“Aye, lad, I never thought I would miss the sight o’ an elf.” Doran knew there was more to his sentiment than that, but the dwarf in him couldn’t find the words after having spent so much emotion already that night. “Get some rest,” he commanded. “The next time I pick a fight with a Reaver, I expect ye an’ yer blades to be at me side.”
“You can count on it,” Galanör replied.
With that, the son of Dorain returned to the towering trees of Ilythyra and left the elf to his rest. He didn’ get very far, however, before Faylen called out his name.
“I’m sorry,” he said before she could speak. “I shouldn’ ’ave picked a fight with ye. I know yer reasonin’ to be right. I jus’…”
Faylen placed a hand on his shoulder, directing his eye to her face. “I cannot imagine the weight pressing upon you,” she said gently. “You hold up all of dwarf-kind now. I know that isn’t the life you wanted. But we both know what awaits you in The Black Wood, and it breaks my heart to know what you will have to go through after so much strife. I just want you to know that I, and so many others, believe that you have the strength to carry that burden.”
Doran knew the word burden translated to crown. “Dak’s not gone yet. There’s still hope,” he added while shaking his head.
“It is hard to hold a hope without rest to lend you the strength,” Faylen observed. “When was the last time you slept?”
Doran couldn’t say with any certainty. “Before the battle,” he guessed.
The High Guardian reached out and guided the dwarf with both hands. “Then come,” she bade. “I know the recipe for a soothing tea - you will be asleep in no time.”
Doran looked up at her with a frown creasing his already harsh features. “Tea?” he exclaimed. “Do I look like I drink tea?”
Faylen smiled with great amusement. “You will,” she promised.
5
What Defines Us
Under a new dawn, as the world slipped by beneath Athis’s red wings, Asher tried to make sense of the profound change taking place within him. The incessant whispers that had plagued his mind in Drakanan were now quietening to that of a single voice. So soft was it, though, that the ranger was yet to understand a word of it. For now, he was settling for naught but impressions as they impacted his own emotions.
The hatchling felt safe.
That made sense to Asher, given their height above the world. How the hatchling knew they were among the heavens escaped him, but it deeply comforted the ranger to know there was contentment.
There was another part of his mind, a part that had kept him alive for decades in a realm that had worked hard to kill him, that found the whole experience absurd. He had never cared for a baby or a child before, and he certainly hadn’t harboured paternal feelings for one. Surely he wasn’t fit to protect something as precious as a dragon egg.
Yet here he was, ready to die for it. There was a nudge in his mind, almost as if someone had tapped him on the side of his head. For just a moment, he was sure the hatchling was trying to tell him something. Perhaps, he considered, referring to the creature as an it was a mistake. He probed that feeling further still, wondering if he might glean the dragon’s sex.
Nothing. Just a gentle whisper in the back of his mind.
Without warning to the ranger, Athis tilted his body and banked northward as he began to descend. That gentle whisper quickened and increased an octave, speaking of concern. As a result, Asher’s muscles tensed and the warrior in him prepared for action, despite the lack of any real threat.
“Why are we going down?” he grumbled behind Inara’s ear.
The half-elf turned to look over her shoulder. “We’re halfway to Namdhor,” she explained. “Ilargo and Athis need to rest before we face Alijah and Malliath.”
The ranger couldn’t argue their reasoning, but he didn’t like the look of the terrain below. Peering out from either side of Athis, the forest beneath them had no end, its tall snow-capped pines stretching so far to the north that they faded from view. There was something about it, however, that didn’t sit right with Asher, and his gut was never wrong. Even the golden dawn that washed the forest in a welcoming glow couldn’t take away from its menacing feel.
The dragons glided down, settling on a wide strip of snow that separated the forest from a long line of mountains in the east. Back on solid ground, Asher walked around Athis and scrutinised his new surroundings. There had always been a side to the ranger that loved coming across new places and discovering more to the world but, now, with such a precious thing on his person, he found it too disorientating, too dangerous.
“Where are we?” he asked, casting suspicious eyes on the dark forest to the west.
Inara shared a look with her dragon before answering. “We’re on the border of Dhenaheim and Erador.” The Guardian pointed to the east. “Those are The Whispering Mountains - dwarven territory.”
Gideon walked over, blowing warm air into his hands. “Once we get over these mountains, it should be a straight shot east from here.”
“All the way to Namdhor,” Inara agreed.
Asher absorbed the information, but his attention was quickly turned back to the ominous forest. “And what’s that?”
Both Riders turned to look upon the forbidding wall of trees. “That,” Gideon told them, his tone already suggesting Asher’s suspicions were correct, “is The Dread Wood.”
“I have a feeling it’s aptly named,” Inara opined.
“I have read a great deal about Erador and its history,” Gideon continued. “There is nothing good said about that forest. Think of every monster you have ever encountered in this world. None of them would survive in there.”
Asher
