“No,” he muttered to himself, his fists clenching by his side. He would make heroes of them all, even if it killed him.
26
Familiar Faces
As a bitter wind picked up his green cloak, Asher climbed down from his horse with both eyes on the sky. He found Avandriell with ease, his mind drawn to her. But his gaze travelled further still, to the thick clouds that threatened more snow. The ranger thought of Malliath piercing those winter clouds and descending upon his young companion with merciless wrath.
It brought back memories from his time under the thrall of The Crow. Even now, years later, Asher could still hear the screams of Dragorn and the cracking bones of their dragons within Malliath’s jaws.
The memory stirred his emotions which, in turn, affected Avandriell. The bronze dragon tucked in her wings and dived towards him in search of comfort.
Too fast! he called out across their bond. Too fast!
The ranger quickly assumed a wide gate, preparing to catch Avandriell and cushion the impact - if his knees were up to it. At the last second, her wings fanned out and she crashed into his chest with all four claws, some of which tore his leathers. He staggered back, thankful for her last-second attempt at slowing down.
“Easy!” he reassured, moving his head to avoid her new horns, each the length of his hand now. “Easy,” he repeated in a softer tone.
Avandriell looked up at him with her golden eyes. Whispers echoed in the back of his mind but the speech was too chaotic to discern. Amidst the chaos, however, one word pushed its way forward with clarity.
Asher.
Her voice struck his mind like a bell, but the moment was broken when her meaty tongue ran up the bristles on his cheek. The size of a large dog, there was no stopping her from pouncing away. Happy to have her on the ground again, Asher took a few seconds to scan his surroundings. Vighon had left soon after Reyna and Nathaniel, all disturbed by the news of Inara. The ranger himself felt a pang of unease where her health was concerned, but Adan’s words had cut right through him.
“What do you see?” he asked the Drake.
Adan climbed down from his mount, his eyes still surveying the land around them. “The world is losing its colour,” he uttered. “The light of the elves is already beginning to fade. Soon they will be shells, a shadow of what was.” Adan crouched down and ran his fingers through the snowy grass. “It’s all dying,” he lamented.
Asher turned back to Avandriell, who was examining a Centaur with curious eyes. His concern for her quickly rose to the surface. “What about…” He couldn’t bring himself to ask the question since he wasn’t entirely sure he could handle the answer.
Adan stood up and pulled his hood back to look at the dragon. “Avandriell’s magic will outlast us all, even that of Ilargo and Athis. Her connection to the realm of magic is still so raw and, after thousands of years in her egg beside her brothers and sisters, she is a powerful conduit.”
Asher took his first breath since the Drake had started talking. But then his world came crashing down on him. All Avandriell had was more time than the rest of her kin; her fate was still sealed. Before the ranger could sink into that depression, a hand landed on his shoulder, turning him around. For all the misery dragging him down, seeing Faylen brought a smile to his face.
“Hello, stranger,” she said with a coy grin.
Asher spread his arms and pulled her in. There was a time when all he had wanted was the feel of her skin, the smell of her perfume, and the sound of her sweet voice. And, though he could not deny any lingering feelings towards her, he had found a place in his heart to be happy for her.
There was also a part of him that still wanted to punch Nemir, her husband, right in the face. He felt that all too keenly upon spotting the elf emerging from the camp to greet them.
Asher stepped back from Faylen and gave the elven captain a nod. “Nemir,” he said politely enough.
“Asher,” the elf replied with a slight bow of the head.
Awkward as it was, Faylen ploughed through and gestured to Avandriell. “Is this…”
Asher couldn’t help but smile - he loved the way people marvelled at his companion. “This is Avandriell,” he declared with pride.
“Avandriell!” Faylen repeated, clearly enjoying the way it sounded in her mouth.
“She is magnificent,” Nemir commented, his stiffness easing.
A contented smile ruled Faylen’s expression. “You are bonded to a female dragon. Somehow that seems perfect.”
Perfect was a word that kept coming to the ranger when he considered any aspect of Avandriell. “She still has a lot to learn,” he said gruffly, which led his thoughts back to a dark place.
“Does your life ever get dull?” The lighter tone was familiar, leading Asher to the angular face of Galanör Reveeri.
The ranger flashed a smile and clasped hands with the elf. Like all the others, Galanör was grubby from head to toe, his elven demeanour - a regal stature - diminished by exhaustion. Still, Asher could feel the strength in his grip.
“You walk with Fate, old friend,” Galanör said in his native tongue.
Asher cast a cursory eye over the elf. “And you walk with only one blade. What happened?”
Galanör placed his hand over the empty scabbard. “Trolls. Though I would gladly have given both swords if it would have saved more lives.”
“I’m sure many more would be out on that field if it weren’t for you,” Asher encouraged.
Galanör thanked him with a nod before joining Faylen and Nemir, who had both crouched down to greet Avandriell. “She is exquisite,” the elf complimented.
“She gets that a lot,” Asher quipped,
