“Captain Nemir?” came a call from the thick of the camp.
The captain ceased his interest in Avandriell and stood up to meet the approaching elf. They exchanged a brief conversation in their melodic language. The captain nodded, signalling the end of their discussion, before turning to Faylen. “I must see to something.” Husband and wife shared a gentle kiss before separating.
The ranger was pleased to see that such affection didn’t sting him half as much as he had expected it to. Instead, he waited for Nemir to disappear back into the camp before asking, “Where’s Doran?” There was something about the way Faylen looked up at him that made Asher steel himself for the worst of answers.
The High Guardian rose to reply, leaving Galanör to stroke the scales under Avandriell’s jaw. “He’s just south of here,” she said, easing some of the tension in the ranger’s muscles. “Asher…” Her tone pulled his eyes from the south and back to her. “It’s Russell. He transformed during the battle. The wolf fled but Doran seems to think that Russell will never return.”
Asher sighed and dropped his head into his chest. “I had hoped to be there for his last moon,” he said with a heavy heart.
“So it’s true then?” Faylen continued. “Russell will never return?”
“His curse has been bearing down on him for some time. Being consumed by it is an inevitable conclusion for any Werewolf. I had hoped there was more time.” The ranger had really hoped he would be given the chance to say goodbye.
Galanör returned to them, his arms folded. “The weight of it has robbed Doran of reason. He has barely said a word since the battle ended yesterday. I don’t think he’s slept either.”
“He just stands there,” Faylen explained, “staring at the south.”
Asher was about to speak when he sensed something from Avandriell. It was a craving, he knew, and not for food or water. He was naturally drawn to the sky, an ocean of freedom that the dragon had recently discovered. It was addictive. That much of her experience he shared. She let out a low squawk and flapped her wings. Many stopped what they were doing and simply watched her take flight, most completely unaware of who her companion was.
“I told you she would get big!” Gideon called on his approach. “Though I have to say, I wasn’t expecting her to fly so soon.”
Happy to busy his mind from the news of Russell, Asher turned to the old master. “You failed to mention the circumstances of her growth,” he replied.
Gideon finally reached the trio and frowned at the response. “Ah, yes,” he recalled after some thought. “It can be somewhat dangerous in the wrong environment.”
“There’s an Arkilisk out there who learnt that the hard way,” the ranger said dryly. “Had I not been with Adan I would likely be a pile of ash in The Evermoore.”
Gideon looked past the ranger to set eyes on the Drake. “Of course… He can read the magic.” The old master’s eyes glazed over for a second, his thoughts consuming him. “My apologies, Asher,” he eventually said. “I should have mentioned the danger. Sadly, time eludes us again. The king calls for a council.”
By the time a fire pit had been constructed and The Rebellion’s council had gathered around it - absent Doran Heavybelly - the sun had dropped below the western horizon and the thick clouds had thankfully rolled away with it. Now, under a canopy of stars, Asher listened to reports from Faylen, Galanör, and Gideon about the end of the world. At least it sounded like the end of the world to him.
The battle sounded bloody, claustrophobic, and unbalanced where numbers were concerned. Adding to the enemy’s might, they had guarded the dig site with Trolls, catapults, and ballistas. As tempting as it was to believe that he could have made a difference in the fight, the ranger knew losing odds when he heard them.
He just liked to think that he could have saved the tree.
Saved Avandriell.
Her head was currently resting over his leg, her scales bright in the light of the flames. Asher stroked the top of her head, between her two horns, and watched her eyes get heavier and heavier. Could Fate be so cruel as to take her away from him? Why not? he mused. It had spent a thousand years learning new ways to torment him.
The flat of his hand came to rest on her head and he simply enjoyed the rhythm of her breathing.
“You can’t grasp the size of the tree,” Gideon was saying to Reyna. “It’s as big as any mountain and the fire has spread to the canopy. It would take a lot of magic to put out the flames and every second that goes by, we lose more of our connection to it.”
Vighon leaned forward on his log. “What are the realistic repercussions of this?”
Gideon glanced at Asher before answering the king. “Our ability to wield magic will diminish day by day until the tree is gone. We’ve already heard from Captain Nemir,” he said, gesturing to the elf seated beside Faylen, “that the healers among us are failing to aid common wounds. Even The Moonlit Plains,” he added, pointing at the luminescent grass beneath their feet, “will lose its enchantment. And we have no idea what will become of the Drakes, but they are half dragon and…” The old master took a long breath in an effort to conjure the words. “And the dragons of this world will die without magic.”
Nathaniel turned to Galanör. “But not you,” he stated. “Your magic is no longer tied to the tree?”
“Time will tell,” the elven ranger replied. “It seems likely given what Gideon told us of Alijah’s plan on Qamnaran.”
“Sadly,” Gideon chipped in, “Galanör’s ability to retain his magic cannot help us. No one person can save the tree, however powerful they might be.”
“No!” Kassian said forcefully, shaking his head.
