They took a collective breath when silence reigned beyond the door.
“I think they’re gone…” The ranger trailed off. “Where’s the big one?” he asked, referring to Sir Borin.
“He was eaten by the bigger one,” Vighon replied.
Asher accepted the loss of the Golem. “He was a monster, but at least he was a useful monster.”
Vighon shook his head and all talk of Sir Borin away. “Where is Inara?” he asked specifically.
Asher gestured at the walls. “Somewhere in The Bastion.” The ranger ran his thumb over a cut in his eyebrow and inspected the blood. “Alijah returned and Inara gave chase,” he elaborated. “I haven’t seen either of them since. They could be anywhere in here.”
“Then we need to find them,” Vighon asserted, making for the door. “Nathaniel too.”
“We didn’t lose Nathaniel,” Reyna corrected, speaking for the first time since realising the old Graycoat was missing. “He’s gone.”
“Gone?” Vighon echoed.
“Yes, gone,” Reyna repeated. “He’s gone for Alijah, just as I once did.”
“We need to find Galanör,” Asher said, cutting through it all. “We need to help him get the Crissalith as close to Alijah as possible.”
Vighon wanted to argue his point and even throw some of his kingly weight around, but it was Inara’s voice in his head that reminded him of their duty. “Well we’re not going to do that in here,” he said, opening the door. “Let’s get that Crissalith and end this.”
Under sheets of rain and blasting winds, The Rebellion’s forces met their enemy with grim determination. If this was to be their last stand, if victory was to elude them this day, then they would make it such a stand as to inspire countless rebellions to echo down through the generations and challenge the house of the dragon.
More to the west of the battle, well behind Reaver lines, Doran Heavybelly was making his last stand worthy of history’s note. With the axe and hammer of Andaljor, he swung with abandon, crushing and hacking at the fiends. Thaligg and Thraal had finally found him at the cost of their Warhogs’ lives. Now, the trio fought back to back to back, parrying and countering while trying to avoid killing each other.
Of course, the stakes had been raised when the dragons entered the fight. Most of the time, they were dark wraiths that cut swift lines over the top of the battle, their presence never anything more than a threat. But, like now, the undead dragon, Godrad, would occasionally spit fire across the battlefield, lighting up the night. It never lasted long, thankfully, the dragon’s attacks ever halted by Gideon and Ilargo.
Doran elevated himself on top of a dead Reaver, killing another with his axe as he did so, and witnessed Ilargo drop out of the sky and dig all of his claws into Godrad’s back before dragging him away from the battle. After chasing Godrad away, Ilargo didn’t waste the opportunity to turn his head and breathe fire across the ranks of Reavers closing in from the northern flank. The king cheered him on, though he would have liked the pair to be in the middle of slaying the one who controlled the enemy.
“Watch out!” Thaligg cried as he barrelled into the son of Dorain.
The Reaver’s spearing attack went over them and met Thraal’s shield before the stout dwarf buried his axe in its head. Doran and Thaligg staggered back to their feet, defending themselves with every movement. It wasn’t enough. Doran could feel his bones aching from all the impacts and his focus was slipping. It didn’t help that, with only one eye, he had to turn his head so much to take in the full range of enemies.
The king cried out when his axe was beaten down by a Reaver’s sword, its curved edge only an inch from his boot. Bringing his hammer to bear, Doran tried to put all of his strength behind the mighty swing. Fortunately, there was no need. Pig came blasting though and slammed into the attacking Reaver, giving the dwarf some space.
Doran laughed. “Good boy!” he hollered, reaching to retrieve his axe.
That moment of triumph and luck was darkened by an agonised cry. The king turned around to discover Thaligg staggering away from his opponent, a spear through his chest.
“NO!” Doran raged.
Thraal, Thaligg’s brother, beat him to it and chopped the Reaver down to one knee before sinking his axe down through its head. He then joined his dying brother and used whatever time Doran and Pig could grant them to say farewell. Their words were lost to the king, his ears filled with battle. Between blows, he glimpsed the brothers clasping arms. A last glimpse revealed Thaligg lying on the ground, his eyes lifeless.
Thraal let loose an angry roar and threw himself back into the fight. His grief brought new life to his muscles and kept the pain at bay. Such raw hatred would lend him strength, but Doran knew it would only be temporary. He moved in behind Thraal to keep the Reavers off his back, but the knights of Erador were only one of their problems.
The other was falling out of the sky.
Gideon braced himself flat to his saddle, a touch of magic added to his grip. He could see the battlefield expanding in his view, a writhing creature that rippled from one side of the valley to the other, as Ilargo rushed down to meet it.
Hold on! the green dragon cried.
Gideon could feel every ounce of Ilargo’s strength directed to his grip on Godrad. Trapped under Ilargo’s claws, the undead dragon was powerless to do anything but be rammed into the ground. Scores of Reavers were flattened beneath the weight of both dragons and a tidal wave of dirt and snow was thrown
