Goldenmark

by Jean Lowe Carlson

  As that creature expanded from Elohl’s essence, harnessing the Rennkavi’s power and concussing it back a hundredfold in the dawn, Jherrick saw its opalescent scales, talons, and ridge-muscled coils. Though it had shape and strength in the Void, it had only a shivering menace in the world of the real, a vast potential roaring to be released. It was a demon – magnificent and supreme. With a scream of fury, the entirety of that enormous form suddenly poured into Elohl and out of him at the same time, as he roared – the sound of a thousand beasts of death, ready for blood.

  The expansion of Elohl’s enraged wyrria slammed Jherrick, hurtling him back through the Void. Thrusting him back into his own suffering body, where he woke with a wrenching cough upon a rippling expanse of white sand. But not before he had seen what Elohl den’Alrahel had become – a beast of light in the Void, a dragon of pure wyrria flowing through the man – ready to devour the dawn with his fury.

  Jherrick gasped to wakefulness, back in his rent and devastated body, and thought he heard a laugh roll through the Void. A blissful laugh, a heady exultation, tinged with the autumn tones of Olea’s voice. As Jherrick lay there, gasping, embroiled in a terrible agony from what he had just endured, he thought he saw Olea’s eyes in the Void.

  Thank you, her voice sighed all around Jherrick, for all that you have brought to fruition. I will see you again soon, Jherrick. Expect me.

  Gazing down upon him, Olea’s eyes gleamed red. Before a beautiful laugh spilled from her smiling lips and she flashed out – gone.

  CHAPTER 48 – ELOHL

  Power blossomed out into the Void from Elohl den’Alrahel.

  Ancient, volatile power. Bloodlust stole Elohl’s vision; fury devoured his mind. A tremendous wave of energy shuddered through him – the coalescence of the White Tower, taken from Lhaurent den’Alrahel and thrust back into Elohl, magnified a hundredfold. He was nothing, he was everything. The scream of a million souls filled his body. Every heart of the world beat in his chest. Every flood of battle raced through his veins. Every glory, every madness. He was the pinnacle of the magic, and it devoured him and spat him out – as something new.

  Transformation devoured Elohl’s wyrria. A transformation unlike anything he knew. And though his body shook, weak still from the vast wrenching of being resurrected from oblivion, his energy was consumed by the sundering power of all the world’s wyrria flowing through him. Something enormous roared to the dawn inside him. Something powerful not of body, but of wyrria – that lashed out with a luminous tail shot with golden sigils and searing white fire. That tail was barbed and thick, long with flexible muscle, accurate to an infinite degree. And as Elohl felt it whip, his body was suddenly in motion.

  Devoured by white flames, his vision seared with the rising dawn at it fixed upon Lhaurent. Surging forward, Elohl found his body lithe, magnificent. Muscled in places it had never been, he felt talons beneath his fingertips, scales on his fists, his energy of a stature that could have swallowed the tower had it been allowed to take shape inside his sinews.

  A roar resounded in his ears, but it wasn’t Elohl’s. It was Fenton, surging with wrath out beyond the barrier, a desert funnel of lighting and fury as he blasted the wyrric energy that isolated the center of the dais. Unhinged, Fenton raged with renewed power – liquefying the pale stone of the dais and archways and turning them to white glass as he fought to get in and battle their enemy.

  Because he could now. Because all the founts of wyrria in the world had been released, opening that power to the Wolf and Dragon wyrria.

  Because all that power now surged – in Elohl’s veins.

  The opalescent stone around the barrier was melting to Fenton’s fury, but this battle was Elohl’s. Elohl’s gaze of white fire pinned Lhaurent as he came – the man who had ruined something beautiful. Who had Undone something holy; something Elohl had longed for with all his soul – and now would repay in spades. There would be no mercy; mercy was not a thing his mind understood anymore.

  He was pure light; he was wrath as he came for the once-Castellan, power singing through his veins. Lhaurent saw him coming. His face twisting with a vile sneer, he threw up that black arm, still surging with the power of his Rennkavi’s Marks like blackwater eels in the deep. Fingers splayed with unholiness, Lhaurent clenched his black hand, a focus and tremendous hatred surging through him and making that black grip swirl like a mad cosmic dance. He gripped the air and Elohl felt something clench around his heart – a touch of fathomless leagues and strangling black depths.

  But Elohl was the dragon now. With a single inhalation, he flexed his massive, world-devouring wyrria, and burst that black grip upon his heart in a wave of fury. A terrible reverberation slammed through the White Tower, and Elohl felt the world around him crack. The barrier around the dais sundered with a concussion so vast that an enormous crevasse split the tower like a death-knell. Fenton surged through as the barrier broke, two of the archways melted to liquid glass, their portals flashed out and the wall of wyrria between them vanished. A lanky young man dashed in, claiming two unconscious, naked forms that were Queen Elyasin and King Therel and hauling them out of the way as Fenton stormed in.

  But Elohl hardly saw it. As the barrier broke, it concussed Lhaurent, hurling him off his feet, smacking him up against Ghrenna’s altar, dazed. Ghrenna lay motionless upon the altar, but Elohl could see her breath and knew she lived. Wyrria and vengeance roared in Elohl’s veins, as he reached the stunned Castellan, striking down with his left hand gripping Lhaurent’s shoulder from where that terrible black arm emerged.

  With a ripple of sinew and flesh, opalescent scales with golden sigils went surging down Elohl’s arm from elbow to fingertips. Manifesting from flesh, from wyrria, and transforming Elohl’s body, Elohl felt the strength of his true nature seethe down that arm with his matching fury. White talons tore from his fingertips, puncturing deep into Lhaurent’s shoulder. The Castellan screamed as Elohl’s talons punctured flesh, deep into Lhaurent’s Goldenmarks.

  As Elohl sank his talons in, he gathered the full force of his wyrria – and pulled.

  A terrible cry ripped from Lhaurent’s throat as his Goldenmarks flared white-hot through his entire body. In one breath, Elohl inhaled, and Lhaurent’s Goldenmarks surged towards Elohl’s talons, drawn out of Lhaurent’s flesh like poison to the blade. Elohl’s gaze burned as he took back what was his. In a searing wave, white light scorched through Lhaurent’s Marks, leaving black lines of impotent char in their wake. Gathering in Elohl’s talons, the Rennkavi’s power went screaming up out of Lhaurent into Elohl in a burst of wyrric fire as the last of Lhaurent’s Marks burned out.

  Lhaurent screamed, his black hand evaporating in a sizzle of vapor. He flailed backwards, stumbling from the altar. Elohl roared as his open hands hit Lhaurent, pure wyrria hammering his foe in a tremendous strike. The Castellan was hammered hard, hitting the white dais with a crunch. Sliding into the pool of Elohl’s blood, he shuddered, heaving rasping breaths.

  Elohl rushed in fast, quick with a beast’s instinct. Digging his talons in, Elohl hauled Lhaurent up. His soul blazed as power surged through his free arm, tingling his fingertips, ready to transform and finish the job. Lhaurent screamed and struggled, but he couldn’t counter the power coursing through Elohl. Blood surged from Lhaurent’s mangled shoulder, darkening his white robes crimson and devouring Elohl’s vision. Crimson was his only perception; annihilation his only thought. As red drops of Lhaurent’s life fell, a presence burned through Elohl’s mind – seizing Elohl’s body in a sundering cold as clear as the cosmos.

  Thrust your enemy down, the being with red eyes whispered through Elohl. Unmake that which has sundered your blissful unity.

  “What are you waiting for?” Fenton’s voice was barely recognizable at Elohl’s side, the growl of a thousand beasts as lighting shivered around him in a nimbus. Fenton’s words echoed the whispers in Elohl’s mind, and every sinew in Elohl’s body trembled, raging to do as the being with red eyes whisper
ed.

  To Undo his enemy.

  “Elohl—!”

  Ghrenna’s weak call turned his head; sharpened his eyes. She lay still as death upon the altar, a blackened burn spreading like poison from the center of her chest. Her sweet flesh, once so pure, was now marred with lines of char that obliterated her Blackmarks, snaking out over her collarbones and beautiful breasts. The sight of her ruin drowned his fury, just for a moment. As her cerulean eyes arrested him, the crimson cleared from Elohl’s vision and the sound of whispers was pushed away.

  Lhaurent seized that moment, wrenching free of Elohl’s talons and lurching toward the only remaining archway. With a livid curse, Fenton seared lighting after him, but Lhaurent threw up his remaining hand – casting aside Fenton’s fury by the flash of a ruby ring upon his index finger. Lhaurent turned, racing again for the portal, and with a roar, Fenton pursued. Elohl’s sinews trembled to chase after them and finish it – when he saw Ghrenna spasm upon the stone altar. A terrible rigor, it bowed her spine, a wail issuing from her throat.

  In that moment, Elohl chose. It wasn’t a choice of mercy or vengeance. It wasn’t a choice of thought or reason. It was a choice of his heart – to be with her, until the end of the world, until the end of all things.

  His love was never a choice – it was always her.

  Rushing to Ghrenna’s side, Elohl let Lhaurent go. Fenton flashed out through the portal, fast upon Lhaurent’s heels. Dawn rippled off the opalescent scales of Elohl’s transformed arm as he gained the altar, the beast of his wyrria curling around Ghrenna. His heart seared with pain as her fingertips reached up weakly to stroke his jaw; but her touch was all he needed. With a gasp, Elohl felt his rage break. He felt it burn down into ash as her Nightwind caressed the massive beast of his nature and soothed it.

  Bones snapped, sinews re-made. Talons condensed and scales flowed back – Elohl’s arm regaining the shape of a man, his fingertips and hand crimson with blood. Hauling Ghrenna up, Elohl cradled her close. Her heart beat like a poisoned bird against his chest, her breath coming in shallow sips. Spirals of black charred through her skin, her white shift burned away where Lhaurent had desecrated her. A white keshar-claw pendant lay sundered upon her breast. A sob rose in Elohl’s throat, seeing how she had been abused at the height of her ecstasy – an ecstasy that was supposed to have been his, and hers, united.

  His body shivered with wyrria again, ready to transform. Ready to annihilate the world for what Lhaurent had done. But Ghrenna’s hand came up, touching his face. Arresting him with her luminous cerulean eyes.

  Don’t hate him, my beloved, she breathed out with her mind. Forgiveness is the only path. Please... the Undoer—

  But she couldn’t finish the thought. Her mind snapped out to a gasp. Her eyes rolled up as a chorea took her limbs, so terrible that Elohl couldn’t even hold her. She jerked out of his arms, spasming upon the white altar – and then lay still.

  Elohl seized her cheeks. He pressed fingers to her throat, searching for her heartbeat. Bringing his lips to hers, he kissed her desperately, hoping he would feel the sweet bliss of her breath. With a wail, Elohl cradled her to his chest, roaring out to the cold new dawn like an animal. His scream continued in the Void, endless, the White Tower echoing it in a ringing swath. He could feel the battle at the Aphellian Way, finished with their clash of swords and magic – sundered to the power of the Unification. And though all hearts surged with connection and togetherness in the new dawn, for Elohl, everything he had ever hoped for was as ashes now.

  But on the heels of his cry, he suddenly heard an indrawn breath. Looking down, he saw Ghrenna’s eyelashes flutter. Her cerulean eyes opened; devouring him, bright and full of life. Elohl flooded with joy. His heart expanded to the cosmos, to see her returned from the brink of death. Leaning in with ecstatic release and a sudden laugh, he bent to kiss her. But Ghrenna startled. And where Elohl thought she might have surged to kiss him back, he saw her recoil.

  “Unhand me, haldakir!” Power flooded from Ghrenna’s voice like driving winter snow. A voice Elohl didn’t know; a voice of pure fury. Elohl flinched back, shocked, as Ghrenna pushed away, clutching her burned silk gown to her blackened chest.

  “Steal kisses from Morvein Vishke and face a Dremor’s wrath!” She seethed at him, her white gaze flashing cold. “Know that I will eviscerate your mind with all the fury of the Nightwind if you even so much as try that again.”

  Blackness stole Elohl’s heart, and his joy died in his throat.

  CHAPTER 49 – KHOUREN

  The Rennkavis had disappeared from the battlefield, leaving hell in their wake.

  Khouren fought like a dervish, whirling and slicing, ripping open throats and cutting tendons. Eleshen fought at his side, a demon just as much as he was, and Ihbram roared like a lion in the dawn, his bright Elsthemi braids spattered with other men’s blood.

  Their keshar-cats were already down, rent with too many wounds, and so Ihbram, Eleshen, and Khouren had compacted into a tight knot, fighting in their own little hell. Chaos reigned upon the Aphellian Way, but Ihbram had a plan, guiding their vicious knot toward scorpion-riders. Fighting through Menderians, through mind-controlled Valenghians, Ihbram was their guidepost as their trio smashed through the ranks. Surrounding Kreth-Hakir Brethren; darting in, eviscerating their scorpions. Leaping to the diamond-backs of the ruthless mounts, Ihbram protected their group while Eleshen turned the Hakir’s weaves back on them, severing them from the hive.

  Before Khouren sliced their guts out.

  An unholy fire filled Khouren, his wyrria surging through his veins. Eleshen roared at his side, lopping off a swiping scorpion-talon with her sword and rushing in to stab out its eyes. It flailed, striking blind, but Ihbram was already up on its flashing back, cutting off the tail as Khouren ran under the beast and took out its legs. It hit the bloody battlefield with a clatter. The rider tried to arrest Eleshen with his mind, and she turned it back on him, making the man scream and claw at his eyes. Khouren hurled his longknife with all the force of his wyrria – straight into the man’s neck.

  He went down gurgling. And they were off again.

  Khouren had little sense of the battle raging around him. Men roared and cried out, horses reared and shrieked. Armor clattered to the stones of the Aphellian Way, bodies torn by blades slicking everything a hellish crimson. Khouren saw the fallen in flashes and moments. A roaring keshar-cat with a rider struck down by a scorpion’s tail. A Kingsman in Greys lopping off the head of a Menderian soldier with one powerful strike of his longsword, sending the head rolling. The horn of General Merra sounding a regroup, battle-cats darting through the chaos to rejoin her. An entire swath of crimson-clad Valenghians turning as twenty Kreth-Hakir rode into their midst, falling upon the keshari riders like a red rain.

  Suddenly, a massive black scorpion roared up before Khouren. He towered upon his black beast, an enormous warrior of the Unaligned Lands wielding a huge broadsword one-handed as his creature darted and killed. A thick silver mane was braided back from his face, old talon-scars raking his flesh. He had no eyes, and yet, Khouren felt the man’s mind pin him like a lance. Ripping through Eleshen’s violet tide to do so – slamming her back so hard she stumbled to her knees and held her face, blood spurting from her nose.

  Jornath’s pet. The man’s voice was like summer thunder as it hammered down all Ihbram and Khouren’s mind-shields in an instant. You have caused far more chaos than you know, cur.

  The blind fighter leveled his sword at Khouren, and his scorpion rushed in. Twice the size of any other creature upon the battlefield, the beast raked with enormous claws as Khouren darted beneath its strikes. But the man’s mind smashed into his again, and with a cry, Khouren’s steps faltered. The scorpion swiped, gripping Khouren in its enormous claw, pinning his arms to his sides, squeezing. Khouren screamed, razor-edged chitin sawing his flesh.

  “Khouren!” Ihbram roared. Khouren felt his uncle and Eleshen dash in, Ihbram hacking to distract the scor
pion while Eleshen darted in to sever its claw at the joint.

  I don’t think so. The man’s mind flooded Khouren and he screamed. It was echoed by Eleshen and Ihbram, their trio’s wyrria split. The scorpion swiped at Eleshen and she ducked and rolled. It made a brisk turn, hammering Ihbram, but he darted, trying to get the claw that cracked down upon Khouren’s ribs and spine. Khouren roared, his body in agony, trapped and unable to heal. A mind-shift flowed from the blind-eyed rider into the beast. The blind man watched Ihbram’s movements with his terrible wyrria – and sent the scorpion’s barbed tail down, right into Ihbram’s chest.

  Ihbram staggered, eyes wide. His hand clamped on the stinger and his sword was fast, slicing it from the creature’s tail before it could release. It screamed, shuddering, dropping Khouren. As it convulsed, Khouren rolled away, his breath heaving through countless broken ribs, his legs paralyzed. Near Ihbram, Khouren reached out, hauling the stinger out of Ihbram’s chest as Eleshen ran in, striking at the scorpion. It whirled, but she stood her ground, a clever strike sending its left claw to the ground in a swath of black gore.

  Khouren could feel his spine knitting. Already, sensation in his toes began to return. His body flared like fire as he watched Eleshen fight. She’d redoubled her violet floes, and the blind-eyed rider dodged as some of his energy came back at him. But he countered in a tremendous mind-strike, paralyzing her to fall rigid before his beast. Helpless, Khouren could only hold a hand over Ihbram’s wound as his uncle gasped from poison and Eleshen’s fight failed. Desperation surged in Khouren. He couldn’t heal Ihbram, couldn’t stop the blind-eyed rider, and there was no talisman of Leith’s to save any of them now.