Rune Destiny (Runebound Book 2)

by Sandell Wall

  Remus stepped up between Monstur and Pricker. He stared down Brax, waiting for the enraged giant to attack. The rune scars on Brax’s chest stayed dark, and Remus guessed that the rune-suppression defenses of Umgragon prevented Brax from using his enhanced speed. The enslaved Rune Guard towered over Remus. Red runes glowed on the circlet affixed to his brow. Covered in blood and gore, the fire of madness burning in his eyes, Brax raised his axes and charged Remus.

  Despite the newfound power coursing through his body, Remus felt fear. Brax was death incarnate. Without the gauntlet, Remus would not stand a chance. He backpedaled, keeping out of range of Brax’s wicked axes. The blades slashed through empty air, only a handspan from Remus’s face. Brax pressed the attack, driving Remus backward into the center of the courtyard. On the right, the Ethari were locked in combat with the Drathani prefect.

  Pikon landed a glancing blow to the prefect’s chest and Brax faltered.

  They’re linked—the prefect is controlling Brax!

  “Take him down!” Remus shouted. “If the prefect falls, so does Brax!”

  The Ethari redoubled their attack. Swarmed by the dark soldiers, the Drathani prefect had to divert the majority of his focus to staying alive. Brax lunged forward, but he was slow and clumsy.

  Remus saw his opening. He stepped inside one of Brax’s wild swings, braced his right foot on the stone, and hammered his gauntleted fist into Brax’s chest. Remus had never struck a more devastating blow. Anchored by the living mass of the Black Citadel, his body became a conduit for the castle’s terrible might. Brax’s axes went flying as he was knocked backward—he hit the far wall so hard that when the back of his circlet struck the stone, it went dark. He looked at Remus in surprise, sudden awareness dawning on his face. Then he crumpled.

  Before Remus could think to act, a cry of warning came from the right.

  “Look out!” Pikon shouted.

  The warning was too late. Remus glanced toward the sound and saw a lance of sizzling energy streaking at him. Released from controlling Brax, the Drathani prefect had unleashed the lightning of his gauntlet at Remus. There was no way to escape. Remus’s eyes sought Tethana’s still form, and the next instant the lightning slammed into him. His world turned into pain. Flashes of light exploded behind his eyes. He felt his feet leave the floor as the blast picked him up and tossed him like a sparrow in a whirlwind.

  From behind the Drathani prefect, Monstur’s huge form reared. He smashed the enemy aside with a swat of his tree trunk maul, and the bolt of lightning disappeared. Remus dropped, only to discover that he had been pushed out the gate to the edge of the courtyard. His legs hung out over nothingness—the city sprawled below him, a hundred feet straight down. In desperation, Remus clung to the edge of the stone floor. He still felt the lingering effects of the lightning. The burning energy had sapped his strength and the gauntlet was slow to compensate.

  Remus tried to call to Pricker for help through their connection, but something interfered. A dark watcher surfaced in his mind. Savaroth observed his struggle with amusement.

  “After lying dormant for an age, the Black Citadel flies again,” Savaroth said in his mind. “A pity that it was a mere child who returned the mighty fortress to its lofty perch in the skies.”

  Remus gritted his teeth, struggling to cling to the jagged rock where the castle had torn itself free of the city. Again, he tried to reach out to Pricker. Above his head, he could hear the sounds of fighting. The Drathani prefect was not yet finished.

  “You wish to call for aid?” Savaroth said. “You may have protected yourself from my control by donning a circlet, but there is no hiding from my wrath. The power you wield is mine, and it comes with a cost. You will pay it now, with your life.”

  Darkness filled Remus’s mind. Such was the outpouring of agony and despair that his vision went black as untold horrors of forbidden and grotesque knowledge poured into him. A thousand pale-skinned infants, rejects and failures, burned before his eyes. He could not look away, forced to watch living flesh separate under a cruel knife—he heard the screams of torment as bone was opened to marrow. Maggots crawled on his flesh, devouring him alive. He was powerless to resist the tide of corruption. Laid out before him was a tapestry of suffering, the legacy of pain that Savaroth carried in his soul. The Drathani emperor was the culmination of a thousand years of dark experimentation.

  Savaroth was an abomination and yet perfect—a flawless creation. Every facet of weakness had been scourged from his being. Unbidden, tears spilled from Remus’s eyes. For the first time, he knew the enemy, and the enemy was the end of life as the world knew it. Savaroth would make more like him, and if they could not rule, they would destroy. There would be no negotiation, no mercy. Savaroth was a predator, and every living thing his prey. Consumed by hopelessness, Remus could not find it in himself to fight any longer.

  Laughter rumbled in Remus’s mind as Savaroth tightened his hold. Remus was aware of his grip loosening on the edge of the courtyard, but he could not summon the will to care.

  “Now you see,” Savaroth said in his mind. “Now you understand. I am the end of this world, and the beginning of a better one. Go gently into the darkness, there is no shame in death. The weak must always make way for the strong.”

  Remus let go. At that same instant, a thin white arm flashed over the edge of the courtyard and grabbed his gauntleted hand. Pricker had caught him before the earth pulled him down into its crushing embrace a hundred feet below. Remus sensed Pricker’s presence in his mind—the thin Drathani had revealed himself to Savaroth and was fighting back.

  “What is this?” Savaroth thundered in their minds. “Calaban lives! You are the one who aids this whelp?”

  “I am,” Pricker responded. “Be gone with you.”

  Savaroth laughed. “Oh, you pitiful fool of a boy. With Calaban the Destroyer on your side, you have no need of enemies. You will rue the day you threw your lot in with him.”

  Savaroth’s presence faded, but his laughter lingered in Remus’s mind.

  Free from the Drathani emperor’s debilitating influence, Remus looked up at Pricker.

  “Pull me up,” Remus said out loud.

  Pricker did nothing, only gazed down at Remus with his haunting yellow eyes.

  A chill shot down Remus’s spine. It was not the Pricker he knew looking down at him. There was a hunger in those eyes that rivaled Savaroth’s.

  “Pricker?” Remus said through their connection.

  “Against all odds, you have unlocked a great and ancient power of the Drathani,” Pricker said in his mind. “I will not let you squander this weapon. With this castle, I can reclaim my former glory. If you wish to live, make the blood pact with me. Swear to me that when this war is over, you will deliver the Black Citadel to my care.”

  “You’re insane. I can’t make that promise!”

  “You will, or I’ll drop you and then kill everyone on this flying fortress.”

  “I should never have trusted you.”

  “No, you should not have.”

  Remus raised his right hand from where it dangled. Pricker reached down, a dagger in his other hand. Remus gasped as Pricker carved a rune symbol into his palm. A matching rune bled in the white flesh of Pricker’s hand.

  “The Volgoth ritual is a crude mockery of something far more powerful,” Pricker said in his mind. “Press your bleeding palm onto the vessel stone.”

  Remus obeyed, and when his bloody hand covered the stone on his gauntlet, Pricker placed his palm atop Remus’s. Remus’s body went rigid as the runes were activated.

  “Blood to blood,” Pricker said in his mind. “Rune to rune, the covenant is made. If you do not deliver the Black Citadel to me, your life is mine.”

  As soon as he finished the oath, Pricker hoisted Remus up and over the jagged lip of the courtyard. Remus crumpled. He sensed amusement from Pricker. They were linked now, and not just through the rune circlets. Remus felt unbreakable bonds chaining him to the thin D
rathani. The vessel stone had recorded their agreement, and unless he cast aside the gauntlet, he did not think he could refuse to honor it.

  With his face pressed against the cold stone floor, he looked at the aftermath of the carnage. The Drathani prefect was slain, but the dark-armored corpses of at least ten Ethari were fallen around him. Brax was still slumped against the wall, his head resting on his scarred chest. Monstur ignored his wounds and crouched over the small form of Shim. The forest cat had not moved since Brax smashed it against the stone. Tethana was still lying motionless on the far side of the courtyard.

  Tethana.

  Remus struggled to his feet. Weak and dizzy, Remus stumbled across the courtyard. When he reached Tethana, he dropped to his knees beside her. He reached down, cradling her head in his arms. She still breathed, but her eyes were closed.

  “Tethana?” Remus said, his voice wavering.

  There was no indication that she heard him. Her breathing was steady, but her face was placid, as if she was in a deep sleep.

  He pulled her to his chest, tears pouring down his face.

  “Come back to me,” he said in his mind, seeking her presence, but she was gone. He had not realized how much he had come to rely on their connection. Where before he could have reached out and touched the surface of her mind, feeling her emotions and being, now he found only emptiness.

  Remus rocked back and forth, stroking Tethana’s hair. They had survived. The ancient power of the Black Citadel had delivered them from the runebound horde, but Remus felt like he had lost everything. His soul ached. He had never anticipated paying so high a cost for their salvation. Far off in the recesses of his mind, he could hear Savaroth’s echoing laughter.

  Chapter 29

  AVENTINE WAS FLYING. In an instant, the Bloodstar runestone had transported her high above the fortress of Amalt. She looked out across the windswept rooftops, where buildings of white stone glistened in the rain. Alarmed, she looked down and realized that she had not been physically transported a hundred feet into the air—her perspective had shifted so that she was viewing the city from atop the great white tower in the center of Castle Solis.

  My body is still in the throne room next to the emperor’s corpse.

  Above her head, the clouds parted. She looked up and stared in awe as a circle of blue sky appeared in the midst of an angry thunderhead. Sunlight shone through the gap in the clouds, and she felt both energy and heat start to build inside her. The power of the sun was pouring into the giant runestone. Aventine felt as if she had become a conduit tapped into a reservoir of fire.

  From her vantage point, she could see the army of traitors arrayed before the city walls. As she watched, the enemy vanguard assaulted the gates. Leading the charge, her father’s unmistakable green rune armor blazed through the swirling rain. He passed from Aventine’s view behind the city wall, and the next instant the gates rocked with the impact of his siege hammer. Sir Ignatius’s golden armor burned just as fiercely, and with his clawed war-gauntlet and pick he scaled the high walls of Amalt as if they were nothing. White stone melted under his metal talons, and with every strike of his war-pick, he anchored himself to the wall and then launched upward. Aventine saw him vault over the top of the battlements and tear into the soldiers of House Drackon.

  Lady Athlain will lose the walls within the hour.

  Aventine felt a great sadness welling up within her. Emperor Pontius lay dead in his own throne room. Father fought against daughter as the empire crumbled and innocents suffered for the greed and ambition of a few. This was not how it should be. Yet she was powerless to stop it, forced to watch from on high as the last bastion of the empire was breached and destroyed.

  I’m sorry, mother. I’ve failed.

  She was about to disengage from the Bloodstar and go see if she could help Narin when the power that had been slowly building in the great runestone reached a crescendo. Energy flooded into her, erasing thought and awareness. The top of the white tower blazed with ruby fire, casting its red light across all of Amalt. Aventine had become both the sun and the storm. Fire and lightning was hers to command, and it demanded to be released.

  With a thought, Aventine unleashed the power of the Bloodstar. She focused on the center of the enemy army and the great runestone responded. A jagged beam of brilliant red energy exploded from the top of the white tower, splitting the sky like ruby lightning. The enemy melted before the Bloodstar’s awesome power. Sweeping up and down the plains in front of the city, the beam of energy eradicated anything it touched. Both horrified and exhilarated, Aventine struggled to stay conscious as she directed the killing fire that poured out across the sky. Once the deadly assault was started, the Bloostar would not let her go. All she could do was hang on until the power stored in the great runestone was depleted.

  When at last the beam of dread energy died, Aventine released the Bloodstar and returned to her body. She was on her hands and knees before the throne, gasping for breath. Tears poured down her face. An image of carnage and death was burned into her vision. She had just killed thousands upon thousands of the enemy, reducing their corpses to smoldering piles of melted metal and ash. As the enormity of the massacre filled her mind, the aftereffects of the Bloodstar gripped her body. Nausea swept over her, and she voided the contents of her stomach. Pain ripped through her, every heave tearing at the wound in her side.

  Aventine struggled to her feet. Lightheaded and dizzy, she staggered toward the doors of the throne room. Rain buffeted her from all sides, and a small voice inside tempted her to walk off the cliffside and perish on the rocks far below. She had failed her duty, this voice said, and now she had committed an act of such atrocity that even the gods would never forgive her. With the last of her will, she squashed the voice and stumbled out of the emperor’s great hall.

  Alypia jumped to her feet when Aventine stepped into the hallway outside.

  “Captain, you’re hurt!” Alypia said, lowering the runestone in her hand. The runes on Aventine’s armor went dark, and without their added strength, she sagged, almost collapsing.

  “Please keep that stone activated,” Aventine hissed.

  With a horrified look, Alypia jerked the runestone back up and powered it. Strength filled Aventine’s limbs again, and she was able to walk.

  At Alypia’s feet, Commander Narin was propped against the wall. Narin’s face was pale and her eyes were closed.

  “Will the commander live?” Aventine asked.

  “Aye, captain,” Alypia said. “She’s lost a lot of blood, and will need rest to recover, but she should survive.”

  “And the others?”

  Alypia’s face fell. “I’ve found no other survivors.”

  “We’re it then,” Aventine said. “All that’s left of the Rune Guard. Not that it matters—we were too late. Emperor Pontius is dead.”

  Alypia took a step backward—her knees buckled and she fell to the floor with a clatter. She gazed up at Aventine with a dazed look on her face.

  “What do we do now?” Alypia said, tears pouring down her cheeks.

  “We do our duty,” Aventine said. “Take Commander Narin to the physician. Stay with her until she gets help.”

  “You need treatment too, captain,” Alypia said as she climbed back to her feet.

  “I’ll live, for now. I need to find two of my friends to make sure they’re safe. Once I’ve done that, I’ll come to you.”

  “Yes, captain,” Alypia said with a salute.

  Aventine limped down the hall away from Alypia. When she turned the corner, the runes on her armor went out, and she had to brace herself with a hand against the wall to avoid dropping to her knees. Head down, eyes closed, she slowed her breathing, trying to summon the strength she needed to keep going. After a ten count, her head stopped swimming, and she was able to continue on her own power.

  The castle was deserted. Every soldier was either already fallen, or defending the walls. Aventine did not see a single soul as she made her way t
o the wing where Holmgrim and Saffrin were housed. The door to their room was open. When she staggered inside, both of them jumped to their feet.

  “Aventine, you’re hurt!” Saffrin said, a look of alarm and concern on her face.

  Holmgrim took three quick steps toward Aventine, and just as he reached her, she crumpled into his arms. He carried her to the bed and lowered her gently onto the rich covers. She felt his strong fingers probing the wound in her side.

  “Where did you get this?” Holmgrim asked. “What’s happened?”

  “Emperor Pontius is dead,” Aventine said, her voice hollow. “The city was under siege, but I did something terrible.” She lifted her left hand where she still clutched the Bloodstar. “With the power of this runestone, I slaughtered the enemy. They never stood a chance. The blood of ten thousands lives stains my hands.”

  Before Holmgrim or Saffrin could respond, Aventine passed out.

  ——

  Aventine drifted in and out of consciousness for days. She had no idea how long she lay in bed, but Saffrin was by her side every time she woke. Horrible nightmares haunted her dreams. She saw her victims wandering through fields of fire, burning in torment, but never dying. They called to her, demanding that she suffer as they did. Every time she had the dream, she would wake up in a cold sweat and cry great sobs of sorrow and shame.

  Finally, one morning Aventine woke and did not feel like she was at death’s door. The bright light of the morning sun shone through the glass windows of the suite. Her armor had been removed, and her wound expertly bandaged. For the first time since she had been bedridden, Saffrin was not at her side. She was still tired, but she felt strong again.