held up his hands. “We weren’t going to leave without explaining.”
“You shouldn’t be leaving at all,” Asher told him. “With Athis gone, Ilargo is our best chance of holding this position.” The ranger’s eyes flashed over Avandriell. “I don’t have to tell you how important this is.”
“There’s a way to save Alijah,” Gideon blurted, halting Asher’s train of thought.
“Save him?” he questioned sceptically.
“You know more than anyone what it’s like to be trapped in a cage with
