“Hello, old friend,” Alijah called, glancing over the northman’s shoulder. “I was hoping to see my people bring you down the hill in irons, but a surrender will suffice I suppose.” His words drifted apart as he narrowed his vision. “Is that Sir Borin the Dread I see? What on Verda’s green earth are you doing with Skalaf’s wretched Golem? Scraping the barrel aren’t you?”
Vighon was sure to keep his attention on Alijah, lest those purple eyes stole his courage. “Like every man, woman, and child in this country,” he replied, “Sir Borin knows who his king is.”
Alijah clamped his jaw and sighed a jet of hot vapour from his nostrils. “It just isn’t meant to be, Vighon,” he began. “You had your time as king and I’m sorry it had to come to an end the way it did. But neither of us can deny Fate - nor should we. Not when the world to come is perfect! That’s what I’m here to accomplish, Vighon; a perfect world. You and your lot have branded yourselves as rebels but you’re not resisting evil. You’re just short-sighted children who don’t know what’s good for the world.” Alijah laughed to himself. “You wouldn’t even know where to begin changing the world for the better.”
Vighon kept his mouth shut for the monologue, satisfied to let Alijah indulge himself with the sound of his own voice.
“Look at you,” he continued. “Even now, in the face of the inevitable, you have no idea what to say. What could you say?” he pondered. “I have considered your death over and over. You could beg on your hands and knees, Vighon, but today is your last day.” Alijah’s face creased into a depiction of wrath and his tone lowered to a menacing pitch. “You should have stayed lost.”
“I was lost,” Vighon admitted. “I took on a burden no man could bear. A burden you tried to lay at my feet. I saw them all dying again and again. Dying in the fields. Dying in the ruins. Dying in fire. But I know who I am now. I know what I’m fighting for. But, more importantly,” he added, half turning to the city, “I know what all of them are fighting for. They don’t fight for me and they certainly don’t fight for you. They’re fighting for the privilege of living free in the land their ancestors called home. And they’re fighting so their children can do the same.”
Over Alijah’s shoulder, Malliath let loose a low and threatening rumble from his throat.
Alijah’s jaw clenched all the tighter. “I suppose that all sounds rather poetic to you, doesn’t it? Fighting for their loved ones, for freedom. They’re stuck, like you, in a broken world that churns them up and spits them out.” He looked beyond Vighon and took in the capital. “That’s what I’m fighting for. I’m here to fix the world, to banish the shadows, and weed out the corrupt. When I’m finished, Vighon, there will be no threat I cannot face. There will be peace from Erador to Ayda.”
The half-elf paused to take a breath and survey Namdhor. “I fear, however, that you have already corrupted the people of this once proud city. Your banner misguides them. All who stray from the dragon are led to torment and doom. That’s all you’ve done here, Vighon - led these people to their death.”
Vighon felt every muscle in his arm tense, eager to draw his fiery sword and strike Alijah down. “You would slaughter every person in this city?”
“By aligning with you, they have shown their true colours. There is no place in my kingdom for those who do not wish to live in peace. You’ve made rebels of them all and sealed their fate.”
The northman imagined the families, the children that would succumb to Malliath’s fiery breath and the cold steel of the Reavers. He pulled the blade free. With every inch, the flames came alive until the sword of the north was blazing for all to see.
Alijah was captivated by it, his eyes tracking the blade in Vighon’s hand. “Is she watching?” he asked, his attention flitting to the distant keep. “She always loved you, my mother. I think she detected the resentment your own mother had for you. I know I did.”
Vighon pointed his sword at the usurper. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he spat.
“I know she tried to flee in the night,” Alijah said provokingly. “To get away from the burden of you I suspect. My mother convinced her to stay, reminded her of her duty. I never told you for obvious reasons,” he added casually.
Vighon lowered his weapon. “Am I supposed to start weeping now? Did you imagine I would drop to my knees and sob into the snow?” He brandished the flaming sword of the north again. “You stand before the king of Illian. You will need more than words to bring me down.”
A wicked grin pulled at Alijah’s cheeks. “You would be surprised what I can do with a few words.”
“She is up there,” Vighon quickly revealed, wondering if it would put Alijah off balance. “Both of them in fact. Will you burn your parents with the rest? Or will you spare them so they might remember your deeds here for all time?”
Indeed, Alijah’s eyes appeared to glaze over for a moment, his focus left to wander. Malliath’s, however, did not. His predatory eyes never drifted from Vighon, his gruesome jaws set slightly apart to reveal his razored teeth.
“Like I said,” the half-elf finally replied, “you’ve led these people to their death. I have no parents here nor anywhere else. In choosing you
