All this and more fell on the shoulders of the Guardian of the Realm. She didn’t dare focus on whatever was transpiring on Qamnaran, where her grandmother, Galanör, and Doran fought to free the dwarves and face Alijah himself. Inara suspected that any battles to be fought on that wretched island had already taken place. Being in the dark about it all was agonising.
But it was the darkness now that began to offer hope, as shadow and mist came together, coalescing into a familiar shape. There was a flutter in her stomach as a ghostly image of Vighon Draqaro came into being. Ethereal as he was, it was impossible to discern his current condition but, wounded or not, he was alive.
“Inara.” His voice, long known to the Guardian, was a comfort she hadn’t realised she needed. It was also somewhat hoarse, suggesting that he had been shouting a lot - alarming given the secretive nature of their errand in Namdhor.
“Vighon,” she replied, enjoying the sound of his name on her lips.
A silence was held between them as they absorbed the other, regardless of the real distance between them. Inara longed to reach out and embrace him in her arms and, judging by his body language, Vighon was eager to do the same.
“So much has happened,” he said.
“You won’t believe what’s happened,” she said at the same time. Inara quickly replaced her faint smile with a serious expression. “Do you have it?” she pressed. “Do you have the sword of the north?”
“I do,” Vighon answered, though the weapon seemed the last thing on his mind. “It’s not all I have,” he continued. “We took the city, Inara - the capital is ours.”
For all the turmoil her human emotions put her through, there was no getting in the way of joy, and Namdhor once again flying the banners of house Draqaro was certainly joyous. It was also an incredible and unbelievable victory that filled the half-elf with hope and dread all at once.
“Tell me everything,” Inara demanded with no lack of intensity. “Wait,” she added, taking a breath - she had to know. “Are they alive?”
Ever in tune, Vighon knew exactly who the Guardian was referring to. “Yes,” he stated with clarity. “In fact, both of them are only a few feet away from me.”
Inara’s heart swelled, causing her eyes in the real world to fill with tears. “They’re together,” she reasoned, adoring the image of her parents side by side.
“Very much so,” Vighon reported happily.
Inara nodded along, unable to contain her smile. “I dared not entertain the dream in these dark days,” she confessed. “Vighon, tell me everything.”
The northman was no storyteller, but the tale that followed gripped Inara from start to finish. Even their journey to Namdhor was fraught with the kind of terrors that would make even the strongest of warriors give up. Though she disliked the sight of Sir Borin, Inara was thankful the Golem had been at Vighon’s side when it mattered most.
She hadn’t been able to hold back a smug grin upon hearing the events inside the keep’s garden. What else but his intended destiny could have brought both Vighon and the sword together in such an unlikely place? Whatever the future held, Inara truly believed that Vighon was fated to be the king.
A swelling sense of pride took hold of her when she imagined her mother saving his life, a moment described in great detail by the northman. His own feat, slaying the dragon Karsak, was humbly lacking in detail, however. Inara decided that she would have to inquire of others, sure that his leap from the keep’s walls was far more dramatic and heroic than he let on.
What followed, however, sounded like a bloody battle to retake the entire city. A day and night of pitched fighting with only a score of Keepers and any and all who could wield a weapon. Inara wished she could have seen Namdhor rally to their king.
Finally, Inara blew out a long breath. “You were only supposed to retake the sword,” she jested.
Vighon shrugged his ethereal shoulders. “Things got a little out of hand.”
That particular phrase made Inara think of Kassian and his missing finger, but she refrained from commenting. “So the Reavers just retreated?”
Vighon’s features creased into a forced wince. “That brings me to the end of my story. They remain just beyond the lower town. There aren’t enough that I’m concerned about losing the city, but…”
Inara narrowed her eyes at him. “But what?”
“They’ve started beating their chests like drums.” Vighon gave her a hard look. “I think Alijah’s coming.”
Inara immediately wanted to cast doubt on that scenario, but who else could have given them the command? “He always did like a dramatic entrance,” she noted.
“It’s a fear tactic,” Vighon commented. “I don’t exactly have an army on my side and he knows it.”
Inara agreed. “Alijah’s most likely expecting the city to submit to him when he arrives. He will want to execute you publicly.” Just saying that out loud placed a new weight on her shoulders, not to mention the strain on her heart. “I’m coming to you,” she declared as a matter of fact.
Vighon stumbled over his response. “I don’t even know where you are. Have you returned to Illian? Did you find Gideon and Ilargo?”
Inara considered her own tale, wondering if its complexity and implications were, in fact, greater than Vighon’s. Besides Erador itself, and the manner in which they had found Gideon and Ilargo, there was all they had learned about Alijah’s true goals, even before they arrived at Drakanan - a place that held a story all of its own. How could she convey the sight of so many dragon eggs and the feelings that accompanied it? It was too much given the limited time they had.
“I will tell you everything,
