As Ilargo leapt from the mountain side, his wings taking them high into the air, Inara looked out and took her last look at Athis. No, she told herself, it wasn’t the last time. She would see him again, some day.
58
Keeping the Hope Alive
Asher watched from The Bastion’s main entrance as Inara was enveloped by her parents. Their grief was palpable. The ranger couldn’t know the loss of a son, a brother, or even a dragon, all of which he was deeply thankful for. But his eyes filled with tears seeing those he loved in such pain.
He had already offered his condolences and embraced them all individually, but they needed each other now. Together, the Galfreys were always stronger.
Inara eventually broke away from her parents and was taken in by Vighon’s arms. No one disturbed them, nor the Galfreys. Instead, Asher turned around and walked outside, hardly pausing as he clapped a hand on Galanör’s shoulder and offered a polite bow of the head to Aenwyn.
Among the mountain tops, a clear blue sky had welcomed the sun over the world. Without thinking, the ranger made for his companion - Avandriell felt like home. She bowed her head, already aware that he intended to stroke the smoother scales between her eyes.
In the light, he got a better look at the fierce young dragon. Her wings were ragged at the ends and some of the larger membranes were marred by narrow slits. Her claws were chipped and bloody, a price any as young as her would pay when challenging one so ancient as Malliath. Some of her bronze scales were missing, though she appeared to have avoided any direct bite from her foe. One of the tusks, just to the side of her jaw, had snapped off, leaving a red stump in its place.
I will heal, Avandriell reassured him, sensing his distress. They will all heal, she added, looking beyond the ranger, given time.
I don’t think some of them want to, Asher replied, looking directly at Inara.
“I didn’t think it would feel like this,” Gideon said, approaching from the other side of Avandriell. “Victory,” the old master elaborated. “I didn’t think it would be so… painful.”
Asher regarded Avandriell, his hand running down her jaw, as he moved to face Gideon. “Victory is rarely anything but bittersweet,” he said. “Especially in our world. There’s always blood in our world.”
“Our pain is shared across the realm,” Gideon continued. “Everyone has lost someone. We need to help them push through this,” he added, gesturing to the grieving. “The people need to start healing.”
Asher frowned. “They need time, Gideon.”
“They don’t have the luxury of time,” the old master said softly, hurt by his own words. “The entire realm, both humans and elves, will look to them now. They, and they alone, will lead the people into a brighter future… a future of hope, not grief.”
Asher wanted to argue for the sake of his friends, but Gideon’s pragmatism was flawless - they were all kings and queens now.
“What do you suggest?” the ranger enquired.
“We must return to Namdhor,” Gideon told him. “It is still the seat of power in Illian. News will travel fast from there. The people need to see them.”
Asher agreed, if reluctantly. “Just give them a little more time,” he implored. “I will go down into the valley and speak with the others. We will need to take stock of the dead and see to the wounded before making preparations to leave.”
Gideon nodded his understanding and patted Asher on the arm before walking away.
He’s right, Avandriell said. If they wallow in their grief and pain, so too will the realm. Hope has ever been Inara’s message, be it in her words or in her actions. She must continue in her duty, especially now.
Asher agreed with his companion, but he wasn’t going to pass on her words to Inara. She’ll get there on her own. She always does.
The mountains rushed past and eventually fell away as Avandriell soared into the valley. What had once been a white strip through the mountains was now a dark stain, dotted with what looked like scurrying ants from their position in the sky.
The bronze dragon glided down, moving from east to west, rather than diving. She told Asher it was to give him a rest after a hellish night, but the ranger could sense the pain in the joints of her wings and knew the truth. Rather than offend the proud dragon, he accepted her reason with gratitude.
Taking in the battlefield below, the ranger was pleased to see every Reaver lying flat in the snow and mud. He would have liked to witness the moment they fell, their end in time with Alijah and Malliath’s. There were none, however, who could have been so pleased as The Rebellion forces fighting for their lives. From above, Asher could already see the wounded and the dead being taken aside.
Avandriell’s sharp eyes didn’t require any more than a single flyby to find Doran Heavybelly. She came to hover in the air above the king, her wings fanning until space was made for her.
“Good to see yer, lad!” the son of Dorain called. “It’s been hours since the wretches gave up the fight. I was beginnin’ to worry none o’ ye would return.”
Asher climbed down from his saddle as Faylen and Nemir appeared from the gathering crowd. Like Doran, Faylen had clearly been through all the hells to have survived the battle, her fresh wounds there to be seen at only a glance. Nemir had suffered worse, it seemed, his left arm strapped across his chest and a bandage wrapped around his head. Asher greeted them all with his usual stoical nod.
“It is done then?” The question turned Asher to Kassian Kantaris, who had found his way
