by Ben Hale
The last swung his arm, attempting to bat the hovering weapon aside. It shattered, the shards turning into a dozen smaller weapons that leapt forward, pressing against the dakorian’s throat. His eyes widened in shock and confusion and he leaned away from the shards hovering a hairsbreadth from his vulnerable neck.
Tardoq and Belrisa crashed through the wall Gate. Both were bloodied, but Tardoq had suffered the worst of the damage. Belrisa took the room at a glance, her eyes narrowing in anger before she kicked Tardoq in the chest, knocking him into the wall. He swung his sword but she caught the weapon against her hammer and twisted, driving the blade against Tardoq’s own throat. Also trapped against the wall, Tardoq growled, his muscles bulging as he tried to push Belrisa away. But the sword inched closer to his jugular.
“Stop!” Mind shouted.
“You would spare this dakorian’s life?” Belrisa snarled. “Do you have any idea how many humans he has killed?”
She used her chin to point at one of her companions, and the man shouted at the vid screen. It glowed to life, filling the wall, but instead of displaying battles in the Bone Crucible, it showed Tardoq.
He stood over a pair of dead human slaves, growling at other humans cowered in the corner of the room. He pointed his hammer to one and they fled, all except a woman, who tried to reach the two bodies.
“You are all the same,” Tardoq sneered, and swung his hammer.
Mind grimaced and turned away, but the image shifted to another scene, where Tardoq killed a man because he would not leave his child. Another image. Another death. The images filled the room, spilling rage in Mind’s gut.
“Enough!” he snarled.
“I know his kind,” Belrisa roared. “Because I was his kind. He will kill any who oppose the Empire. He would kill me and you, every slave and dakorian that defied him.”
“No.”
Tardoq’s voice was broken, drawing all eyes to him. He stared at the screen, his features twisted in the agony of regret. Shocked by the expression, Belrisa retreated, but Tardoq crumpled on the wall. Every wound he’d endured did not compare to what the vid showed. Actual tears formed in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes settling on Mind. “For everything that I have done.”
“Tardoq,” Ero said softly. “That’s not you anymore.”
“But it was,” Tardoq spoke with sudden vehemence, and his sword fell from his fingers. “What you see is a fraction of the blood on my hands.”
Mind shook his head. “And yet I trust you, just as Queen Rynda does.”
He grimaced and looked away, and Belrisa shook her head. “Who is this queen you speak of?”
“A member of a race called rock trolls,” Ero said.
“She has the highest caliber of anyone I have ever met,” Tardoq said.
Belrisa made a motion and the vid ended. In the ensuing silence, Belrisa shifted to regard Mind, who suddenly realized he still held the other dakorians pinned against the wall. He swept his hands wide and the lethal shards turned aside from their lethal positions and swirled to him. They merged together, binding into a spear in his hand.
“You speak the truth,” Belrisa marveled. “Magic exists?”
“It does,” Ero said.
Her eyes flicked to him. “Then Lumineia is real?”
“It is,” he replied.
Belrisa released a long breath. To Mind’s surprise, she reached down and offered her hand to Tardoq. He stared at her and shook his head.
“I am not worthy.”
“Neither am I.”
Her soft response conveyed a wealth of pain, a reminder that she too, had killed in the name of the Empire. Tardoq regarded her for a long moment and then accepted her hand. She pulled him to his feet.
“Belrisa?” one of the dakorians asked, rubbing his throat, where a shard of glass had cut a shallow line.
“Prepare our departure,” she said, jerking her head at the wall gate. “Someone will have heard the conflict. They will come to investigate.”
The four dakorians nodded in unison, and departed through the wall Gate. On the other side, Mind spotted them erecting a portable Gate. The two humans remained, and Belrisa pointed to them.
“This is Merana and Drogil, descendants of a woman named Quin, the woman that taught me what it meant to be a protector. She had more dignity than any royal.”
“I learned on Lumineia,” Tardoq said. “We called them slaves, but the more time I spent with them, the more I learned their caliber.”
“I am sorry,” Belrisa said, and then grimaced. “For ages I have lived in caution, and it seems that caution has made me blind against true allies.”
“The guards have been summoned,” the human said, cocking his head to the side as if he were listening. “We must hasten.”
She nodded and pointed to the wall Gate. “If you wish to speak further, we should go. House Torn’Ent likes to punish guests that damage rooms by putting them into the Crucible.”
Mind and Ero exchanged a look, and then followed her from the room. They passed through the wall Gate and into the room beyond. It too had been destroyed by the duel between Belrisa and Tardoq, the walls scorched, the furniture broken and scattered. One balcony had broken, and wind whistled into the interior. A small Gate had been erected in the corner of the room, and the dakorians activated it. One by one they departed, and just as Mind stepped to the Gate a crash echoed in their own quarters. Mind looked back to see several dakorians rushing the room. They caught sight of the wall gate and sprinted to it, but Belrisa tossed a small pulsing object to the Gate. It detonated against the wall, destroying the wall Gate. Belrisa activated another small pulsing sphere and dropped it at their feet. Then she stepped through the Gate. Mind didn’t need to be invited, and stepped into the unknown.
The opposite side proved to be lower in the same structure. Mind looked out the window and upward, where he spotted their previous quarters. Both their and Belrisa’s chambers were in ruins, smoke billowing as guards searched the interior, attempting to find the occupants. Mind grunted in approval. Belrisa had planned her escape with care before setting foot into the room, and her tactical mind was one to be admired.
Belrisa motioned to her soldiers who were setting up a new Gate. “It won’t take them long to figure out where we went. By then, we’ll have departed from this world. You have until then to tell me of Lumineia, and why you think I would help.”
Chapter 25: Rebirth
Draeken watched as Serak assembled the pieces of the Dark Gate. The stone fragments had shattered from Queen Erisay’s magic, and the powerful artifact had been reduced to rubble. As Serak labored, the pieces rose and shifted. Serak had feverishly worked to reassemble the broken arch, and the two sides were now whole, only the curve and keystone still absent.
“This is taking too long,” Draeken said.
“It must be perfect,” Serak said wearily. “I’m rebuilding a mechanism that transports objects through the stars. One error could be catastrophic.”
“Why aren’t we just using another Gate?” Draeken asked. “The Eternals certainly have access to Gates, and I was even a member.”
“Do you have the keys to their halls?” Serak asked.
Draeken frowned and struggled to recall where he’d placed the keys. He remembered possessing the two keys, and then they were absent. Why could he not remember? It was maddening, as if the memory had been taken.
Serak grunted in understanding. “We cannot access their Gates without keys, and so we must rebuild.”
Draeken scowled, disliking his tone. Ever since the battle at Xshaltheria, Serak had been withdrawn and taciturn, bordering on sullen. He’d immediately set to rebuilding the Dark Gate but he spoke little, and Draeken knew Serak did not agree with his actions at the battle.
They’d moved the pieces of the Dark Gate deep into the fortress so it would not be so easily attacked. The chamber Draeken had chosen hung at the extreme base of the citadel, beneath the vent that
rose through the structure.
Fifty feet across, the circular floor of the chamber lacked walls or railings. Another fifty feet from the edge, the wall of the chamber stretched to the ceiling high above, where the vent extended through the heart of the fortress. The platform hung from invisible chains fashioned of heat.
Draeken walked to the edge and reached into the plume of sulfuric air rising from the magma. The air rose up the wall and curved into the central shaft that pierced the fortress from bottom to top, where the air vented into the sky.
The entrance to the chamber was high on the wall. Stairs of fire extended from the entrance corridor and bridged the gap. If an attacker sought to reach the platform, the stairs could be extinguished, leaving them to fall into the magma below.
Draeken turned and strode to the center of the platform, where the Gate was being erected. He looked upward, through the central shaft and to the dark sky. Then he turned to Serak, who sought to find a sliver for a crack in the stone. Serak sifted through the pile and then a sliver of rock rose and settled into place, the material melting and merging to become whole.
“Tell me your impression of the battle with the alliance,” Draeken said.
Serak glanced his way. “What do you wish to know?”
“It obviously did not go as intended.”
“I believe the alliance knows what they face,” Serak said. “And that was the primary purpose of the fiend army.”
Serak’s voice carried a tinge of rebuke, a reminder that the fiends were only supposed to intimidate the gathered force, not attack and kill them. It confirmed that Serak thought Draeken had erred in his sending the fiends into battle.
“When the Gate is restored, we will be able to bring the full fiend army through,” Draeken said. “Such a force possesses a single purpose, to conquer.”
“They may serve that purpose,” Serak said. “But they can also protect the people.”
“Only if that is my will,” Draeken said.
Serak glanced his way, and Draeken read the regret in his eyes. Serak was just beginning to see the truth, that he had brought Draeken into being, created him to become a master, but in so doing, he had relinquished control. Serak’s intention was not Draeken’s intention.
Draeken sensed a gulf between him and Serak, a subtle shift in their connection, and began to question if Serak needed to be killed. If Draeken continued on his current course, the day might come that Serak became a foe. Draeken faced the Gate, recognizing that only Serak could assemble the mechanism. Draeken still needed Serak. For now.
A hurried set of footsteps approached in the entrance corridor, and Draeken turned as Zoric appeared. He’d obviously rushed to arrive, because his clothes were still muddy from the road, and he hurried down the fire steps to reach the platform.
“Master Draeken,” he said. “I bring news. Bartoth and I went to the Melting but the Hauntress was already present with Shadow and others. They managed to stop us from obtaining Mimic.” His features contracted, the grief and anger tightening his muscles.
Draeken frowned. “Where is my fourth general?”
Zoric grimaced. “Bartoth managed to give Mimic the cloak, but Shadow dropped her into the acid beneath the prison.” Zoric hesitated, and then said. “She is dead.”
“Where’s your father?” Serak asked.
Zoric’s features hardened. “Sentara killed him.”
“Zenif is dead?” Serak spoke with uncharacteristic force, drawing Draeken’s gaze.
“You worry more for Zenif than Mimic? We needed her.”
Draeken passed a hand over his face and then stabbed a hand to Zoric. “With your father dead, I will need your aid to complete the Dark Gate.”
“Mine?” Zoric asked, clearly surprised.
Draeken scowled. “What do we do about Mimic?”
“If she became the fourth general, she is not dead,” Serak said.
“I saw her fall into a lake of boiling acid,” Zoric said. “No one could survive.”
Serak straightened, his features clouding with anger. “Stand forth and do as I command.”
Zoric flushed and advanced, mumbling an apology. Serak directed Zoric to stand at the center of the arch, and to use his magesight to search for tiny purple threads connecting the Gate pieces. Draeken reluctantly retreated, disliking Serak’s forceful demeanor. Was he hiding something?
“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” Zoric said.
“Gate energy is a magic of the mind,” Serak said. “Only special tools used by the Krey Empire—or a mind mage—can see this type of power. Your father helped me build the Gate in the first place, and you’re going to help me finish it now.”
“I possess mind magic,” Draeken said.
Serak hesitated, and in that moment Draeken made his choice. Serak could not remain. Then Serak pointed to the other side of the Gate, directing him to stand opposite Zoric. Draeken took his place, careful to keep his decision from showing on his features.
“As I move the stones into place, make sure the threads all point into the center,” Serak said. “It should look like a spiderweb, with all the threads converging.”
“I see it,” Zoric said.
Draeken blinked into his mage sight and squinted, the chamber turning into swirls of colors. Mages could only see the energies to which they were attuned, so he saw the magic of light and shadow, as well as fire and mind. He’d gained only a touch of water magic when separating from the fragments, but there wasn’t much moisture in the room. As he examined the partially assembled Gate, he noticed faint lines of purple light connecting the outer arch to a central point.
“Is this how every Gate looks?” he asked.
“I cannot see it,” Serak said, “but I would assume that to be true.”
There was a touch of evasiveness in Serak’s tone, and again Draeken felt like Serak withheld the truth. But when their eyes met Serak’s expression was earnest, and Draeken was not certain if it was just his imagination.
“As I assemble the stones, make sure the threads do not cross,” Serak said. “It is imperative they all connect together into a single web.”
They set to work, with Draeken and Zoric guiding Serak where to place stones. Many of the already placed sections needed to be shifted, and the painstaking effort quickly grew tiresome. Piece by broken piece, the arch continued to rise.
The hours passed, but Draeken and Serak did not require food. Both were impatient, and although Zoric grew fatigued, they pushed forward. Gradually the top of the arch came together, the pile of pieces at the base quickly shrinking.
As the last pieces lifted off the ground and socketed into place, the web of Gate energy seemed to sparkle, as if it sensed the completion of the arch. After a day and a half of continuous effort, the last piece lifted and slid home the stone merging over the cracks.
“It is done,” Zoric breathed.
The man teetered on his feet, his eyes drooping, his face drawn. Irritated, Draeken motioned in dismissal and he stumbled to the stairs, where he sat and stared at the Gate.
“Will it work?” Draeken asked.
In answer, Serak reached for the runes embedded on the sides of the arch and pressed the largest. Silver liquid flowed from the sides, filling the interior and covering the threads Draeken had helped place. It shimmered once, and then went still. Draeken’s eyes glowed with triumph as the Dark Gate became whole once again.
A small figure appeared in the silvery liquid, stepping into view and looking about with interest. Draeken resisted the urge to recoil from her appearance, even as he contained his rising anticipation.
Her skin was mottled and diseased, her flesh covered in sores. Her eyes were sunken, enhancing the force to her gaze. A tattered cloak hung about her shoulder, much of it burned, as if by acid.
“Mimic?” Zoric called, lurching to his feet.
She looked to him, and he crumpled to the floor, retching and gasping, his skin turning a shade of green. Delighted with the woman�
�s newfound power, Draeken began to laugh, the sound tinged with pride.
“She is every whit as powerful as you promised,” Draeken said.
Serak made a motion to Mimic. “Enough. There is no need to kill our own.”
Mimic didn’t move, but Zoric sucked in a breath and gained enough strength to retreat. Draeken motioned in dismissal and the mind mage gladly fled, retreating up the stairs into the fortress.
“What am I?” Mimic asked evenly.
“You are the general of Plague,” Draeken said. “And from this day forth, arrows and swords cannot harm your body. The disease that ravaged your body in life now grants you this power, to destroy with a look, until your prey withers to aching sickness in your very presence.”
“I thought I perished in the acid,” Mimic raised a hand and examined her flesh. “Then I found myself in a endless cloud, and heard a mighty voice in my thoughts.”
“As you died the Gate pulled you back to Kelindor,” Serak said, glancing to Draeken. “Only a direct opposite magic could permanently kill you now.”
Mimic faced Draeken. “And I am to serve you.” A statement, not a question.
“You have always wanted to destroy,” Draeken said and pointed west, towards the allied lands. “Go, and wreak havoc on the people.”
She regarded him with unblinking eyes, her disconcerting gaze only bringing more delight to Draeken. Aside from Bartoth, she was the most dangerous of the four generals, and was nearly impervious to any damage. But because she’d been made using the cloak, her will belonged to him.
“I sought healing my whole life,” Mimic said quietly. “I never considered that my fate was to become my disease.”
“Embrace your fate,” Draeken said. “And destroy your foes.”