Crown of Crystal Flame

by C. L. Wilson

  Vadim’s chest swelled with pride. Some who looked upon Koderas might have seen ruin in the ash and soot and poisonous gases choking the life from the surrounding forest. But not Vadim. He saw Koderas for what it truly was: power. His power. Raw and brutal and ugly, perhaps, but indisputably great nonetheless.

  He turned the final quarter of his circuit and beheld the second reason he had come: the shining glory of Toroc Maur—the first Elden stronghold to extend aboveground since the scorching of the world.

  Though little more than a massive outer wall and scaffolding now, when completed the immense citadel would crouch on the banks of the Selas River like a great, horned spider, its gleaming black spires stabbing up from the center of a wide, high-walled and well-defended central keep, towering nearly as high as its foundation, the subterranean levels of Boura Maur, plunged deep. The first soaring sel’dor bridge that spanned the river to connect Boura Maur to Koderas had already been built. Flanking the bridge’s entrance, two enormous flags of Eld, rich purple embroidered with silvery moons and stars set in the exact configuration of Vadim Maur’s birth, snapped in the wind.

  Emotions coiled inside Vadim: satisfaction, pride, eagerness. Centuries of planning and toil were finally coming to fruition.

  “Show me,” he urged.

  After touring the existing construction of Toroc Maur and examining in detail the plan for the next stage of construction, Vadim followed Grule up the stone steps to the citadel’s high, well-defended walls where cannoneers had assembled beside the bowcannon mounted on the battlements.

  “Ah,” Vadim said. “The new bowcannon bolts. You perfected the spell? “

  “I did. I believe you will be very pleased.” Grule nodded to the cannoneers, who immediately began firing the newest weapon—bowcannons bolts spelled by magic to fly faster and higher than ever before—fast and high enough to outpace even a Tairen Soul flying at his top magic-powered speed. The High Mage spent a full quarter bell watching the cannoneers demonstrate the splendid performance of the new bolts.

  “Well done, Grule,” he praised when the exhibition concluded. “You may well have just ensured our victory. With the skies tairen-free, nothing can stop my Army of Darkness.”

  “You honor me, Most High.” Primage Grule bowed low. “But there is more. I’ve added a new improvement since my last report. The idea came to me after I read a book of Drogan blood spells. The potential is… incalculable.”

  Vadim arched a brow. “I am intrigued. What is this new improvement? “

  “If you please, Most High, allow me to demonstrate. Do you see that umagi running in that field there?” He pointed to a tiny spot on one of the distant grounds and handed Vadim a telescoping spyglass.

  Vadim lifted the glass and saw a man in tattered rags running for the forest edge. “You are letting one of your umagi escape?”

  “One of our less valuable prisoners from the battle at Teleon. I told him if he reached the edge of the forest alive, I would grant him his freedom.” Grule gave smile. “I thought he might run faster with a little incentive. Cannoneer Raegus, prepare to fire.” He nodded at the cannoneer on the far end of the battlement. The man turned the crank to reposition his bowcannon.

  “I don’t understand. He is aiming away from the target.”

  Grule’s smile grew wider. “Indeed he is, Most High.” He raised his voice and called, “Fire when ready, cannoneer.”

  “Ta, Master Grule.” The cannoneer uncorked a small flagon, poured a stream of glowing red liquid on the tip of the mounted cannon bolt, then returned to the firing pad and pulled back the release lever. The thick, braided metal bowstring gave a sharp twang of sound, and the bolt shot into the air. The launch ignited the acceleration spell, and the bolt rapidly picked up speed, just as all the other new bolts had done.

  What happened next, however, made Vadim Maur’s jaw drop.

  The flying bolt, launched in the opposite direction of the escaping umagi, took a swift and sudden turn in the air and sped unerringly towards the running man. Moments later, the small dark speck racing towards the forest edge went down.

  “I don’t believe it.” Vadim Maur raised his spyglass to an eye. Sure enough, the bolt had struck its target, cutting the fleeing man in two and pinning the upper half of his body to the ground. He spun to Grule. “How?”

  “I used a variation of a Drogan summoning spell to direct the cannon bolt, and used that umagi’s blood as the base for the spell. Once the cannoneer applied the potion, the bolt was magically drawn to the donor of the blood.”

  “You mean…”

  “Yes.” Grule was smiling again. He knew he’d done well. “Give me the Tairen Soul’s blood, Most High, and I will shoot him from the sky.”

  “Do that, Grule, and I’ll give you your pick of jewels from my own sash. And your choice of seats on the Mage Council.”

  Vadim clasped the Mage’s hand in a celebratory handshake. “Well done, Grule. Well done, indeed.”

  “Thank you, Master Maur. Your praise means everything to me. And now, I’m sure you’re anxious to see the real treasure of Boura Maur.”

  Vadim and Grule took the wide, winding stair that circled down from Toroc Maur into the heart of its Boura below. Descending to levels known only to a select few, and accessible to even fewer, Grule opened the door and ushered the High Mage into the secret rooms that held the real purpose for his visit.

  There, in a vast, low-ceilinged hall where the temperature dropped close to freezing, a raised earthen walkway led across what appeared to be an endless sea of mist. Brass ember-pots hanging from the ceilings illuminated the mists with a sickly red-orange glow. As Vadim and Grule stepped out onto the walkway, Grule wove a spell that sent sparks of magic flying across the chamber. Ember-pots brightened, and the mist thinned to reveal a vast series of open pits where masses of grayish white bodies crowded together like maggots packed in a rotting wound.

  A dull murmur rose up from the undulating mass, senseless and wordless. A low, rattling moan, like an asthmatic breath dragged through throats choking on phlegm. The disturbing sound would instinctively raise hairs on the necks of the unsuspecting… and strike terror in the hearts of those who recognized its portent.

  Revenants. Man-shaped creatures spawned from scraps of human flesh and bone, grown like witch-weed in a soupy morass of soil, magus powder, and the putrefying offal of both man and beast. Not entirely living, not entirely dead, but rather soulless hulks with a rapacious hunger for live flesh. And despite their current moribund state, when loosed from their pack, they moved with the speed of striking serpents—and the carnivorous ferocity of a lyrant taking down its prey.

  They were the perfect weapon. Animated by the darkest of Dark magic, the creatures were all but indestructible. They had no hearts to pierce, no lungs to rob of breath, no veins to drain of blood. Instead, like great, gruesome sponges, they thrived by absorbing the blood and dissolved flesh of their victims. Both their outer skin and the lining of the long digestive tube that coiled from maw to waste duct exuded a corrosive enzyme that liquefied flesh and bone on contact, then soaked up the resulting nutrient-rich goo and shuttled it inward to the rest of the creatures’ ever-hungry bodies. On a battlefield, where revenants could gorge and wade through swamps of slain men, even dismemberment only served to multiply their numbers, for a revenant limb separated from its host needed only a soaking of fresh blood to grow again.

  Their only thoughts—encoded into every cell of their ravening beings—were to feed and kill… and to serve the Elden Mages who held their leashes.

  “How many have you grown now?” Vadim asked.

  “Three million two hundred thousand, Most High,” Grule answered. “Stored cold, kept hungry. When you unleash them, nothing living will long stand in their path.”

  Three million two hundred thousand. A force like none this world had ever seen, exceeding even the wildest accounts of the mythic Army of Darkness.

  “Excellent.” The Celierian king had gathere
d his allies at Kreppes. Vadim’s eyes along the border had provided daily reports of their preparations for war, but their efforts would be for naught. Celieria would belong to Eld before the new moons rose on the thirteenth night of Seledos—and after that, the Fading Lands. “You have done well, Grule. You are a Mage worthy of his jewels.” He cast a final, gleaming gaze over the revenant pits. “Prepare them for transport.”

  Celieria ~ Kreppes

  30th day of Verados

  A knock sounded on Rain and Ellysetta’s suite door. When Gil went to answer it, no one was more surprised than Ellysetta to find Great Lord Dervas Sebourne on the other side. The warriors of her quintet went instantly stone-faced, as did Rain, when Gil ushered the Celierian Great Lord inside the room.

  “Lord Sebourne,” Rain greeted with wary stiffness.

  “Feyreisen.” Sebourne’s voice was equally crisp. “I’ll be brief. The king may have decided to overlook your lies and manipulations, but I have not. So do not think my return signals anything to the contrary. For now, I have no choice but to set aside my personal feelings and accept you as a member of this alliance, but when this war is over, I intend to lead the Council of Lords to eliminate Fey interference in all walks of Celierian life. And be warned, war or no war, if I discover you or any of your Fey are using magic to influence or invade mortal minds, I will be the first to call for your execution. Have a pleasant evening.”

  He gave a curt nod and stalked out.

  Ellysetta gaped after him. She turned to Rain, shaking her head. “Did he really just come in here and threaten you?”

  “It seems that he did, shei’tani.” Rain’s hands dropped to the hilts of the meicha scimitars at his hips, and his eyes narrowed on the closed door Great Lord Sebourne had just exited.

  In the hallway, Dervas Sebourne dropped a small white stone into the brass wall sconce beside the Feyreisen’s suite door before walking briskly back to his own rooms.

  Ellysetta was still marveling over Lord Sebourne’s inexplicable visit when a loud sound, like the rolling of thunder in the distance, broke the night’s silence. She forgot Sebourne’s aggressive intrusion in an instant. A bright smile broke across her face.

  “They’re here!” she cried. “They’ve come! The pride has come!”

  Rain was already heading for the door. Together, with Ellysetta’s primary quintet ringed around them, they raced out of the fortress and through the outer gate to greet the approaching tairen.

  “Steli! I’ve missed you so!”

  The great, snow-white tairen lowered her head and purred contentedly, blue eyes whirling sky-bright, as Ellysetta flung herself against Steli’s neck and stroked the thick, soft fur.

  Two other tairen, Xisanna and Perahl, had flown with her from Orest. Rijonn, the Earth master of Ellysetta’s quintet, had fashioned a lair for them in the side of one of the newly heightened hills near Kreppes. Small by tairen standards, the lair was nearly as large as all of Kreppes. Rain, Ellysetta, and the tairen fit inside with enough room to move freely about.

  «Steli missed Ellysetta-kitling, too. Human city not so fun without you. Too much prey-scent, but Fey-kin says not to eat. Makes Steli…» An image of a snarling, slavering tairen filled Ellysetta’s head.

  “I’m sorry we had to leave you, Steli, but thank you for staying behind to look after Orest for us.”

  «Mrr… scratch there. So good.» The tairen’s purring grew so loud the soil around her began to vibrate. Gleaming ivory claws sank into the dirt, and the great cat’s sleek tail thumped the ground, raising clouds of dust.

  “Why did you leave, Orest, Steli-chakai?” Rain asked.

  She cocked her head to one side. «Rainier-Eras and Ellysetta-kitling are here, not there.» Her tone made it clear she thought the answer should have been obvious to even the thickest skull.

  Ellysetta smothered a laugh. The tairen were in a mood for mischief.

  Rain sighed. “And if the Army of Darkness does indeed strike here, as we believe, we will be grateful for your presence, but Orest was still under attack when we left. Which tairen will speak to Lord Teleos on behalf of the pride now that you are gone?” Tairen did not, as a rule, speak to humans. They didn’t speak to Fey either, except for the Tairen Souls. They considered it beneath their dignity. Steli had only agreed to do it because Rain asked her to.

  «Ah.» Steli’s nose twitched. «Fahreeta talks.»

  Xisanna snorted. «Talks talks talks.»

  Huah. Huah. Perahl and Steli chuffed with tairen laughter.

  “You’re telling me Fahreeta agreed to stay behind and speak with Lord Teleos on behalf of the pride?” Fahreeta was a proud, preening beauty, the last tairen Ellysetta could imagine lowering herself enough to talk to a human, not even one with as much Fey blood in his lineage as Dev Teleos. “I can’t believe it.”

  «Mmm,» Steli confirmed. «Fey-kin tells Fahreeta she so pretty, so brave, sooooo beautiful. Fahreeta likes the Fey-kin now. Says she and Torasul will stay, and she will talk to the Fey-kin. She even lets the Fey-kin pet her fur and purrs to him all the time.» Blue eyes gleamed with sly humor. «To-rasul likes the Fey-kin not so much.»

  “Oh dear,” Ellysetta said. She didn’t need the perfectly rendered picture of one very large, very cranky Torasul to know what that meant.

  Fahreeta was a flirt of tairen proportions. Sleek and beautiful and well aware of it. Her mate, Torasul, had more than a tairen’s supply of patience—which was good, else his mate’s constant teasing would drive him mad—but, as the Water master Loris v’En Mahr occasionally reminded his own whirlwind of a mate, even the vastest of seas eventually broke upon the shore.

  «Not worry. Steli warned the Fey-kin not to pet Fahreeta so much else maybe Torasul decide the Fey-kin looks tasty-tasty.» She snickered and sang an image of Dev Teleos’s face as Steli explained that Fahreeta’s mate might eat him in a fit of tairen jealousy.

  Rain frowned in concern. “Lord Teleos does not understand pride ways. Perhaps I should sing to Sybharukai and ask her to send other tairen to Orest,” he suggested. “Just in case Torasul loses his temper.”

  Huah Huah. The other two tairen fell on the lair floor, rolling on their backs, their great bodies shaking with laughter. The bright, vivid tones of tairen speech filled the lair, so richly vibrant the sounds actually shimmered gold and silver in the air. «This is a very good joke, Steli-chakai. Rainier-Eras so worried. He thinks Torasul will really eat the Fey-kin.» Tairen tails swirled and twined together, and large paws batted the air.

  “This is a joke?” Rain arched a brow and his arms crossed over his chest. “You are joking?”

  Huahuahuahuah. Steli’s eyes squeezed shut, and her head bobbed up and down as wheezing snickers escaped through her nose. «So good joke. So good.»

  Ellysetta clapped a hand over her mouth to hide her rapidly widening grin. “Oh, you wicked cat!” she exclaimed, then ruined the scold with an irrepressible laugh.

  «You need to move now, shei’tani.» The command, sent on tight weave of Spirit, came with a tug of Air that pulled her away from Steli’s side.

  As soon as she was clear, Rain sprang. The sparkling gray mist of the Change billowed out.

  “Mraawwrrr!” Steli squawked and tried to scramble away, but she couldn’t move quickly enough to avoid Rain’s pounce.

  Black and white tairen, limbs tangled, wings tucked tight against their bodies, rolled across the floor of the small lair, wrestling for supremacy. The other two tairen, still laughing, scooted to one side and watched with eager amusement, occasionally dodging to miss a flailing limb or tail as necessary.

  Finally, Rain had Steli pinned, his fangs clamped around the back of her neck. Instantly, he released her, roared his victory, then padded over to Ellysetta’s side, chuffing and blowing smoke in smug triumph. Steli hopped to her feet, sniffed, and went off to a corner of the lair to groom her ruffled fur.

  «So what is the truth of the matter, Steli-chakai?» Rain asked. «Did Fahreeta truly agree to speak wi
th Lord Teleos for the pride?»

  «Oh, yes. And the Fey-kin did tell Fahreeta she so beautiful. And he did pet, and she does purr. But Torasul not jealous. Jealous of two-leg? Even Fey-kin?» She snorted and shook her head, clearly finding the entire idea absurd.

  Abruptly, Steli’s mouth opened wide, fangs gleaming, pink tongue curling in an enormous yawn. «Steli is tired. Long flight from Orest. Needs sleep. Rainier-Eras and Ellysetta-kitling stay with the pride.»

  It was less a question than a command from the First Blade of the Fey’Bahren pride, and Rain agreed.

  «Aiyah, Steli-chakai. We will stay with the pride.»

  In Fey’Bahren, the tairen frequently slept apart from one another, but here, in this new lair that had no volcanic heart to warm its stones, they piled together in a nest of fur, wings, and limbs, sharing body heat and the comfort of the pride. At the center of the nest, sandwiched on a bed of soft fur between Steli and Rain, Ellysetta slept, too, and even without Lord Galad’s Sentinel blooms, she only dreamed good, happy tairen dreams of hunting and flying and life enveloped by the tight-knit love and security of the pride.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Eld ~ Boura Fell

  1st day of Seledos

  Shrouded in the luxurious folds of his purple robe of office, High Mage Vadim Maur sat on the imposing throne of Eld, his body cradled in the cupped black hands of Seledorn, Lord of Shadows, whose colossal body, graven in sel’dor ore, towered over him like the vengeful god he was. Massive black dragon wings, the carved stone polished to a glossy sheen, soared up from the god’s back and curved forward to form a great, dark protective dome over the Mage’s throne. The symbolism of the throne was clear: Seledorn cradled the High Mage in his hands and sheltered him in the haven of the god’s divine might.

  The sentiment was one in need of reinforcement. Vadim’s spies in the Council and the Mage Halls had carried back the whispers that had begun to circulate among the Mages in the days since his incarnation. As gifted a Mage as Nour had been, there were a handful of others who possessed a greater command of Azrahn, and with Vadim now inhabiting Nour’s body, those Mages had begun planning to overthrow him.