Vighon refrained from casting an eye over the western mountains, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stall for. Perhaps it was futile. For all his efforts, Inara and her companions could still be a day away or more. He had no real idea how far away they had been. Coming to terms with the fact that this was most likely his last stand and these were, in fact, his last words, he decided to make them memorable.
“Alijah,” he began, gripping the sword of the north in both hands, “I loved you like a brother once. But if you stay, I’m going to cut you down and chop off his ugly head and toss it into the lake for the fish.”
Malliath bared his teeth and a plume of smoke escaped his nostrils. All he had to do was exhale and Vighon would be reduced to a charred husk with naught but ash for veins. Yet the northman stood his ground, the sword of the north braced in his hands for combat. He wasn’t going down before drawing blood from at least one of them.
Alijah wrapped his fingers around the Vi’tari blade on his hip. “Out of respect for the friendship we had and your service to the realm as king, I will grant you a swift death. But it is you who will be dropped to the bottom of The King’s Lake, there to be forgotten.”
The half-elf took a step towards him, his arm beginning to raise the green steel into the light of day. But he did not take another step. Instead, Alijah’s gaze lifted up and beyond Vighon to the very top of Namdhor. There was something in his eyes. It was only there for a moment but, however brief, the northman knew exactly what it was.
Fear.
Vighon looked back over his shoulder to the most spectacular sight. Two dragons, red and green, crested the keep and glided low over the buildings, bringing them swiftly to the lower town. Mesmerised, the northman watched Ilargo thunder into the ground not thirty feet away, his green scales sparkling with golden specks. Landing on his hind legs, Athis reared up with his wings flared before crashing into the snow with a steaming breath.
Inara was the first to jump down. Firefly was in her grasp before she even looked at Vighon. Her red cloak flapped out behind her as she strode through the snow to stand beside the true king. The northman could see that there was so much she wanted to say, but now was far from the time, as ever.
Asher was close behind her. Like Nathaniel, he appeared a man frozen in time with his favoured green cloak billowing in the morning breeze. He crossed the snow with his piercing blue eyes fixed on Alijah and Malliath. Indeed, it seemed the black dragon was fixed on him too.
Lighter on foot, Adan’Karth dropped down from Ilargo but did not join them opposing Alijah. Instead, the Drake walked back towards the Keepers where he might simply observe events.
The last to descend a dragon, Gideon Thorn stepped onto Illian soil for the first time in nearly twenty years. Though he hadn’t aged a day since Vighon had said farewell on this very spot, the old master was not as he had once been. He looked haunted, as if he had seen and experienced things no man should come to know. He approached the king with a strong frame, however, his hand braced around Mournblade in its scabbard. The fact that his beard and hair could do with some attention was an observation Vighon kept to himself.
Gideon bowed his head. “Your Grace,” he said by way of a greeting.
“You still have quite the timing, Master Thorn,” Vighon remarked quietly.
Gideon acknowledged the comment before turning to their enemy. “Alijah,” he called evenly.
The necromancer took a long breath before slotting those few inches of his blade back into its scabbard. “You look pale, Gideon,” he provoked. “Have you been getting enough sun?”
Inara stormed forward, putting herself between them and Alijah. “You will not speak!” she seethed. “You have done the unthinkable at every turn! And not just to Gideon but to so many more I cannot count them all. You do not have the right nor the honour to speak to him or the king. From now on, I will be everywhere you turn. It will be me you face.”
Alijah levelled his gaze at her as a gust of wind picked up his hair and revealed the fresh scar above his eye. “You were always better at everything,” he recalled, “but those years are behind us now. I have been remade,” he exclaimed, opening his arms.
“You haven’t been remade,” Inara spat. “You’ve been twisted. Do you know what The Crow said to me? Just before he died. You might remember the moment yourself. He had just declared himself a monster for his own perverted reason. He looked me in the eyes and told me that monsters only beget monsters.” Inara pointed Firefly directly at her brother. “And that’s what you are, a monster’s creation.”
It was subtle, but delicate muscles could be seen to twitch beneath Alijah’s face. “I have no patience for your lies. My path is set. I will not be unbalanced now.” He took a moment, his eyes glassy. “You know this isn’t what I wanted for you. I would have welcomed you in my hall. There would have been a place for you in my kingdom.”
“Was that to be before or after you murder Athis?” Inara countered. “I know what you intend to do in The Moonlit Plains. You have to know that destroying magic is a death sentence for every dragon.”
Vighon frowned and looked from Gideon to Asher, though neither offered anything useful to explain Inara’s statement.
Alijah too looked at Gideon, though his was not with curiosity but rather a degree of wrath. “You have crossed that threshold,” the necromancer continued,
