“Correct. They can’t do it within the city. They won’t do it at the palace. The king is mad, and his generals are too spineless to stand up against him, but they know better than to open a gateway to Gehenna in the middle of a residential district. Not to mention the lack of space within an occupied city and Enimura’s narrow streets.”
“They’ll also need power,” Xavier mused.
“They have the Legacies. What other power do they need?” Misery laced her voice and guilt anchored her shoulders with cast iron weight, no matter how upbeat she wanted to be for her friend and her mate.
“Those are merely keys,” Xavier explained. “The ritual provides the power, but such magic is amplified if the ritual is done in a place designed to enhance it. That’s why wizards draw elaborate circles for their major workings.”
“The wizard tower hasn’t been defeated yet, so where else might they go to open the blasted thing?”
“Old Enimura.”
Rosalia blinked up at him. “But it’s been deserted for centuries, ever since the king established the new city and the Moritta left to establish a home in the volcano. That place is ancient.” Then understanding dawned and the realization clicked. “Their whole village in the desert tingled with magic, so it would make sense their old home here would have the same feeling.”
“Yes. I've felt it when scouring the ruins for herbs and buried trinkets. It’s the only place that makes sense without traveling a great distance. And he won’t do that. They wouldn’t want to give us a chance to reclaim the gems.”
“About that…I hadn’t said anything because I wasn’t entirely certain I wasn’t losing my mind, but when I gave the gemstones to Lacherra, something told me to do it. One of the gems spoke to me, and it felt as if the words had come from Moritan himself.”
“Perhaps he did speak with you again,” Xavier mused, rubbing his chin. “The Legacies are each a small portion of divine essence, and they’re connected to their hosts. It could be that this was ultimately the plan all along—for the enemy to regain them.”
“Yes!” Her excitement quickly fizzled away, slumping her shoulders once again. “They’ve had them for hours now. It might be too late already.”
“It is not,” Xavier assured her. “If they’d brought demons through to our world, we’d know it. But it will be soon, during the blue moon I’d wager. They’ll want to perform the ceremony at twilight when both sun and moon illuminate the sky. That is the best time to pierce the veil between planes.”
“That’s tomorrow night. We’ll never be able to steal them back in time.”
“Then we have to disrupt the ritual. It’s the only way. And for that, we need a plan.”
16
The Plan
With the bulk of the army still attacking the wizards, only the royal contingent stood guard around the old ruins. Xavier’s hunch had proven correct, not that Rosalia had ever doubted him. She crept among the shadows, flitting from one crumbling building to the next. The cold night breeze carried the scent of the wild blossoms that carpeted the surrounding desert like a blanket. They had bloomed that morning, thousands of pink and violet flowers, as if the world itself were trying to fight the coming darkness with beauty.
The deeper into the ruins they went, the further her heart fell. Too many guards roamed the area for them to remain undetected for long, and even with a dragon, they were vastly outnumbered.
Stick with the plan, Rosalia told herself. She had to have faith if the plan was to succeed.
“There,” Xavier whispered, his lips close to her ear. With a careful gesture of his hand, he directed her attention between a crack in the wall to the courtyard beyond.
Someone had set the hand mirror atop the crumbling structure of an old marble pillar beside a fountain. The Legacies sparkled in the frame and gave the metallic setting an eerie sheen. Their replacement into the once-empty sockets gave the mirror an entirely different look than what Rosalia remembered. Fat candles dripping wax burned on the lower tiers while a dozen torches had been spaced out in a perfect circle.
“Could you knock the mirror over?” she asked, equally as quiet. “Shatter the mirror and they can’t open the gate.”
He shook his head. “Merely shattering the mirror isn’t enough to disable it. It mends itself. Besides, we’d be fools to believe it isn’t protected somehow.”
“Fools indeed,” an oily voice whispered from the darkness.
Cold steel touched Rosalia’s throat a split-second after the man spoke. Beside her, Xavier stiffened, only to rise and face several swords pointing at his chest as guards appeared from a blanket of obfuscating magic. The layers of the spell fell from them like shed water. At the forefront stood Lacherra and the wicked spymaster.
“Don’t move,” Lacherra hissed sharply to Xavier the moment his eyes gleamed green. “Don’t even consider transforming. Twitch a single finger, show one claw, and I’ll remove her head in front of you. Test me if you wish.”
Rosalia had never known she could feel so much loathing as she did for them.
“Well done. It would seem you were correct about the weredragon as well. When you suggested it was Bane, I thought surely you were joking…but then my pets returned and verified your claims. What a delight to at last have him in my possession,” Caius purred.
“Told you they’d show,” Lacherra replied, grinning.
“So you did. They’ll make the perfect offering to our new friends.” The spymaster turned and started toward the courtyard, calling back, “Bring them.”
As the guards pushed her and Xavier forward, Lacherra fell back a step and leaned in slightly, her voice low. “You should have stayed away, girl.”
They brought them as far as the torches before stopping, two guards for each of them with a third holding a sword at their backs. It was over. They’d been caught before they could do anything.
And it was perfect. The guards had brought them precisely to where they had needed to be. Something told her they didn’t realize that Xavier’s blood could not only seal but also destroy the mirror and unravel its dark magic.
Rosalia didn’t know how long the pair had been listening, but she suspected they had heard everything she and Xavier rehearsed prior to reaching the old ruins. They were one step closer to their goal, and would have never made it if they’d charged down to the mirror.
Their enemies, cocky and arrogant as ever, escorted them quite peacefully to their destination.
Gregarus didn’t so much as glance at them. His gaze remained fastened on the spymaster, a dark-haired man of less-than-average stature whom Rosalia would have never seen as a threat at any other time. He moved to the circle where a leather-bound tome awaited him, propped against another pillar.
It floated in the air at his caress, and pages turned until it reached the middle. He spoke in a language that was unfamiliar to Rosalia’s ears. The harsh and guttural tongue competed with the sound of a knife scraping bone, and she couldn’t help but cringe. At last, a beam of moonlight passed over the mirror and joined the final golden rays of the sun. They melted into a purple light and flared across the mirror’s dulled surface. A rainbow of colors rippled across the once-hazy glass then spread beyond it, seeming to rip the empty air until the fountain itself vanished and only a portal remained.
Unable to shield her eyes, Rosalia squinted and turned her face away briefly, until the stars in her vision faded. Movement caught her attention in the sky at the edge of her vision. When she sought the source of it, she saw the silhouette of a desert eagle landing on a high stone ledge above the open courtyard.
The Moritta had arrived, and not a moment too soon. Thankfully, Xavier and Rosalia had distracted their captors.
When she looked back, the light had dimmed and a strange, scintillating void wavered beyond the portal. It wasn’t what she’d expected, no brimstone or fire to be seen, only an endless, misty abyss. Something about it felt welcoming, almost as if it were calling her. Beside her, Xavier appeare
d equally affected, leaning forward against his captor’s grip, his gaze focused on the portal.
While the spymaster continued his chant, the mists darkened and thickened until smoke curled beyond the portal. The hazy, opalescent colors took on a darker hue lit with an umber glow, until the image beyond shifted to a desolate wasteland of stone and ashen rock.
The first creature that emerged from the abyss was unlike anything Rosalia had ever seen before. It was a mass of writhing limbs, skin as dark as the void it clawed free of, flecked virulent green and yet translucent in a manner that allowed them the glimpse of what lay beneath. A spider web of red-hot, ember-bright veins glowed visibly to the naked eye, thrumming in a rapid tempo that must have matched the beast’s pulse.
Gregarus finally ended his chant, raising his arms proudly as if to beckon the beast toward him.
It dug spindly clawed fingers into the ground before tipping back its head and releasing a feral scream, jaw unhinging as it bellowed victoriously at the sky. Agony spiked through Rosalia’s skull, and Xavier cringed beside her. If it hurt her ears, it must have been torture for his exceptional weredragon hearing.
“You called to us,” it hissed in a speech that was strangely recognizable despite the monster’s origins. “You freed us. You have kept your bargain, mortal king, and proven you are a man of your word.”
Rosalia did not know what to expect of a creature that had literally crawled out of one of the deepest and darkest hells of Gehenna, but what it did still managed to shake her to the core. Several moments passed before she realized the creature had grown one arm, elongating the limb into a sort of fleshy spear, and plunged the horned tip into the king’s chest.
Gregarus’s wide-eyed surprise provided no satisfaction. Not the way Rosalia wanted.
He’d made a deal with demons. And they had given him precisely what could be expected.
“Our dark prince sends his regards. We follow only his will, and he recognizes only the wizard.”
Raising the king above its head, the clawed tip protruded from the dying monarch’s back as he choked on his blood, surprise and terror etched on his face. Its triumphant roar shook the very ground. Their stone surroundings trembled, and men shouted out in dismay and horror.
Bile rose in Rosalia’s throat and icy dread slithered down her spine.
At last, the beast discarded Gregarus and tossed him aside. His heart remained in its four-fingered hand. Hot, sticky blood splattered the sand and cracked stone.
And then the rift tore open even further, as if fueled by the violence of the deed, and dozens more demons spilled into their world.
17
Secret Gateway
It went precisely as Xavier feared it would. Demons were not to be trusted, for they were demons after all, and not particularly well known for their honesty and loyalty.
The king’s personal bodyguard flew into action, though his sword proved incapable of even cleaving the demon’s hard exoskeleton. It grinned, toothy and wild, eyes gleaming bright.
“Your weapons are not made for us,” it hissed, batting the armored warrior aside.
“Don’t just stand there, Caius! Save him!”
The dark wizard laughed and stepped backwards. “And why would I want to do that when my friends have gone through the trouble of eliminating this royal pain for me? Never again will I bend to his threats and childish tantrums.”
In a grisly act of defiance, the demon raised the king’s heart to its gore-flecked maw and took a sloppy bite. Most of the guards holding Rosalia and Xavier released them to charge forward into the fray, but even more of the abyssal beings were crawling from the rift.
With the foul denizens of Gehenna came absolute chaos and screams of terror from hardened royal guards. Creatures of varying sizes emerged from the void, as if drawn by the call of fresh blood.
Xavier didn’t give the remaining royal guards a chance to regain their nerves. He jerked free from their loosened hold and released a pulse of magic that sent two men stumbling backward. As he did, Rosalia had dispatched one of her guards and grappled with a second. A dark shape dashed over and took the man down screaming, leaving a messy spray of blood across his love’s startled face.
“Rosalia, run!”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her aside before another demon could reach out and grab her. Rosalia shook off her stupor and steered them both toward the shelter of the nearest crumbling building, only to slide to a stop when a massive demon stepped into their path. It opened it massive maw wide, jagged teeth gleaming. A quick dodge to the left allowed them to avoid a glob of caustic acid, but it hit the royal guard behind them and immediately burned through his armor and his skin. He fell to the ground shrieking, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing Xavier could do for him.
He pulled Rosalia out of sight around a corner, chest heaving. It was now royal guards against demons, a wizard, and an assassin.
“We have to get to the mirror again. If I could just get my hands on it, I can reverse the magic and close the rift.”
“But how? It’s teeming with demons and that…that traitor is there.”
“Both traitors are there. I don’t know what we can do, but I have to try something before we’re overrun and we lose all hope.”
As he glanced back toward the rift, an idea slowly took root that he struggled to mature from its fetal stages.
Rosalia was going to hate it.
They didn’t have a choice if they wanted to survive—if he wanted her to survive. At that very moment, Xavier realized he didn’t care if he survived the confrontation as long as Rosalia did. If she walked away alive and whole, the reward far outweighed the risk.
Besides, his draconic hide was likely to be a hundred times more durable than his tender elvish skin. That was all the nudge he needed to transform, bursting from his clothing in a shower of shredded linen and torn leather.
Within a second of assuming his larger, more powerful form, a whistling sound pierced the night sky, followed by the thwick of a hundred arrows thudding into flesh. Several demons slumped to the ground, each of them now resembling a pincushion. Xavier felt the first stirrings of hope mingled with amazement. Whatever the Moritta used to make their arrowheads, it sliced easily through the demonic flesh in a way the royal guards’ swords had not.
“The Moritta,” Rosalia whispered, awestruck. “They’re finally here.”
“I don’t know how they realized where we’d be, but I’m grateful for their arrival all the same.”
Rosalia darted forward and snatched a fallen arrow from the ground, followed by another. Her intent became clear when a smaller demon rushed around the corner and she jabbed the squat, rotund creature with the barbed tips. The demon shrieked and deflated until nothing was left but a flabby pile of flesh.
The arrows and weapons must have been blessed; it was the only conceivable conclusion Xavier could come to as the Moritta warriors washed onto the field in large numbers, with Ahrak leading the charge. Nothing about the way he sped across the battlefield betrayed that he’d been gravely wounded a week prior.
“Come, there is no time,” Isabis spoke from their right. He’d neither seen nor heard the woman approach. Rather than her colorful silks, she and her clansmen all wore clothing in muted shades of taupe and sand mimicking the desert around them.
“What are you suggesting?” Rosalia asked. “We can’t leave the gate open.”
“Exactly so. None of these have been the most powerful creatures imprisoned within Gehenna,” Isabis said. “These are but foot soldiers. The longer the portal remains open, the more powerful the beasts will become…until he arrives.”
A chill raced down Xavier’s spine, colder than death’s touch. The last thing they needed was for the prince of all demons to enter the realm. Without Arcadian to strike him down into Gehenna, they didn’t have a chance at survival.
“I may be able to close the gate, but I’ll need to be close and I’ll need to focus.”
“
Then we will give you whatever time we may.” Isabis called out in her native tongue and several hulking men emerged from the shadows, bows in hand. “They will go with you. Quickly now.”
Words of thanks sprang at the tip of his tongue, only to go unspoken as his gaze narrowed on a dim spark glowing in the distance. A twin pair of blistering infernos formed and expanded, two wraiths shrieking into existence. The ice banshee formed on their heels and approached as well. As they the three glided over the sand, two left glass flecks in their way, the other a frosted trail.
“Go!” Rosalia shouted to him.
“I can’t leave you.”
“You must,” Isabis said. “More than her depends on you tonight, Xavier. You must close the rift.”
Even as the trio of vengeful wraiths floated toward him, Rosalia and the warriors of the Moritta stood as his shields. He told himself that he wasn’t running away from battle, but into a greater one, as he faced an onslaught of demon opposition attempting to slow his progress.
None of the demons competed with his size, but they were powerful, swift, and strong. Worse, their bony hands drew blood whenever one raked over his tough hide. He fought his way through the legion tooth and claw. A pair scrambled onto his sides and thrust hooked appendages into his flesh in a vicious attempt to mount him and do more damage. He rolled across the desert floor and smashed them against stone relics of the ancient Moritta empire.
The buzzing of magic once again thrummed through the air, chasing across his skin like a static shock. Xavier couldn’t do more than spare a brief glance at the opening mage portal, too busy trying to keep a demon from sinking its teeth into his long neck. Then a dazzling lance of lightning blew the creature from his hide and sent it tumbling through the air.
“We’re here to help,” Bonare called in a strong voice. Two steps behind him, Enchantress Elora planted her staff against the ground and sent a shockwave tearing through the demon horde.
Diamond in the Rough: a Fantasy Romance (Daughter of Fortune Book 3) Page 12