“Inara!” Galanör and Aenwyn called from above.
Alijah began swinging his legs towards the lowest bridge in the shaft. A few seconds of back and forth and he was flying through the air, crossing the gap to the bridge. Inara ignored the calls of her companions and swung her own legs. From a greater height, she dropped down onto the bridge, testing the dwarven ingenuity. The boards, however, were saved from most of her impact by Alijah, who most definitely felt his sister’s arrival.
They both rose back to their feet in an exchange of fists, elbows, and swift kicks. Inara relied on her knowledge of the Mag’dereth to inform her movements and fighting style. Alijah displayed a combination of martial arts that should have contradicted each other, yet he made his every blow move seamlessly from one to the next. His more barbaric inclinations surprised Inara and she received a painful headbutt for the misinterpretation.
The Guardian of the Realm shook off the biting pain and came back at her brother with precise and calculated attacks. She had to be careful not to strike at his torso and cut her knuckles against the dragon scales. Alijah, on the other hand, had no such concerns and planted a strong uppercut into her solar plexus, folding her over. He tried to follow up with a knee to her chest but Inara blocked it twice before whipping her head up and catching him across the nose again.
Inara then extended her body into the fifth form of the Mag’dereth and flipped backwards. One foot after the other slammed into Alijah’s chin and launched him off his feet. As he landed back on the bridge, Inara completed her flip and assumed her full height, her red cloak falling back into place behind her.
Alijah sat up and used the railing to stand again. A quick observation told Inara that her brother was favouring his right leg. She had also noticed a flicker of pain across his face whenever he used his arms to block her attacks.
“You haven’t got it in you to kill me,” he panted. “Your only hope is that Galanör reaches us before I enter the doorway.”
Inara opened her mouth to deliver a sharp retort when she noticed something on Alijah’s neck. Her head tilted to better observe the phenomenon. As she watched, small cuts were appearing along the side of his neck, forming a familiar pattern. Reaching out to Athis, Inara instantly became aware of their aerial battle and knew that Ilargo was currently entwined with Malliath, his jaws clamped across the black dragon’s throat.
Her confusion slowed her down and Alijah took advantage. He jumped forwards and landed a heavy side kick into Inara’s midriff. She crumpled in the middle and flew backwards, along the bridge. After hitting her head, she skidded a few feet and lost a few seconds of consciousness. After that, rising back to her feet was a struggle and she depended on the railing to steady herself. After blinking her vision into alignment again, she set her gaze on an empty bridge.
Alijah was gone.
Bracing against the rail, Inara looked over the edge and found him on the walkway again. He paused and looked back at her. There was no arrogance or superiority in his expression, just resolution. Taking four more steps, Alijah disappeared entirely, as if he had never been standing there at all. Inara blinked, wondering if her head injury was more significant than she thought.
“Where is he?” Galanör questioned, his chest heaving beneath his armour, as he came up on her side.
Inara didn’t know how to explain it. Instead of detailing the event to Galanör and Aenwyn, she made for the end of the bridge and began to make her way down in Alijah’s footsteps.
“Inara, what is it?” Galanör asked. “Where did he go?”
“It’s different down there,” Aenwyn observed, looking over the edge. “The dwarves have lined the walls with stone.”
Inara drew Firefly and took her first step off the wooden walkway and onto the stone steps. “He went down here.”
With their own scimitars already in hand, Galanör and Aenwyn followed Inara down into the lowest depths of the dig site. Torches had been fastened to the walls, their flames showing the way. Inara removed one from its fixing and held it out in front to better see the steps. That wasn’t all she discovered in the dark. They soon came across a pungent odour, followed by whispers in the shadows.
Aenwyn tried to pierce the gloom. “What is that?”
It was Inara who finally shone some light on the situation, turning her torch to the wall. Iron bars. Row after row of iron bars lined the shaft descending to its very bottom. The smell was certainly coming from the other side of the bars, but the whispering had stopped now.
“What is this place?” Aenwyn ran her hand up one of the bars.
“A prison,” Galanör uttered with disgust.
“A prison?”
“Kassian got his hands on a Fenrig a few months back,” the elven ranger explained. “He swore that’s what the dwarves had been instructed to build down here.”
Inara held the torch high and peered between the bars. “A prison for what?”
The answer emerged from the darkness, pushing the trio back a step. For the briefest moment, it would have been easy to believe that a monster was coming to attack them, but the horns and reptilian eyes were not those of a terrible beast. It was a Drake.
Then more stepped out of the shadows. Soon, every opening was filling with Drakes, their fingers curling around the bars. Turning slowly on her heel, Inara took in the entire prison around them. There must have been hundreds of Drakes, maybe more. An overwhelming surge of frustration and pity knotted inside the Guardian’s heart. They were more than capable of melting the bars and reducing every
