There was movement behind her, guiding the old master to Galanör who, like him, was lying in the rubble under his blue cloak. He possessed no injuries that Gideon could see, but the elf possessed a haggard look about him.
Aenwyn crouched by Gideon’s side. “How do you fair?” she asked softly, her hands probing the area around his ribs. “You’ve been unconscious since we portalled back to the surface.” A broad grin spread across her face. “You’ve spent the time well it seems - this is healing nicely.”
That surprised Gideon, for he recalled the weapon that had pierced his side and the subsequent blood loss. He adjusted his shirt to better inspect the skin, though it was hard to see clearly due to all the dried blood around the area. He felt the momentary sting as his finger brushed the wound.
Then it occurred to him, the truth of the matter.
There was only one reason he could heal so quickly and the source of it stemmed from his closest companion. But Ilargo’s light had been fading, his life entwined with the tree of magic…
The green dragon cast a quick shadow over the ruins as his awesome form landed on the ground before the trio, his wings fanned out to increase his majesty. Regal in his stance, Ilargo looked down at Gideon with his sparkling blue eyes. There was so much life behind them.
“They did it,” Gideon uttered in disbelief.
Beside him, Aenwyn held up her hand and cast a frost spell that sent cold vapour into the air around her fingers. “They did it,” she beamed.
I am whole again! Ilargo exclaimed before bowing his head to focus his sharp eyes on Gideon’s wound. And so are you it seems.
With tears in his eyes, Gideon rushed forward and pressed himself against Ilargo’s head. His green scales were warm again and his golden speckles had returned with their exceptional gleam. I thought I was going to lose you, he confessed.
You almost did, Ilargo replied. Though I dread to dwell on the cost of our victory, he added dourly. Lives have been spent. We can only hope there are Drakes left to grace this world.
Gideon nodded gravely and patted the dragon’s scales. I fear those added to the dead will only fuel the fires for Alijah’s execution. He moves ever further from redemption.
Redemption or not, Ilargo said, we now have the means to bring this wretched war to an end.
The dragon’s words turned Gideon back to Galanör. His pale skin was all the more obvious when contrasted with his dark sunken eyes. Despite his drained appearance, the elven ranger looked back at the old master with a smile. The Hastion gem flashed a brilliant blue on his finger as he reached out and gripped the old satchel, propped up against a broken wall.
“We did it,” he croaked.
Gideon mirrored his friend’s smile and moved to crouch by the elf’s side. “You did it,” he praised. “Opening two portals so close together isn’t just hard it’s dangerous. We would never have got down there and back without you, never mind escaping the Darkakin.”
“What do we do now?” Galanör questioned. “I only ask because I have big plans to sleep for the next week - perhaps we could put off saving the world until then.”
Gideon was thankful the elf still had some humour in him. “As soon as you’re able to sit on Ilargo without falling off, we should begin our journey back to Illian. I’m not sure the world can wait.”
“That is not today,” Aenwyn pointed out, a hint of firmness in her voice.
“I agree,” Gideon said. “In the meantime, we should look for better shelter and fresh water. We could…” He trailed off seeing a look of amusement on Galanör’s face. “What is it?”
“We both know there’s only one thing you want to do right now,” the elf told him. “There’s time. Just go.”
Gideon held his expression before it broke and he glanced back at Ilargo. “We might better spot what we need from the air…”
“Go!” Galanör insisted, his smile broadening.
Gideon and Ilargo didn’t need any more than that. The old master found his familiar place at the base of the dragon’s neck and braced himself for the most exhilarating feeling there was. After breaking into a sprint, Ilargo’s wings unfurled and beat hard towards the ground. In seconds the world was falling away, the pair beckoned by the heavens.
It was glorious.
Part IV
47
A Master’s Wrath
Through the eyes of the dead, the world was laid bare for the most powerful necromancer to have ever walked the earth. Alijah Galfrey looked out on the snowy Moonlit Plains, his time limited. The Reaver he commanded had been added to a burning pile and soon the flames would rob him of one more soldier.
Besides the cheering and general celebration taking place among the rebels, there was one thing that captured his attention, one thing that set a fire in his veins. There in the sky, flying with exuberance, was Athis the ironheart.
Soon after, Alijah’s sight was engulfed by flames as the Reaver succumbed to its burning fate. The king withdrew from his undead servant and opened his real eyes to the throne room of The Bastion.
“HOW?” he raged, erupting from Atilan’s throne.
His wrath manifested itself in the form of a spell and exploded outwards from his entire being. The stone floor rippled and broke apart around his feet. The throne behind him, a relic that had survived the eons, was reduced to pieces and launched towards the back of the hall.
He opened his mouth to bellow
