Faylen looked from Vighon to Reyna and back. “You will die if you stay in Namdhor!”
“Thanks for the confidence,” Kassian quipped.
Faylen ignored the Keeper’s comment. “I am the High Guardian of Elandril’s army, captain to the royal guard, and I will not allow my queen to die for the sake of a diversion!”
Reyna’s emerald eyes flashed over her old guardian. “Faylen,” she said softly, if firmly. “As your queen, I command you to rally my army and free those dwarves.”
Faylen quavered with no one to turn to. “If Inara does not return in time you—”
“I know,” Reyna stated, cutting her off. “But Vighon is right. These people need defending and it is likely Alijah will take retribution upon them for fighting with us. We are all where we’re meant to be.”
Bells. Bells were ringing outside the keep.
Vighon whipped his head around to the open dragon gate but it was Kassian who jumped up first and dashed to the platform.
“What’s happenin’?” Doran huffed.
Kassian stopped in the morning air and looked out across the city and The White Vale beyond. Turning back to the council, a grim shadow had overcome his features. “He’s here.”
Vighon hadn’t noticed his own hand reach out and grip the hilt of his sword, but he looked at it now with a single thought: he was going to kill his oldest friend with it.
There was a part of him that still recoiled from the image.
“What’s happenin’?” Doran growled again, unable to hear Kassian.
“Alijah and Malliath are here,” Nathaniel informed them.
Galanör appeared on the verge of jumping out of his chair. “Is there no sign of Athis or Ilargo?”
Reyna stood up from her chair. “Do not be concerned for us,” she told them. “March on The Moonlit Plains, free the dwarves, and destroy whatever Alijah is doing out there.”
“This is folly,” Galanör remarked, shaking his head.
Vighon joined the others on their feet and gave their ethereal allies his last word. “Keep the hope alive, keep The Rebellion alive.” With that he signalled the mage to disconnect the diviner, leaving four empty chairs in their place.
Keep the hope alive.
Vighon’s last words echoed through Galanör’s mind but he couldn’t quite grasp them. What hope was there to hold on to knowing that Alijah and Malliath were at Namdhor’s gates? All the while, he was haunted by Reyna’s face. Her personal loss made Adilandra’s death sting all the more, if that were possible.
Rising quickly from the table, Doran scraped his chair out before turning to boot it away. He swore in his native tongue and slammed his palms down onto the wooden surface.
“We need to be there now!” he growled.
Faylen remained very still in her chair, her expression hardened to stone. Galanör could see clearly what plagued her - Reyna and Nathaniel would likely die in the coming hours. Them and so many more.
“Why are ye both jus’ sat there?” Doran grumbled. “We need to—”
“What?” Faylen interjected. “What can we do, Doran? Namdhor is hundreds of miles from here!”
The dwarf shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’ know! Use yer crystals! Open a portal!”
Faylen’s head dropped in despair. “What few we have do not possess the magic to reach so far. And even if we did, there are none among us who possess the power to reach Namdhor.” She looked up and met Galanör’s eyes.
“They are on their own,” he concluded.
“Bah!” Doran spat, kicking another chair. “I’ll not sit ’ere while me friends die in the cold! Open a portal as far as ye can an’ I’ll ride up there meself with Andaljor!”
“I could maybe get you as far as Lirian,” Faylen replied. “You would still face days of hard riding before you reached Namdhor. By then, Alijah will have left nothing but graves.”
Doran’s anger was building to a crescendo but he had nowhere to vent it. His chest puffed out before quickly deflating, along with his spirits. He was left hunched over the table with one glassy eye and ragged breath.
“I’m tired o’ prayin’ to the Mother an’ Father for a miracle that ain’ comin’,” he uttered. “Grarfath gave me two hands an’ a stubborn head an’ he expects me to use ’em apparently. I can’t do that stuck in these woods. The fate o’ those in Namdhor might be out o’ our control, but those who dwell in torment in The Moonlit Plains ain’. I’m takin’ me forces north an’ layin’ waste to anythin’ that tries to stop us. Are ye with me?”
Galanör paused, waiting for Doran to look at him. “We should wait,” he counselled.
Doran’s mouth fell open. “Did ye not jus’ hear what I said, lad?”
“You heard the king: Inara and Gideon are on their way to Namdhor.”
The dwarf’s face screwed up in frustration. “There’s bein’ on yer way to somewhere an’ actually bein’ there! How long would it take Malliath to torch the city? Minutes? Maybe an hour if he took his time!”
Employing as much patience as he could, Galanör expounded in a calming voice, “If Inara and Gideon reach Namdhor in time their presence might just be enough to save them all. Then we could get back to coordinating an attack that will have two dragons behind it and a better chance at victory.”
“So ye don’ want me to go to Namdhor an’ ye don’ want me to go to the dig site. Ye’d ’ave me jus’ sit ’ere an’ wait. Wait while the
