by Ben Hale
Mind held the orb in his hand, hoping it had been enough, hoping Draeken was injured enough that Fire could survive. Hoping he and Lachonus could triumph. Shadow, Light, and Water approached and nodded.
“We’ve done our part,” Water said.
“Let us hope it was enough,” Mind said.
Chapter 43: The Final Trap
Fire fought with every ounce of power he possessed, blasting the fiends left and right, scorching them to death, and even pinning them to the wall in the hopes they would bar the opening. But still the fiends came. They pulled the bodies of the dead back and charged the steps leading to the platform where Lachonus fought, their claws, teeth, and obsidian swords reaching for Fire’s body.
“Lachonus!” Fire shouted. “You’re running out of time!”
Lachonus spun and twisted, attempting to swing his blade through the mirage, to find a weakness in the magic. He searched for any irregularity in the floor but the surface of the platform was perfectly round. Lachonus fought with unmatched ferocity, a hundred small cuts marking his flesh—and that of his opponent. For every drop of blood spilt, he suffered the same fate.
For every cut on the mirage, the Dark Gate endured a wound, it’s very shape linked to the mirror soldier. Some of the fiends evaporated, their flesh turning to smoke and drifting away. Each time it helped to save Fire from being driven back, but Fire knew he could not last forever. The only way to destroy the Gate was to kill the mirror—and die.
“I can’t find an opening!” Lachonus shouted, his tone desperate.
“Keep trying!” Fire shouted.
Fire conjured a giant leg and stomped his foot, kicking two krakas from the ledge. One managed to hurl his obsidian sword, the blade passing over Fire’s shoulder, slicing deep across his arm. He grimaced and pulled the magma from the volcano, lifting it into a golem of magma that charged the corridor, melting and crushing the packed fiends.
Abruptly a silver light burst into shape at the edge of the platform, and Fire spared a look. He hoped to see Elenyr, or perhaps one of his brothers. Instead it was Draeken himself that stumbled into sight.
Draeken came to a halt and took the room at a glance. Lachonus standing close to the mirror, while Fire fought at the top of the stairs. Fire’s eyes widened when he spotted the dark hole in Draeken’s chest, and the pain on his features.
“What did they do to you?” Fire asked.
Draeken stared at Lachonus, and then surprisingly began to laugh. He kept his distance from Lachonus, but began to circle the outer perimeter of the platform to reach the Dark Gate. He motioned to the soldier.
“Elenyr is almost as clever as the fragment of Mind,” he said. “But in this, you have lost—without even realizing your defeat.”
“What are you talking about?” Lachonus asked.
Lachonus held his sword on the mirror’s heart, and the other blade rested on his own chest. The fact that Draeken kept his distance made it clear that Lachonus was a threat, but his haughty expression filled Fire with fear.
“Your generals must be dead,” Fire called to Draeken. “How many of your fiends have begun to disappear?”
Draeken’s features twisted with hatred but he remained fixed on Lachonus. “The prophecy spoke of one born to human, elf, and dwarf, and your mother said you were from the right lineage.”
“The prophecy was real,” Lachonus said. “You cannot deny that.”
“It was true,” Draeken said. “But the lie came from your mother. She wanted the pride of your victory.”
“You lie,” Lachonus growled.
“You know your mother.” Draeken stabbed a finger to him. “You know her ambition. It was your cousin that was born to the right lineage, but it was your name I gave to Elenyr.”
Fire’s eyes widened in shock, and he punched the ground, sending fire billowing into the corridor. He sucked in the heat and sent a blast at Draeken, but he swatted it aside with ease. Fire grimaced as he was forced to turn back to the next wave of fiends.
“Don’t listen to him!” he called to Lachonus. “Elenyr believed in you.”
Draeken snarled at Fire’s words. “I made her think you were the one person that could defeat me,” Draeken said. “But you are just a warrior destined for obscurity.”
Draeken crept closer to the Dark Gate, his hand rising. Fire guessed he was going to attempt severing the link between the mirror and the Dark Gate, allowing him to slay Lachonus and Fire at his leisure.
Lachonus stared at Draeken and then looked over his shoulder to Fire. “Tell my mother I’m sorry,” he said.
Lachonus closed his eyes . . . and drove his sword into the mirror’s chest.
“NO!” Draeken roared.
He leapt to the Dark Gate, but the damage had been done. The silver liquid sparked and shimmered, and the arch began to crumble. The fiends in the corridor evaporated, the sounds of snarling fiends fading into silence.
Draeken leapt to the Dark Gate and raised his hands, purple light flowing from his fingers as he sought to keep it from collapsing. Fire sprinted down the stairs and skidded to a stop at the body of Lachonus. He grabbed his body and retreated.
“I am the essence of Power!” Draeken roared. “I cannot be defeated by fragments!”
The Dark Gate began to collapse, but Draeken remained in the center, desperately trying to keep the portal open. Fire caught a glimpse of War through the breach, as well as Plague, Famine, and Death. War sought to push his way through the portal but the Gate was crumbling, and they were trapped.
Abruptly realizing he could not stop the end, Draeken leapt back—only to find that the threads of magic binding the Gate were linked to him as well. He began to scream as the threads pulled him into the Dark Gate, but no amount of magic could stop the destruction of the Gate, and he was pulled into the center. A rising whine came from arched Gate and Fire sprinted up the stairs to the exit.
The Dark Gate detonated, the pieces of the arch flying upward and embedding into the wall of the chamber. Caught in the center of the portal, Draeken was slammed into the wall with the remnants of the Gate, the remaining magic lashing Draeken to the stone, partially in Lumineia, partially in Kelindor.
The blast rocked the entire fortress of Xshaltheria, flames spilling up the vent. Fire raised his arms to shield himself, the flames washing over and around them. For a terrifying moment Fire worried they would fall into the volcano. Then the fortress settled and Fire lifted his gaze.
Draeken was bound to the wall, his body ethereal, his eyes open but not seeing. He turned his head left and right, calling Fire’s name, the sound filled with seething anger. Draeken’s body shifted but the chains had been of his own making, and were remnants of the destroyed Gate. His effort to prevent the destruction of the portal had left him trapped between the two worlds. His body was no longer of flesh, and seemed to swirl with white and purple energies.
“I cannot be caged!” Draeken roared, his voice like it came from a great distance. “I am the fragment of Power! The mightiest of any being to ever live! I will have my revenge . . .”
Fire lifted the body of his friend and turned away. Without a word, he exited the chamber and departed through the fortress, the sounds of Draeken’s ranting fading in the distance. Fire ascended to the top of the hauntingly empty fortress, where he found Isray and Senia waiting for him.
“Draeken?” Senia cradled her elbow, which bent at an odd angle.
Fire carefully placed Lachonus on the back of Isray. “It is finished.”
Senia nodded soberly, and the two climbed into the white dragon’s neck. Painfully, Isray flapped his wings and they rose above the volcano. As they departed, Fire looked back at the disturbingly empty fortress.
Doors hung askew, gates lay broken, and the valley below had been stripped of all greenery. A solitary catapult remained on the field, miraculously having survived the conflict and the fiend march. Fire guessed that, in time, the ground would be covered in trees and Xshaltheria would fall to ruin
. Draeken, for all his power and ambition, had been defeated.
Chapter 44: A Mother’s Request
Elenyr glided through the ground outside the city of Ilumidora, searching. She crisscrossed the earth, scanning the scorched soil and roots of destroyed trees. As much as she felt the need to find all the victims, she dreaded any more discoveries. When she was satisfied she had found them all, she rose to the surface next to Water.
“That was the last area,” Elenyr said. “There are more dead.”
“A terrible task,” Water said, inclining his head. “But the families are grateful.”
She faced Ilumidora. Most of the walls were destroyed, with only a trio remaining standing, all permanently damaged from the assault. The homes, taverns, inns, and shops were nothing but ruins and piles of wood, thatch, and broken glass. Most of the trees had burned.
The upper city, unprotected by the city walls, had suffered the brunt of damage from skorpian spears. Limbs were splintered and broken, some hanging by slivers. Many of the buildings nestled into the branches had fallen into the lake, and they remained half submerged in the water.
The sphere protecting the castle had shattered, and two of the three sections to the fortress were reduced to rubble. Entire wings had fallen next to the trunk, and Elenyr had searched the wreckage for those that had survived. Then she’d searched for the dead.
Elves still labored on the mother tree of Urindilial, working to remove the thousands of skorpian spears still embedded into the trunk and limbs. The bark was splintered, the wood beneath rent in gaping wounds. The tree had not spoken to elven mages since the battle, and they feared the worst.
“Do you think the elves will rebuild?” Water asked.
“I hope so,” she said. “But not here. This site has suffered enough.”
One section of the city had caved into the earth, falling upon the ruins of Dawnskeep that lay buried. Queen Alosia had ordered many to remain outside until dwarven engineers had determined it was safe.
Outside the city, a sprawling camp occupied the space of the battlefield. Well organized by Queen Alosia, the camp cared for the host of wounded, and prepared the dead for a final rest. Weapons had been set aside, and members of every race moved freely through the camps.
Beyond the camps, the forest had been devastated. Trees lay on their sides, some covered by earth. The rent soil and broken limbs stretched in every direction, with most of the elven forests reduced to ash and charred trunks.
Despite the damage, the camps around the city contained an air of hope. Elves spoke to dark elves and humans joined orcs for a midday meal. Draeken may have come to destroy, but he had succeeded in uniting the people.
Elenyr spotted Melora caring for a gnome injured during the battle. She applied a cool cloth to his forehead and spoke words of encouragement before moving to the next cot, where an elf held a bandage over his chest. Water noticed her gaze.
“I admit, I never expected Melora to become so kind.”
“A mother’s sacrifice leaves a mark on a soul,” Elenyr said. “And I believe Princess Melora to be irrevocably changed.”
“A mother’s mark did leave a mark on a soul,” Water said.
Elenyr turned with a smile. “Oh?”
“You have my gratitude.” Water reached around Elenyr’s shoulders and squeezed. “For everything.”
“You have my gratitude for surviving,” Elenyr said fervently.
“Not all in one piece,” Shadow said, climbing the hill. He grinned and pointed to his missing arm. “I still say you should have let me reattach it.”
“You aren’t a full guardian anymore,” Elenyr said. “The attempt would have failed.”
“I can always try later,” Shadow said. “And Rune said she would help.”
“You kept the arm?” Water groaned and look skyward. “Why am I not surprised.”
“If you lost a toe, wouldn’t you keep it?”
“No,” Water said fervently. “I would not keep any appendage.”
“Your loss,” Shadow said.
Elenyr smiled at her sons, tears forming in her eyes. In the week since the battle had ended, The first night, Elenyr had slipped away, and found a private corner where she could cry her gratitude and relief. Shadow, of course, had found her. Without a word, he’d simply hugged her. Elenyr had thought Shadow would tell his brothers, but he kept the moment to himself.
“Looks like Fire and Light are almost finished with the caravans,” Shadow said.
A long collection of wagons was placed on the outside of the camps, all filled with the honored dead. Light and Fire had covered them in coffins of light, allowing the thousands who’d arrived since the battle to mourn for their passing. The wagons were crafted of fire that would not burn, a glittering tribute to the thousands who’d paid the ultimate sacrifice. At their head, two wagons carried a single occupant each. Sentara and Lachonus Dralen.
“Where’s Mind?” Elenyr asked.
“He’s still working with Stella,” Water said with a broad smile. “And anyone can see the budding attraction.”
“I knew we all changed since the separation,” Shadow said, “but honestly, watching Mind flirt is, what’s the right word? Oh, that’s right, disturbing.”
Elenyr chuckled. “Maybe, but you cannot deny his happiness.”
“Has Jeric returned?” Elenyr asked.
Shadow shook his head. “I don’t know why he was so disturbed. So one prisoner escaped from the Melting. Why does it matter?”
“He was no normal prisoner,” Elenyr said.
“You know him?” Water asked.
Elenyr shook her head. “I only know that Jeric doesn’t want him found.”
She recalled Jeric’s disturbing expression when he’d discovered one had escaped from the Melting. With little explanation, he’d departed, intent on locating the man. Elenyr had wondered before if Ero had imprisoned someone on Lumineia, and now she was certain. But what was his identity? And why did Ero fear his freedom?
“We could use the amplious to find him,” Water said. “Mind said it can empower any mage, even us.”
“True,” Shadow said, and wrinkled his nose. “But Mind already hid it.”
Elenyr smiled at his irritation. “You tried to steal it, didn’t you.”
“Of course,” Shadow said. “Do you know where he put it?”
“The one place it will not be found,” she replied.
“So you do know where it is.” Shadow leveled an accusing finger at her.
“It is not prudent to have a piece of the fragment of Power in easy reach,” she replied.
Captain Horn appeared at the edge of the camp and spotted them at the top of the hill. He turned in their direction and hurried up the slope. Princess Serania raced at his side, taking two steps for every one of his.
“Elenyr,” Captain Horn called. “There’s something you need to see.”
Catching the urgency in his tone, Elenyr dropped from her spot and joined him. “What’s wrong?”
“Urindilial is speaking.” Serania said.
Elenyr’s eyes widened and the five of them returned to the city. Threading through the fallen buildings and soldiers working in the ruins, they crossed an aquaglass bridge to reach the island at the center of the city.
Queen Alosia was there, as were Queen Nelia of Erathan, and Queen Annah of Griffin. The three women stood around the trunk of the tree, talking in low tones. As Elenyr and the others arrived, Alosia turned to her.
“I’m glad you’ve come. Urindilial is asking for you.”
“Me?” Elenyr asked, surprised. “Why?”
“She’s very weak,” Alosia said. “I don’t know how much time she has.”
Water frowned. “You mean . . .”
Alosia’s features constricted. “She is dying. And there is nothing we can do.”
The grief was evident in her face. Urindilial had lived for ages, and even been transplanted from their former capital. It had seen ages and eras pass,
and survived wars and conflicts that had ravaged the elven kingdom.
Elenyr approached the tree and placed her hand against the bark. Rough to the touch, the bark had been burned, and Elenyr could feel the sense of pain. A consciousness stirred, and then Elenyr sensed a faint voice touch her thoughts.
Hauntress . . .
“I am here,” Elenyr said softly.
You have my gratitude for protecting my people, the tree murmured.
“I fear I have done very little.”
. . . I see much, Urindilial said, and I have witnessed your devotion to your sons. They survived because of you, and now I witness their integrity . . .
I did not do enough, Elenyr silently replied. For one of my sons was the cause of this war.
. . . A greater mother has yet to live, the tree replied, the voice growing faint. And it is to a mother I must make my request, for I need one of your caliber . . . to protect my daughter . . .
“Daughter?” Elenyr blurted.
The bark shifted beneath her hand, a small branch pushing outward. Leaves extended from the tiny extension as the wood unfurled, revealing a tiny seed. Alosia sucked in her breath as Elenyr accepted the seedling.
Plant my daughter where she will thrive, Urindilial said. To this I entrust the mother I respect, the protector of our world . . .
The voice withdrew, and the bark of the tree darkened. The nearby elves sensed the passing, and heads bowed, tears wetting the earth. But Elenyr held the tiny precious seed in her hand, and watched as a tiny sapling extended and shaped a leaf.
“She needs a home,” Elenyr said reverently.
“Don’t we all,” Alosia said dryly.
Queen Nelia stepped forward. “You can have mine.”
Water swiveled to face her. “What do you mean?”
Queen Nelia looked to Annah, and the woman smiled and nodded. “Tell her, Nelia.”
Nelia swept her hand to the ruined city. “Queen Alosia, in drawing Draeken here, your people paid the heaviest price. Your forests are destroyed, your cities are broken, and your people are homeless. After speaking to Annah and my advisors, we have made a decision. Erathan now belongs to you.”