“I want to wake up!” he barked out loud. “As you’ve shown me, the realm is in danger of falling into ruin. It needs its king.”
Looking down on him, Malliath exhaled a long breath from his nostrils. With it came a cloud that stole away the details of their sanctuary.
Alijah opened his real eyes and sat up, barely aware of the comfortable bed on which he resided. He looked around the room, assessing every detail to determine his surroundings. Alijah didn’t need to be told he was inside The Bastion, high in The Vrost Mountains. There was something about the black stone that would never leave the king, nor he it.
Comfortable in his environment, Alijah’s mind began to settle somewhat. Even now he was becoming aware of the Reavers working on the fortress in a bid to restore it to its ancient grandeur. They were like ants in his mind, busy toiling away without complaint.
Only it wasn’t his mind that was pulling the strings.
Malliath had them under his command, ensuring they continued the work they had begun nearly two years ago. Wondering why, of all places, he was inside The Bastion, Alijah recalled his last words to the dragon.
Home. The word and its meaning tried to steal Alijah’s attention, but he didn’t want to dwell on his attachment to the dreadful place. Besides, it was time that eluded him.
Closing his eyes, Alijah reached out, drawing comfort from the bond he had with Malliath. He could feel the dragon, feel his power and magnificence. It was, as ever, intoxicating for the half-elf.
The king swung his legs over the side of the bed and made a quick inspection of himself. Though he could see no cuts, he could feel the itch of where the skin had recently healed. The muscle beneath was tender, yet to knit fully back together. His bones harboured an ache where The Hox had broken them, but they were strong enough to support his every movement.
He spared a second to marvel at the speed with which he could heal himself and survive without food or water. For all the potency he was to acquire during his life as king, he knew none would make him more powerful than his bond to Malliath.
Taking a breath, Alijah stood up. A sharp pain shot through his left knee, forcing him to reach out and use the end of the bed as support. With a flushed face and gritted teeth, he exhaled and straightened himself. His back and shoulders forced a groan from his lips. Pinching his fingers together, he quickly discovered that they were partially numb.
So he wasn’t entirely healed.
Fighting through the pain, he waved his hand through the air and conjured a mirror image of himself. The image moved exactly as he did, giving the king a good view of his body. A large and discoloured bruise ran up his left leg and touched his hip. He also caught sight of a fresh scar, under his ribs, that ran up and around his torso before splitting into three strands across his back. Neither hurt to touch, but his knee was more than aware of his weight when pressure was applied.
He was about to dismiss the image when he discovered the wound on his face. Alijah leaned forward and the conjured twin did the same, mirroring his fingers as they traced the jagged cut that split his left eyebrow and reached for his hairline. The king had never considered himself a vain person, but he instantly hated his disfigurement. He was indomitable, unyielding, invincible. He shouldn’t be seen to bleed.
The people should see you bleed for them, Malliath argued from afar. Rising to defend them will be what defines you. They will see that you put their lives before your own. In return, you will have their loyalty and with that you can forge a real and lasting peace.
Alijah was picked up by every word, his resolve given new life. He waved his hand again, reducing his mirror image to a cloud of coloured smoke to be carried away in the draught.
Enduring the pain in his knee, Alijah limped away from the roaring fire beside his bed, his naked skin left to fend for itself against the mountain chill. Pausing in front of the arched window, he gave no care to the icy breeze that penetrated his chamber. How long had The Crow kept him chained to a freezing wall, exposed to The Vrost Mountains? Only now did he appreciate the strength it had given him.
Outside, he could see Reavers, all immune to the blasting winds, hauling stone, fitting glass, and installing new doors and furniture, all of which had been transported up the treacherous mountain path.
Testing the potency of his bond to every Reaver, Alijah silently commanded those outside his chamber to enter. He knew that they had been waiting there, per Malliath’s command, with his clothes, armour, and cloak. It satisfied him to see the knights of Erador react immediately to his command.
Given the pain in his knee, he allowed the Reavers to assist in dressing him and fastening his armour in place. It was with irritation that he noted the dragon scales were chipped where Galanör’s spells had impacted them.
Alijah accepted his Vi’tari blade from the last Reaver, thankful that Malliath had retrieved it from The Hox. He studied its emerald edge before sheathing it on his hip. The extra weight didn’t help his knee and his hand wrapped around the hilt, squeaking against the leather strap.
He dismissed the knights with a thought before leaving the chamber himself. Without real awareness, he wandered through the ancient halls. The Bastion would always be his retreat, somewhere he could rest and quieten his mind. It was within these walls that he had been remade, forged into something that truly mattered. The Crow’s lessons were never closer to his heart than when he resided herein. He promised himself, when the realm had been set
