“The Crow was a very twisted man,” Inara opined with a shrug.
“His methods were twisted, yes, but I can’t believe his vision was this. Consider everything we know about The Crow - Sarkas. He grew up under King Atilan’s reign, a notoriously selfish and greedy man - a tyrant. And Sarkas himself lived in The Citadel, his life dominated by the mage priests of The Echoes order. He knew real oppression. Why would he bring about a future that ensures the realm is ruled by another of their ilk? He had to know that Malliath would be a corrupting influence on Alijah besides his own tormenting in The Bastion.”
Appearing agitated, Inara asked, “What are you getting at, Gideon?”
“It’s not just what he said,” the old master pointed out, “but who he chose to say it to.”
“How so?” Inara questioned.
Gideon paused, wondering how to put it. “I don’t think Sarkas orchestrated millennia of history just to ensure Alijah’s birth. I think he also did it to ensure yours.”
Inara’s face dropped. “What are you talking about?”
“Alijah wasn’t the only person born that day,” Gideon explained. “If Sarkas saw the future, he saw your birth too. I think he always meant for Alijah to become the man he is. Look around; he has brought the realm together. There’s never been this kind of unity before, not between all the races. That’s the truth he told. The real truth, behind that, is Alijah’s role in all this.”
Inara looked away, her mind pulling on the thread. “You think Alijah was meant to be the monster that united the realm with a common enemy. And that I’m the one who…”
Gideon leaned towards her. “You’re the one who slays the monster and brings real lasting peace to the realm. The truth behind the truth.” He gave her a moment to absorb his theory.
“And you shared this with Alijah?” Inara asked incredulously.
“I wanted to hurt him, but I was also hoping he could see the logic in it. He didn’t. And, like I said: there was pain.” Gideon looked at his old student. “What do you make of it all?”
“I think we won’t know until the end,” she answered simply, her feelings her own. “Everything The Crow ever said came to pass, but he never told us how this really ends. He even damaged his second prophecy to make sure we only knew just enough to move events forward and keep us in the dark.”
“He said there will be peace,” Gideon reasoned, “knowing that could only come about with Alijah’s demise.”
“If my brother destroys the realm of magic,” Inara countered, “the world will never face another threat he can’t handle on his own. One way or another, Gideon, there will be peace.”
“At what cost though?” the old master posed, fearful for those who would have to die to see Alijah’s peace come about.
Inara gave him a hard look through the flames. “That’s what we’re fighting for.”
20
Crosshairs
Death had come to The Moonlit Plains. It plucked souls from the battlefield by the score and reclaimed those that had been forced back into their rotting bodies. Yet the Reavers still possessed the superior numbers and not one of them showed an ounce of fatigue.
Galanör couldn’t say the same.
The elven ranger had been fighting day and night and now, rising in the east, a red dawn graced the sky. All his long life, Galanör had never endured a battle for so long. Like everyone else, he was testing his limits and pushing himself beyond them.
He had lost count of how many Reavers had tasted his steel and been sent back to the grave. Devoid of blood, their detritus smeared the elf’s scimitars, staining them black. His blue cloak was similarly ruined and heavier now as it flowed around him, slapping mud against his legs.
Then there was Aenwyn, a beacon of light in the darkest hours of the battle. Her movements were still light, ethereal almost, as she flitted from one enemy to the other. She balanced her attacks between blade and bow, picking up arrows wherever she might find them.
Galanör cut his way through two Reavers to fight by her side, intensifying their prowess. They quickly assimilated the other’s style and began to complement each other in their attacks. Galanör ducked under a sweeping sword and Aenwyn used his position to roll over his bent back and fire an arrow into a Reaver’s head. The ranger popped back up with a snap and a swirling attack with both Stormweaver and Guardian, protecting Aenwyn’s blind side.
Of course, there was more than just Reavers to protect each other from. If Centaurs weren’t charging through and Warhogs weren’t rampaging in every direction, the dwarves of Dhenaheim were there to add their own flavour of chaos to the fighting.
Galanör dashed to the left in order to avoid a trio of dwarves barrelling into a Reaver, their combined weight more than enough to bury the fiend in mud: there to use their axes. Aenwyn too was forced to spin away from a dwarf swinging his hammer with wild abandon. Neither of them, however, could argue with their results. The children of the mountain could take some serious damage and every one fought with hardened experience.
Looking out at the sea of heads and elevated Centaurs, the ranger only hoped that Doran, Russell, and Faylen were out there somewhere. He wondered if Faylen had found her way to Captain Nemir, as his forces continued to dominate the south-eastern corner of the battle. Whatever happened to them, he hoped they were together.
Galanör shook his head. The fatigue was making his mind wander when he should be focused on his surroundings. That was how he missed the incoming Reaver and its thrusting sword. Aenwyn, ever his
