Gideon considered his response but Inara beat him to it. “Everything on the other side of those mountains is now the domain of Alijah. We have no idea what might be waiting for us. It could be nothing. Or it could be Dragon Riders.”
Gideon was nodding in agreement. “Inara’s right. We will rest here for the day. Ilargo and Athis have no trouble flying at night. We will reach Namdhor by late morning.”
Inara pressed a reassuring hand into Asher’s arm. “You have nothing to fear. No creature will threaten us in the company of Ilargo and Athis.”
“I have embraced fear all my life,” the ranger began, his response surprising the Guardian. “Fear makes you stop and think. It keeps us alive.” He paused, glancing down at the satchel. “I am accustomed to fearing for myself, but fearing for another is… crippling.”
“You feel vulnerable,” Gideon surmised, smiling with understanding. “It is to be expected. And, in truth, it may never pass. Even when your dragon is fully grown, seated at the top of the food chain, you will still fear for them. Such is our bond.”
Asher held any further reply when he spotted Adan in the distance, not far from the trees. Leaving Inara and Gideon to organise some kind of perimeter - using the dragons’ bodies as the walls of their camp - the ranger approached the Drake from behind.
The closer he got, the quieter the world seemed to get. There wasn’t so much as a creak from the forest nor a branch blowing in the wind. Every sense at Asher’s disposal told him that certain death lay beyond.
“The trees have grown bitter,” Adan observed, his reptilian eyes angled up at the pines. “They do not welcome us.”
Asher knew better than to question the strangeness of the Drake’s comments. “Is that because they know I’m about to take some wood for the fire?” he quipped, reaching for his sword.
Adan’s hand whipped out and gripped the ranger’s arm. “I would not take anything from this wood. To disturb the trees is to disturb its inhabitants.”
Asher let go of his hilt. “The world doesn’t get much colder than this, Adan. We need fire.”
“I have strength enough to sustain a fire,” the Drake confided, suggesting they turn away from The Dread Wood.
Situated between the two dragons, both of whom had curled their bodies around to form a protective circle, Adan created flames from nothing. His hands crafted the fire, building it to a size that would offer comfort to them all as well as melt some of the snow away.
“Are you sure you can maintain it?” Gideon enquired. “It wasn’t that long ago you were healing me.”
“You measure magic differently to us Drakes,” Adan said. “You always take into account your potential need of destructive spells. No matter what happens here or in Namdhor, I know I will not require such taxing magic. And so, I have more than enough to keep you all warm for a while.”
Gideon shrugged as he seated himself on the ground. “I hadn’t thought of it like that,” he admitted. “I suppose we always do take a certain amount of violence into account where our magic is concerned. You are a credit to your race, Adan. After spending so long at Asher’s side,” he suggested with a coy grin, “I would have expected you to be wielding a sword by now.”
“Don’t think I haven’t tried,” the ranger interjected, as he prepared food by the fire.
Adan regarded Asher for a moment. “I must confess, I see no attraction to that of a ranger’s profession. Though, I would enjoy seeing the world. Perhaps one day,” he added.
While the dragons slept the morning away, the four companions ate and drank what they needed to replenish themselves. It was a mostly silent affair given their general level of fatigue. Adan entered some form of meditation that allowed him to rest while simultaneously keeping the fire alive. Inara stared hard at The Whispering Mountains, clearly frustrated with the distance that still remained between them and Namdhor. Gideon, the most sensible among them, sought actual sleep beside the comfort of Ilargo’s neck.
Under normal circumstances, Asher would have appreciated the time to himself and his thoughts, but they were no longer just his thoughts. Try as he might to focus on the conflicts that lay ahead, as well as his friends in Illian, the dragon’s young mind kept him grounded to the here and now, where The Dread Wood offered constant threat. It was enough to keep any decent rest at bay and the ranger on edge.
By midday, Gideon was on his feet again. He left Ilargo to his slumber and approached the companions around the fire, his hand resting on Mournblade. In a flash of steel, the Vi’tari scimitar was pulled from its scabbard and out for all to see. The sound of its reveal sent Asher’s hand to his own sword, though he managed to refrain from drawing it.
“I would test myself,” Gideon announced, looking to Inara.
“Now?” she questioned incredulously.
“Time is not on our side,” he replied. “It’s now or never. Besides, the way of the sword is a perishable skill.”
Asher perked up. “You were killing Red Guards yesterday,” he pointed out.
Gideon walked a little further away from the fire in search of a better space. “Red Guards do not wield Vi’tari blades,” he finally countered. “Alijah fights with the cursed blade of Thallan Tassariön, one of Valanis’s generals.”
“I know who he was,” Asher cut in. “I was fighting him at Velia when you first arrived with Ilargo. You killed him if I recall.”
“Quite so,” Gideon agreed, twisting his sword in his hand. “And you did better than most fighting against one so experienced as Thallan. That cursed blade of his once belonged to a Dragorn, until Valanis twisted its enchantment. Now it will obey any who wield it, whether they serve
