by Ben Hale
Why do we hold the assault? Gorewrathian rumbled his displeasure.
“We attack at dawn,” Draeken said. “The alliance cannot stand against us, and I want them to see their destruction in the light of day.”
Your pride will be your undoing.
“Isn’t that what they say about dragons?” he retorted.
The dragon released a plume of flame, and Draeken smiled at his irritation. Draeken didn’t care what the beast thought. He may be the king of dragonkind, but he was still just an animal, and his vaunted strength did not compare with his own.
Draeken turned his mount away from the city and flew to a camp erected at the middle of the fiend army. Above the camp, Draeken slid off the beast and dropped toward the earth, flying on his own. He could feel Gorewrathian’s baleful gaze on his back. The dragon could strike, of course, but both knew the attempt would be lethal. Again, Draeken smiled, pleased that he could remind the mighty king of his inferiority. Draeken didn’t need the dragon to fly.
Draeken descended to the earth, the fiends stilling at his approach. He landed on a hill that had once held beautiful oak trees and flowers. Now the earth was rent, the trees fallen on their sides, their leaves and branches stripped bare. Zoric greeted him with a smile, but Draeken ignored him.
Draeken was surprised to find that he missed the trees. He’d always liked the forests, and decided that once he’d conquered the kingdoms, he could have the elves rebuild their forests, after they built him a seat of power.
He nodded to himself as his feet touched the ground, liking the idea of a mighty fortress. Not Xshaltheria, for that citadel reeked of sulfur, and Draeken had no love for ancient dwarven architecture. No, he needed a giant and spacious fortress. Perhaps one that floated above the earth, a constant reminder that his power exceeded that of the people. He could blend his magic with krey technology, ensuring none would ever dare to attempt an attack.
“We attack at dawn?” Zoric asked.
“We attack at dawn,” Draeken replied. “But you will stay here, out of the conflict.”
Zoric’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because your father is dead,” Draeken said. “And I don’t want to risk your loss. A mind mage will be useful in my new empire.”
Zoric inclined his head, obviously pleased that Draeken needed him. Alone, Draeken approached the summit of the hill and mentally summoned the four generals. Much like tugging on a string, he sensed their acknowledgement and response. Bartoth was nearest, and the armored rock troll ascended from the east. Raven and Mimic came next, their two forms approaching and coming to a halt beside Bartoth. Last to come, Gendor reluctantly appeared from the darkness.
Draeken frowned at Gendor’s continued resistance. The man had been a murderer, a killer of soldiers and innocents, a man who took lives for coin and ambition. Why did he resist Draeken’s will?
“My horsemen,” Draeken said. “You have ridden on the four winds, destroying the earth, preparing the region for my new reign. You have my gratitude for your loyalty.”
“We are grateful for the power you have granted,” the Raven said.
Draeken smiled at the pleasure in the woman’s voice. “After all you have endured, I believe it’s only fitting that you discard your old names. They represent your past lives, and you no longer need them.”
He advanced to Bartoth and looked up at the towering rock troll. He’d removed his helmet, revealing his tattooed features, and his savage smile. The troll may have failed in gathering Mimic, but Draeken believed that was because he’d tried to be subtle, and left his armor behind.
“You will never again remove your armor in battle,” Draeken said. “In time, the people will not even know you were a rock troll, and will simply know you as the general of War.”
He stepped to the next in line. The Raven hardly looked human anymore, her skin sunk against her bones, her features hollow, her body seemingly unable to stand on its own. Even Draeken could feel a touch of hunger at the proximity.
“Your ambition turned you into the essence of hunger,” Draeken said, “and so you will be known as Famine. By the end of this war, the people will remember you every time their harvest is slim and teach their children to flee at your return.”
The Raven smiled and accepted the new name, and Draeken advanced to Mimic. The woman looked diseased, her skin covered in sores and patches of purple and green. She regarded Draeken with dispassionate eyes.
“So much disease,” Draeken said. “It haunted you in life, and now it will haunt our foes. Your new name is Plague, the source of disease and infection. No blade can harm you. No magic can damage your flesh. On the morrow, you will ride across the battlefield and the soldiers will wither and die in your mere presence.”
“And your brothers?” she asked.
“Kill them,” Draeken said. “They are no part of me anymore.”
She smiled, and Draeken stepped in front of Gendor. The assassin held his gaze, his glowing red eyes somehow cold. Draeken chuckled at the resistance against his cloak. Gendor may not be on his side, but his sheer willpower was admirable.
“Why do you continue to resist me?” Draeken asked. “You are a killer. Is that not what you do for me?”
“My blade is mine,” Gendor said. “Even if you force me to strike in your name, that does not mean I belong to you.”
Draeken’s features hardened. “Tomorrow you will have the privilege of killing Elenyr.”
His red eyes pulsed, and Draeken smiled, sensing the truth to his assumption. The assassin had hoped Elenyr would find a way to free him from bondage. It might even be possible, given her history of aiding those in need. But not this time.
Draeken closed the gap, his voice turning to steel. “You will kill Elenyr tomorrow. When you set your gaze upon her, you will engage in a duel, and will not retreat until her body lies in pieces. If anyone gets in your way, you will kill them as well. Any soldier, any woman, any child, any king or fragment, you will kill anyone in your way to get to her.”
Gendor’s cloak shimmered as Draeken imposed his will, and Gendor glared at him, his red eyes pulsing in hatred. Draeken had considered his words with great care. Gendor would obey his command.
“You are the essence of Death,” Draeken said. “And when Elenyr dies, that will be your name forevermore. No one will remember Gendor, the once fallen assassin. But the people always remember Death. You will give voice to those fears.”
Gendor did not acknowledge the new name, by bowing his head or by speaking, but Draeken knew he would obey. The man may try to find loopholes in Draeken’s orders, but he could not outright disobey. The power of the cloak required absolute loyalty. By not bowing, he demonstrated his resistance.
Draeken retreated and examined his four new horsemen. They were men and women to be feared, beings of power, nigh impervious to any attack. Draeken imagined statues placed on the four corners of his fortress, each depicting the four horsemen.
Yet as Draeken regarded them, a touch of worry crept into his heart. His brothers had a way of victory. He’d seen it a thousand times in a thousand conflicts, and if anyone could destroy him and his generals, it was the fragments.
But how? The question nagged at his thoughts. How would Elenyr and the fragments stop such might? It seemed inconceivable, and yet the fragment of Mind had used cunning to defeat foes of great strength and power. Could they do it again?
Draeken chuckled to himself. His caution was prudent, but Draeken could not permit himself to fall to paranoia. He had a crushing army and power unmatched across Lumineia. And they possessed only the allied races and the weaker fragments.
His gaze settled on Death, and his eyes narrowed. “Have you seen any of the fragments?”
Compelled by the cloak, he answered, “Yes.”
The other three generals turned on him, and Plague growled. “When?”
Death remained silent until Draeken repeated the question. Then he said, “earlier this night.”
“Tell me everything you saw,” Draeken growled. “And tell me now.”
Death’s red eyes pulsed, and then he reluctantly said, “One departed west, alone. One went south with a single companion. One went east, with two companions. I did not see their identities.”
Draeken scowled, disliking the news. Three fragments had departed on the eve of the greatest battle in recorded history. Why? What could they hope to achieve in a single night? He barked an order and the four horsemen departed, leaving him alone. When they had left, Draeken growled and discarded his doubts. The fragments had been mighty only when they had possessed the fragment of Power. Now they were weak, and they sought a fool’s hope.
Draeken turned and surveyed the battlefield, and the bright city in the distance. Visible through the haze of smoke, the encased castle and the high aquaglass walls seemed to sparkle. One last battle, and then the kings were his. The dawn of his reign. The beginning of his empire.
Chapter 34: The Ancient Warrior
Mind leaned over the neck of Light’s wolfsteed, the animal devouring the miles. Midnight had passed hours ago but he urged the enchanted mount to greater efforts, rushing across the waving grass of eastern Talinor.
The steed glowed in the night and Mind scanned the sky, hoping Draeken did not appear. He guessed the fragment of Power would remain with his army, gloating over the impending kill. But if Draeken possessed a portion of Mind, that meant he was not bereft of strategy. Mind shifted the cloth he’d draped over the glowing mount, obscuring the bulk of the wolfsteed from view. But there was little he could do about the horse’s legs.
Mind leaned in, driving himself to greater efforts, pushing past the fatigue of the last several days. After three weeks languishing in the Krey Empire, he’d been thrust into the conflict without a moment’s rest.
As the predawn glow appeared on the horizon, he spotted Herosian. Rushing the flagging wolfsteed across the earth, he galloped straight to the eastern gates. He reached out with his magic and caught the distant thoughts of the guards left to care for the city, and ordered them to open the gates.
Responding as if the order had been spoken by an officer, the soldiers caught the handle of the mechanism that opened the door. As they spun the wheel, the long bars swung upward, and the doors opened. Mind raced through, not slowing as he rushed down the crowded streets.
Tents and other makeshift structures lined both sides of the street, housing the innumerable refugees from Griffin. Anyone able to fight had gone to Ilumidora, leaving those too young, old, or infirm. The older guards stood watch, offering aid to the overflowing inns.
Mind’s haste elicited a swell of noise, and he used his magic to send comfort to the people. The battle will begin at dawn, and we are prepared for Draeken’s invasion. Mind did not reveal the size of Draeken’s army, unwilling to stretch their tenuous hope.
Mind banked his steed down a street and turned into the wealthier rings of the city, closer to the castle. His destination loomed above the others, the spherical structure prominent among its neighboring shops. Mind raced to a stop and leapt from the saddle. He reached the door just as it opened.
“What’s wrong?” the older man demanded. “I could hear your mental shouts from a mile out.”
“Moren,” Mind greeted the man. “I need you and your daughter to come with me, right now.”
“Is this about the war?”
Moren turned and called back into the spherical building, shouting his daughter’s name. Above the door, a sign described the location as Requiem. Mind caught a glimpse of shelves of memory orbs, the glass spheres enchanted to contain memories. Well known for his magic, Moren and his daughter plied a thriving trade in Talinor, and used their skills to place memories into the glass balls.
Mind glanced to the sky as Moren exited the structure, wincing as he noticed the light approaching dawn. The battle would begin within the hour, and he was three days ride away from Ilumidora. The wolfsteed had faded significantly, and Light’s magic was already beginning to disintegrate.
Moren pulled his cloak about his shoulders and called again for his daughter. “Stella!” he shouted again.
Mind had met the man a few times, but never his daughter. From what Elenyr had said, he expected to see an accomplished woman. But the woman that stepped into the open was not what he expected.
Dressed in armor with purple accents, Stella carried a beautiful cloak, also purple. Her hair was black, her eyes a striking green. She tightened the strand on her cloak while Moren stared in shock.
“Why are you dressed for combat?”
“Someone called the Unnamed told me I would need to fight.” Her expression turned disapproving. “I did tell you to gather your armor.”
“I thought you spoke in jest,” Moren said, still staring at his armor clad daughter.
“Hurry up, father,” she said. “We don’t have much time.”
Her eyes settled on Mind, and he realized that he too, had been staring. He flushed and looked away, but her beauty remained fixed on his consciousness. And that was before she smiled.
“You must be the fragment of Mind,” she said.
“I am,” Mind said.
“Well?” she asked, striding down the steps. “What’s the plan?”
He wrestled with the surge of attraction. This was not the time or place to find a woman so captivating. He glanced to the horizon, using the approaching sun as a reminder of the importance of his task.
Moren appeared in the doorway again, muttering under his breath as he tied the fastenings on his leather armor. Covered in dust, it was obviously rarely used, and Stella shook her head, her brow furrowing.
“Father, I did tell you to get better armor.”
“I’m a mind mage with a business,” he huffed. “I have no need of armor.”
“Until the day you do,” she said. “And that day is today.”
Mind stifled a laugh. Moren glared at him, and then shut the door. He fumbled for a key and then locked it. He paused, and looked to Mind, his expression pensive. Then he began unlocking the door again.
“Perhaps we should get some supplies.”
“Father,” Stella groaned, at the same time Mind spoke.
“No need.”
Mind motioned them to follow and threaded his way back into the street. He crossed the road, and led the two mind mages deeper into the second ring of the city, to a certain hidden door behind a large estate. Activating the secret entrance, he guided them into the underbelly of the city.
“Where are we going?” Moren asked.
“Up until recently, this led to the Assassin’s Guild,” Mind said.
“Epic,” she breathed.
Moren paled. “Surely they will kill us for entering their sacred hall.”
“Those still living are at Ilumidora,” Mind said. “Besides, the new head of the guild has moved them to a new location.”
As he hurried them down the corridor, he could not help but test the limits of Stella’s magic. The young woman raised an eyebrow as he subtly tested her mental shields. He realized she’d sensed his efforts and was grateful for the darkness to hide his flush.
“If you want to know my ability, you have but to ask.”
“I’ll do that,” Mind said.
They advanced down the winding corridor that made its way deep into the earth. The direction pointed to the great fortress of Talinor, and Mind sensed Stella’s excitement. Despite the situation, he was eager to show her what lay in the Assassins’ guildhall.
After their war council, Mind had decided there was one possible person to recruit, and upon speaking to Elenyr, had asked Light to craft him a wolfsteed and departed. He’d escaped just before the fiend army had closed the gap.
The end of the corridor culminated in a giant cavern. Mind dropped onto the stairs as his companions came to an abrupt halt. Stella sucked in her breath, her eyes sweeping across the footings of the castle, the lake and island, where seven destroyed towers lay in ruins. Then her e
yes widened when she spotted the enormous statue leaning half in the lake water where it had fallen.
“What is that?”
Mind pointed to the statue. “That is a Titan.”
Moren cursed, drawing Stella’s gaze. “You know of it?”
“In the Mage Wars, the Verinai built four Titans,” Moren said. “They represent the crowning achievement of the guild of Verinai. They were devastating war machines, intended to wreck castles and uproot city walls.”
“You want to bring it to life,” Stella guessed.
Mind smiled at the touch of excitement to her tone. “Yes,” he said.
“How?” She hurried to catch up to him on the stairs. “It’s five thousand years old. Surely it cannot function.”
“This Titan was unlike the other four,” Mind said, recalling Elenyr’s tale. “This was the first, the largest and greatest. When it failed, the Verinai built four smaller Titans, their magics more fluid. This was left here, forgotten.”
“But if it didn’t work then, why would it work now?” Moren was breathing hard as they reached the floor of the cavern and crossed the bridge to the island.
“Because it did work,” Mind said.
“I don’t understand,” Stella said. “Why did the Verinai think it didn’t?”
Mind crossed the island and came to a halt at the edge of the statue’s enormous foot. “The Titans were so large, and possessed so much magic threaded into their makeup, that they could not operate without a cost. One soul, their mind imbued into the Titan, brought the war machine to life.”
Moren raised a hand and retreated a step. “You cannot mean for—”
“Of course not,” Mind said. “I’m not going to sacrifice either of you. That’s why there are three of us.”
“And you think we can shoulder the burden together?” Stella asked, her eyes wide and eager.
“You cannot be considering this,” Moren said. “This is madness. I know the war is grave, but this could destroy us all.”