Chapter Forty-Four – The Dragon Rider’s Choice

Tara blinked in early afternoon light. It didn’t take long to remember exactly where and how she was.

The blast from her magic had completely destroyed the armored trolls. Their bodies were motionless. The bright afternoon was hazed from the smoke of burning homes.

“What was that?” One of the villagers spoke to Tara, holding a crying child in his arms. Tara was surprised by the fear in the man’s gaze. “That kind of power—you can’t be human. What are you?”

Tara could understand his concern, but she wasn’t sure how to answer it. The last thing she wanted was to call herself the Last Hero of Allerion. She still didn’t feel much like a hero. If going back to the Shieldmistress’s Vale refreshed her physically after a fight, it certainly didn’t improve her appearance. Her hair was messy and her clothes under her armor were sticky and uncomfortable with sweat.

Behind her, Fenryx the dragon made a rough, snorting sound. Several people were already seated on his back and crowded close to the dragon’s massive legs. For the first time, Tara realized that Acalon wasn’t with them.

Her head jerked back to the trolls. The Raining Fire attack wasn’t supposed to harm friendly characters, but Tara knew by now that she couldn’t rely on the game rules for Swords of Allerion. Everything she had said about Acalon being an essential character seemed trivial now that even the Shieldmistress herself admitted none of the game’s usual constants were functioning correctly. Tara’s presence in and of itself was an anomaly.

Tara ran forward. The stink from the burning trolls was horrible, but she forced herself to search around them. Acalon had to be here somewhere, but she didn’t see his body. The very ground was scorched and cracked from unbearable heat.

“Acalon…” Tara’s voice was desperate. “Acalon!”

She shouldn’t be this afraid. She knew she shouldn’t. But for Tara to control her emotions, she would have had to love Swords of Allerion much less than she did. The game, the world, were part of her life, and Acalon had always been a constant in that world.

And now he was gone.

Tara stood, shaking, struggling to understand.

“Tara MacQueen?”

She turned quickly. She saw the dragon rider step from behind a troll’s massive body. His cap was missing and his leather armor was filthy, bruised.

Tara moved without thinking. She couldn’t stop herself as she ran to Acalon, her impulse desperate, as terrified as it was sincere. She felt the dragon rider brace against her thrown weight, his slight grunt of surprise as she embraced him. Acalon’s tallness had never seemed more real than it did now as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She buried her face against him, breathing him, glad beyond all reason that he was alive.

Acalon gripped her shoulders. His initial impulse was to force the young woman away. It was new to him, this kind of passionate, unreserved display. The suddenness of it made him rigid. He felt the arms twisting around him, the slight shake in Tara’s closeness. Her relief was palpable. And he stood, uncertain of how to receive her embrace but equally unwilling, despite himself, to resist it.

Tara felt his mounting tension. She let him go, catching her breath. She couldn’t meet his eyes at once, and failed to see the brief warmth in the dragon rider’s wariness as she pulled from him.

“I’m sorry,” Tara apologized clumsily. “I thought you were dead.”

“As you see,” said Acalon, brow arched, “I am unharmed. Thanks to you, I believe.”

Tara still couldn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know how that happened.”

The silence that followed this statement made her look up finally. Acalon was looking at her, his black eyes assessing.

“I have seen that kind of magic before,” he said. “It is a rare gift, unknown to humans. How is it yours?”

Tara was unwilling to answer. The last thing she wanted was to explain the Shieldmistress’s Vale to him. Even if he were able to process the information, he would be obliged to tell the Prime Dragon as well. After their first meeting in the Grim Syr, Tara doubted it was the best idea to let Veraxyn know of her meetings with the Shieldmistress.

“It’s as incredible to me as it is to you,” she said. “It was as if I were guided by a force outside of myself. The last thing I remember is blinding light and power—and then I passed out. I’m glad that you’re safe. I hated to think of those trolls killing you.”

She was partially honest. Acalon listened, and if he doubted her evasiveness the cool interest in his attention did not change.

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“When we first met,” he said, “I did not think you were capable of frightening a sewer rat, let alone defeating battle-ready trolls. There is something about you that I fail to realize. You look like a Borzerk, but in the time I have known you, you possess none of their eagerness or skill for combat. The Borzerk are trained to fight from childhood.” Tara shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t let her speak. “You say that you know me, but I know nothing of you. Tell me this—are you even human?”

Perhaps it wasn’t surprising that he would be so interested. It was impossible to ignore what had happened to the trolls.

“I am human,” said Tara firmly. “That, I am certain of.”

“And—you are this ‘Last Hero of Allerion’?”

He spoke the title not as if it were something to be appreciated or respected, but flatly, as if there were danger in it he did not want to admit he saw.

Tara took a deep breath. She glanced back towards Fenryx and the others.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Everyone certainly seems to think so. But this isn’t the time to talk, Acalon. This village is burning. People have lost their homes. What are we going to do?”

The dragon rider followed her direction, but his mind was still on Tara. He was remembering the first time he fought with her against the grimps, and how she had disappeared in a brief flare of blue light for what felt like a moment. He remembered how her return had somehow inexplicably healed him and this time too, although the evidence of combat remained, he was no longer suffering.

“Can’t you help them?” he asked. “You can make everything the way it was.”

Tara blinked. Even in Swords of Allerion, there were limits to “resetting.” After a raid, there were always signs of destruction. They might not be permanent, but they weren’t something she could fix by winning a fight.

“No, I can’t,” she said. “I can do some things, but not this. This is beyond me.”

Acalon’s face darkened, and Tara expected him to say something sideways, a scathing yet humorous aside that would remind her that even if she was a hero of Allerion, to him she was still Tara MacQueen, the would-be warrior in Eomann’s Hammer. But this time, he was silent. He strode to meet Fenryx, and Tara followed him silently, uncertainly.

“Acalon,” said one of the villagers at his approach. “Did you see what happened? It’s a miracle. It’s incredible!”

“It’s dangerous,” said another. “Whoever heard of a Borzerk possessing such power? The Prime Dragon must be told of this immediately.”

“Do you know her—this woman? Is she a danger to us?”

“Her name is Tara MacQueen,” replied Acalon simply, “and she saved you. Waste no more time on idle talk. It is not safe for you to stay here. Your homes will be rebuilt with time, but for now you will find refuge on the cliffs. Fenryx!” The dragon’s hiss answered him, the dragon’s great black head stretching towards his rider and friend. Acalon rested his hand gently on the massive beast. “Take them to the Grim Syr. Cyneric will know what to do.”

“You’re not coming with us?” said a villager, surprised.

“The Fell King’s servants may still be at large,” said Acalon. “An assault like this is not usual. If it weren’t for Tara, we would all be dead.”

Tara raised her head in surprise at the dragon rider’s flat assertion, but he never looked at her.

“As soon as I have finished scouting with Tara, I will return,” Acalon assured the others.

The last of the villagers was safely mounted on Fenryx’s back. In the pause that followed, Tara felt that Acalon must have been speaking with the dragon privately. She was tempted to listen as she had in the Grim Syr, when the Prime Dragon and Acalon had both been unaware that she heard them. Was that another ability that came from being the Last Hero of Allerion?

Tara thought again of the rows of heroes in the Shieldmistress’s Hall. There was so much that remained a mystery to her as much as anyone.

Acalon’s voice roused her from her thoughts.

“Tara,” he said, “you have done enough. Go with the others.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Tara, and she wasn’t just speaking from simple, unquestioning desire. She was afraid to go back.

Now that this had happened, the Prime Dragon would be sure to hear. How would the white dragon respond? She wanted to understand Tara’s power, but Tara hadn’t decided yet if that understanding was wholly malevolent. After the way Veraxyn had treated Acalon, she didn’t want to face the Prime Dragon without an ally beside her. Wenrik and Kell would certainly be forbidden from entering the Grim Syr.

Acalon showed no surprise at her desire. His nod was slight.

Tara watched Fenryx take flight. It never failed to amaze her, how the powerful beast was able to fly like that. But remembering how even Fenryx had met his match in the armored trolls, she couldn’t suppress a tense shiver.

“Come,” said Acalon.

“Where are we going?” asked Tara.

“There is another hamlet,” said Acalon. “I must be sure that it is safe as well. If the Fell King came this far, the people are in danger.”

“Why do you think he did it?”

“The Fell one is evil,” said Acalon without hesitation or any breath of doubt. “There is nothing that pleases him more than destruction, except death itself.”

“But we can’t hope to take on another force like this alone,” protested Tara. Although everything had turned out alright this time, she couldn’t forget how the Shieldmistress said she had died after using the spell that was far beyond her ability. Tara didn’t want to repeat the experience so soon, and she hoped desperately that Acalon wasn’t counting on her.

But the dragon rider didn’t say so. He didn’t slow his space, but his words were lower, more pressing.

“Nor will we. We will stay unseen if we can, if there is danger. I must warn the mountain if the time of war has come.”

Tara opened her mouth to say that that was impossible. The Fell King’s wars against Allerion came much later, after she (as a player in Swords of Allerion) had left her mark in wider areas of the map than Regan and Skorcrest alone.

This time, she caught herself.

“If war has come,” she said instead, “what will you do?”

In the dragon rider’s silence, Tara realized with a sinking, hollow feeling that he was thinking of her. She couldn’t even blame him. After what had happened, Tara’s powers did seem like the most obvious counter to anything the Fell King could wield at the people of the cliffs.

Tara quickened her stride to stop in front of Acalon, forcing him to confront her.

“What do you think the Prime Dragon will do?” asked Tara.

Acalon saw the insistence on her face. He may have seen something else too, some weakness like fear, because his eyes above their covering were briefly unable to meet her.

“I do not know,” he confessed. “I have never understood the Prime Dragon.”

It was an answer, just not the one Tara was looking for. Acalon moved past her and she followed him. Even in the warmth of the bright day, her thoughts were dark, thinking of the Grim Syr and Veraxyn’s strange, silver eye.