“Aren’t we?” Inara questioned. “Even Doran has lost some of his fire. Now he just wants the war to be over, whatever Alijah’s fate.”
“You cannot deny the truth you have seen with your own eyes,” Gideon argued. “Alijah has no idea he is still under the thrall of Malliath. He has told us both that he believes himself to be free. That makes him a…” The old master lost his patience for words and gave an exaggerated shrug. “You know all this.”
“I know that Malliath’s influence is powerful,” Inara acknowledged, “more so than anything we ever experienced with Athis and Ilargo, or the entire Dragorn for that matter. But it’s still influence. There’s some of Alijah in his actions, Gideon. There’s a part of him that wants the realm in an iron grip, a part of him that wants the only dragon in Verda.”
Gideon didn’t say anything. He was listening. After Athis’s words, earlier that day, it stood out all the more to Inara. Unlike her, he wasn’t blindly following a single thought or belief; he was considering everything. It took some of the sting out of her anger towards him and left her feeling disappointed in herself.
“You’re right,” he finally replied. “It would be naive to think that Alijah is nothing more than a puppet. Like all of us, he has his flaws and he always struggled with living in the shadow of you and your parents. It’s not hard to believe that there’s a part of him that wants ultimate power, whatever the cost.” The old master sighed and his shoulders sagged. “And perhaps he should be killed with Malliath. It’s not a justice I believe in, but it might be the one the realm needs to heal and move on.
“I spent years teaching you how to think for yourself,” he continued, somewhat disheartened, “so I won’t tell you how to think now. And I certainly wouldn’t tell you what to do. And, in all likelihood, Alijah won’t give either of us an option. That’s why I’ve given the Crissalith to Doran. He’s going to have his smiths work it into something that can be wielded as a weapon. If Alijah is truly lost to us, the Crissalith won’t just sever his bond with Malliath, it can be used to pierce his heart.”
Hearing those words said aloud, and by Gideon no less, struck Inara deeply. It now felt all the more real that she was heading towards a confrontation with her brother and that one of them had to die. As she attempted to add another layer of shielding to her heart, disconnecting her from the task, her old mentor spoke again.
“You need to feel it,” he stated with conviction.
Inara frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You might not like it, but I know you. Since you found me in Erador I’ve seen you withdraw more and more when Alijah comes up. You’ve been burying your emotions, steeling yourself to face him. I did the same thing when I challenged him in Erador. I watched him for weeks until I was able to look at him and see only my enemy. And it wasn’t enough. I didn’t let myself feel any of it.
“When it comes to that final blow,” he averred, “you must let yourself feel it. The anguish. The heartbreak. Every ounce of pain must tear at you. It’s the only thing that will give you the strength to do what needs to be done.”
It was a powerful thing to hear and, though she couldn’t absorb it all immediately, Inara knew his words would sink in and leave a mark. “I thought you would be the last person to give me advice on killing him.”
“If it comes down to you or him, I choose you. But, like I said, I know you. When it comes to that moment, I know you will do what you believe is right.” Gideon took a breath. “I can live with that.”
Inara made to reply but her thoughts slowed her down enough for Gideon to turn away and return to the camp. She wanted to go after him and continue their conversation, remembering now how much she had always enjoyed talking to him. Instead, Inara watched him fade into the camp and disappear.
She had much to think about.
53
The Beginning of Something Beautiful
After a dark and sorrowful night, a bright dawn brought a new day to The Black Wood. The grief remained, as it would for some time, but a new atmosphere was becoming palpable within the camp. Preparations were beginning for an evening of celebrating the dead and drinking to the coming battle. Dwarven as the tradition was, every elf and human was happy to join them, Asher included.
Having dwelled in the mourning and grief of so many, the ranger couldn’t help but feel guilty, an emotion he was mostly unaccustomed to. Though he had lost Russell, a good friend he had long counted among the few he trusted with his life, and Adan’Karth, a being who had often acted as his conscience, Asher had gained new life that nourished his own.
Crossing the camp now, he looked up and saw that new life cut a bronze line through the sky. Avandriell was following him from above, her curiosity and apprehension bidding for dominance. She knew where her companion was going.
“Gideon tells me it’s only temporary,” he said aloud, garnering an inquisitive look from a passing dwarf.
A wave of amusement washed over their bond. You have to stop doing that, Avandriell insisted.
Even after days of almost constant talking, Asher could still be captivated by his companion’s voice. It was new to him, yet it felt like a voice that had always existed inside his mind.
I’m never going to get used to this, he replied mentally, offering the dwarf a polite nod. And Gideon tells me the effects of the Crissalith are only temporary. There’s no pain, just… silence.
Hmm, the dragon mused. Must
