Inevitably, he found himself on the highest platform in The Bastion, exposed to the elements. Circular in shape, though time had ravaged its edges, the platform overlooked much of the fortress and offered a magnificent view of The Vrost Mountains.
It was very likely, once upon a time, that King Atilan himself had stood on this platform and stared at the same mountains. Try as he might, Alijah couldn’t hold on to that thought, his mind snatched by dark memories. It had been here, on this very stone, where he had tried to kill himself, to prevent The Crow from turning him into a monster. How wrong he had been. How naive.
Limping to the jagged edge, he looked over the side. There was nothing but a stomach-churning drop and sharp rocks: a sure death had The Crow not intervened.
You dwell on the past when you should be thinking about the future.
Malliath’s voice washed away all memory, honing Alijah’s thoughts. He stepped back from the edge and made his way to the centre, his eyes searching the mountain tops for the dragon. Malliath wasn’t hard to find against the pale dawn, gliding between the snow-capped peaks. Alijah studied his companion in the distance for there was something different about the way he was flying. He was certainly slower than usual. He decided the recent spell, burnt into the dragon’s hide by himself no less, was responsible for his apparent fatigue and, possibly, the hint of pain the king detected, though it could easily have been his own wounded leg muddying their bond.
The dragon glided round, banking towards the fortress. It wasn’t long before he was grappling the side of the mountain, beside the platform. His claws easily found purchase, digging into the rock face and allowing his head to dip over the hewn stone.
I sense reproach in you, Malliath observed.
Alijah experienced a wave of nausea rise up in him, his vision blurring around the edges. With his wounded knee, he staggered away from Malliath’s gaze to take in the mountains.
We have but enemies now. There is no bond, blood or otherwise, that is stronger than ours. Vighon, Inara, your parents… they must be sacrificed for the good of the realm, for the good of the millions yet to be born. Remember where your heart lies. It is the people we serve. We must love them above all others. Anything else would lower us to the standards of those who came before us.
Alijah felt an icy wind pick up his cloak and blow out his hair before it knocked loose a tear from his left eye. The path before him was laden with familial bodies.
Heroes die, Malliath announced, reciting The Crow’s second lesson. We will lay low the enemies of our kingdom and rise to fight again and again because we are not heroes, Alijah. We are kings. Only we can redefine what that means.
Alijah cast his eyes to the cold stone and saw his parents lying bloodied side by side. They were dead, along with Vighon and Inara beside them.
Then, Malliath’s breath washed over him from behind like a cleansing vapour. His vision cleared and his stomach settled. He was the king of Verda, not the brother of Inara Galfrey nor the son of Reyna and Nathaniel Galfrey. He was everlasting. He was the pillar on which the realm would reside. Any who tried to break him would die - it was that simple.
“Sacrifice without hesitation,” he muttered under his breath. Gideon will die, he vowed, turning back to Malliath. And Ilargo with him.
Malliath’s head inched closer. Good, he hissed. We should move quickly, he insisted. Inara and her ilk will move to undo our work in The Moonlit Plains.
They cannot stop us now, Alijah opined. The Moonlit Plains have been prepared. There are already reports of unusual activity at the lowest depths.
If there is even a single doorway down there, Malliath urged, you should take it now. With magic gone, we have but to wait until its death claims Ilargo and Athis. Without them, Gideon and Inara will fall and there will be none to protect the usurper. With him gone, The Rebellion dies.
Alijah nodded his head, but mention of Vighon ignited a seething rage in his veins. He sits on my throne! That cannot go unchallenged. It could have lasting consequences for my reign, even generations from now. Every second The Rebellion occupies Namdhor the weaker I look. I want his head. The king looked away as a strategy began to form in his mind though, admittedly, he couldn’t tell whether it originated from himself or Malliath, their thoughts so entwined on the matter.
Malliath tilted his head. You propose abandoning our work in the plains.
No, Alijah said definitively. He paused, reaching out to his Reavers across the realm. With thought alone, he redirected them from their current tasks and stations.
Malliath could sense and interpret his every action. You would move so many of our forces to defend the doorway?
Of course, Alijah replied with half a grin taking shape. Let Athis and Ilargo descend upon it with all their might. It will do them no good against our army.
Any confrontation jeopardises the doorway, Malliath protested.
I want his head! Alijah fumed, giving in to the spring of hatred that swelled from nowhere. We will go to Namdhor and take it. We have no other choice. To hold the capital is to hold the realm itself. I cannot let that ripple through my kingdom.
Our kingdom, Malliath corrected.
Of course, Alijah conceded, taking a breath. You know, as well as I, that The Moonlit Plains cannot be taken by two dragons. The ballistas alone would tear them to shreds. Besides that, the longer we leave the doorway to form the more stable it will be. I fully intend to succeed, Malliath. And when I do, I don’t want to emerge into a world that heralds Vighon as king again.
Malliath
