Into Forbidden Lands
When all Threads Merge

The cloud that hung over the Onceland Sea began to dissolve the moment the Adepts and the Bloodrobes merged.

Overhead, the orbs of the Gods drifted slowly apart, breaking the configuration of the Illignment. The jagged isles that had once been the lofty peaks of the Fathanga Range became visible once more and sunlight illumined the College Keep for the first time in over two thousand years.

Seven Ice Dragons leapt from the bastions of Igollianath and within moments were soaring low over the breakers of the Onceland Sea.

The world looked different to Illiom as she flew. The dome of sky above, the waves beneath, and even the land they were fast approaching, were now tinged in a golden hue.

The Ice Dragons descended upon the narrow beach in a flurry of snow and ice crystals. They folded their great wings and gazed down upon the humans who stood gawking at them in astonishment.

Shock turned to delight when the Chosen shrugged off their dragon shapes to stand revealed.

Tarmel looked at Illiom in awe. She could see that he was afraid she had moved beyond him and no longer needed him. She stepped towards him, her love for him bright upon her face.

“Tarmel,” she said, feeling a strange shyness as she closed the distance that separated them, savouring the first word she had spoken in what felt like a lifetime.

“Illiom,” he responded, as a small smile curved his lips.

Then they were in each other’s arms, laughing and crying.

Illiom was both relieved and amused by her ability to display how she felt. Everything felt so different now, yet nothing of importance seemed to have changed.

At last he held her at arm’s length, his expression sober.

“Is it truly over?”

She shook her head.

“No,” she replied. “It is only just beginning.”

Her lover lifted his face to the sky and laughed.

And then they were in each other’s embrace once more.

The reunion of the Chosen with their companions was an occasion for celebration. The end had finally come and a great catastrophe had been averted.

They ate salted fish by the fire as questions took wing, darting like swallows about them.

The Chosen answered as best they could.

Illiom noticed how difficult it was to express in words what she had experienced. Every answer she gave felt inadequate, falling short of what she now knew in her heart.

The experience of the Orb, she realised, was not one to be talked about, for whatever her words conjured up in the minds of her audience, it did not come close to what she had experienced.

Likewise, the other Chosen spoke hesitantly, focusing mostly on the tangible aspects of what had happened inside the mountain. They spoke of their fall down the pit and how they had survived it, of the journey along the underground passage carved by an ancient river, of entering Sudra’s temple, and of their meeting with the Guardian.

Illiom caught Z’essh watching her with a reverence she found unsettling. She realised that the tribal man was taking in every word as though it were scripture and imbuing it with his own interpretation. She knew then that many who heard their story would turn it into fable.

Daylight was long gone and the fire had died down when Kassargan sought out Illiom.

The Chosen saw markings of grief upon the descrier’s face.

“Kassargan, what ails you?”

She smiled, even as tears began to flow from her blind eyes.

“I was not there in body, but I journeyed as far as I could alongside you. I saw the Bloodrobes, I plummeted with you down that endless shaft. I met the Guardian and walked with you through each and every door, right up until the seventh. There I was denied entry, but knew that you had succeeded.”

Kassargan’s hands reached for her.

“My heart is filled with both joy and sadness. I am blessed and cursed, for I know that my king and Draca is gone forever.”

Tears ran down her cheeks and Illiom followed their trail with a fingertip.

“Not forever, Kassargan. Provan will never be far from you,” she said softly, and placed a hand over the descrier’s heart.

“He lives. In here.”

Kassargan nodded.

“I know…”

After a moment’s silence she asked shyly, “Do you have any need for a blind descrier?”

Illiom laughed.

“I would not want any other kind.”

Kassargan beamed.

Early next morning the Chosen reverted to their Ice Dragon forms and invited the others to climb onto their backs. There was much that required their attention.

As soon as their passengers were secure, they unfurled their glorious wings and, with a powerful push, leapt into the sky, soaring towards the rising sun.

Soon the Onceland Sea was far behind them and the Werewood was a vast green expanse before them.

They circled over the Heartwood, to be seen by the Elleyadim and the Woedim. They heard the trees’ majestic response reach up towards them in a song of blessing.

Then they plunged low over the gigantic Thel Drus.

Travelling north, they wove a path over areas where they had never set foot, but which were now liberated because of them.

They soared over the Meresian Kingdom and the Plains of Abanas, circling cities and towns, cheered and celebrated by the countless they had liberated.

They swept low over the cruel walls of Quendor and let all there know that the age of darkness was over, that the creatures of oppression in the service of the Bloodrobes were now divested of all power.

When they descended towards the hamlet of Stonecress, their presence caused great excitement among its people. The riders dismounted and the Dragons reclaimed their human form, even as the people turned out to greet them.

Illiom saw Temer and Faer in the lead.

The old man’s lip trembled and he would have fallen to his knees, had Faer not supported him.

And there, behind them, stood Angar.

The Rider’s hair had grown long and his unkempt beard made him almost unrecognisable. He leaned on a staff for support, but his face was content and peaceful.

“You have done it!” he proclaimed, limping towards them. “You have changed the world. We felt it at the height of the Illignment. The power shifted away from ill, and your presence confirms that it was so.”

His eyes shone when Undina embraced him. The Rider whispered something in her ear and Undina’s initial look of surprise was immediately followed by a delighted smile.

A young woman came to stand beside Angar and, slipping her arm through his, smiled at the Chosen.

“This is Caeriden.”

The Rider beamed as he introduced her.

“She is my love and the flame of my hearth.”

“Does this mean that you will not be coming back with us?” Argolan asked, with a wide grin.

Angar nodded and pointed at his leg.

“There is no longer any place for me in the Ward, but I have found my place here. The young ones are learning to ride and to fight. This is my role now.”

The Shieldarm nodded.

“So be it. You may as well keep the horses and the weapons that are already here; they are the Black Ward’s wedding gift to you for your service. I am sure you will make good use of them.”

Angar nodded and his grin deepened.

“I shall. And now that you are here and all is well we shall leave Stonecress to find a better place to live. The horses will certainly lighten that journey.”

Soon afterwards the Ice Dragons took flight once more, soaring east.

Theregon was drawing near.

They flew across the desert until they reached the line of bones that marked the Warding.

They sensed that no power remained, that the Warding was gone. It too had been sustained only by the Bloodrobes’ will.

They flew over the ancient barrier and entered Iol.

A large band of Shakim, camped in the shadow of the gigantic effigy that bore the Ice Dragon’s likeness, raced out to wave and cheer.

Illiom flew down towards them and Z’essh dismounted to rejoin his people.

The Shakim watched proudly as the Ice Dragon bowed her head before him and then flew to join her kin circling overhead.

When they reached the capital, Calestor, they flew over the rim of the volcano. They saw much evidence of battle outside the bastion’s walls, but the city appeared completely undamaged.

They passed over streets filled with people celebrating their return and rejoicing the end of fear.

They landed in the Pentangle in the centre of Maularahad’s Keep and there were greeted by a group of white-robed elders.

The Chosen released Kassargan to them, but not before Illiom promised that she would return for her.

Then the Dragons continued on, heading north-east.

Varadon’s Keep came into view in the distance.

As they crossed the southern crags and veered towards Kuon they searched the plateau for signs of life.

Illiom’s heart sank at the sight of the city.

Everything outside of the great walls lay in smouldering rubble.

The spire of the College had toppled, damaging many of the buildings of Old Kuon.

The old city still stood, scarred and blasted, but not completely destroyed.

The entire Keep was littered with remains. Many were Kresh and other creatures, but just as many were human.

Were they too late?

Vardail, Menphan Tarn? All the people of Kuon; could it be that they had all been slain?

Then, cautiously, warriors in torn livery and bedraggled, fearful citizens began to trickle out of their refuges, calling out to others.

The Ice Dragons descended.

By the time they landed and shape-shifted, the Chosen and their companions were met by hundreds of men, women and children, cheering and crying.

One small group pressed through the gathering.

Prince Vardail stopped a short distance away. His eyes were bright with incredulity and hope.

“The age of myth is upon us,” he whispered. “We believed you long dead and gone. When the Illignment came and went, nothing seemed to change at first, but by then we were so accustomed to hiding that…”

His voice faltered.

“We truly believed that you had fallen and failed. But now you are here, and the skies are empty. No Kresh or Necra or other creatures of nightmare scour the streets, feeding on the corpses of our people, but please, tell me, is it done?”

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“It is, my Prince. The Bloodrobes are gone and the age of destruction is over.”

Vardail straightened, and in that moment, Illiom saw Queen Eranel in his eyes. He turned and his gaze swept over his people.

“It is over!” he shouted as loud as his voice could carry. “Do you hear me? The nightmare is over! Go! Spread the word! Tell everyone that Albradan has triumphed!”

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