by ML Spencer
“I’m going in,” she said. “If I find one of the Overseers, I’ll try to make them listen to me. What do we have to lose?”
Esmir’s heavy gaze settled on her. “You. That’s what. If those beings chewed up Aram and spat him out, what do you think they will do to you?”
Calise shrugged. “Probably nothing. I’m not trying to be a Champion.”
He nodded slowly.
A triumphant smile curled her lips, and Calise walked immediately toward the portal arch. She would find Aram. She didn’t know how, but she would.
Markus clung to Siroth’s back, shivering from the cold air that sped by them faster with every beat of the dragon’s wings. Below them, clouds stretched dark and rolling like the swells of an ocean. He didn’t know where they were, only that they were somewhere over mountains. Every time he thought about how high they were and how long it would take to fall from such a height, he felt the dragon’s mind press against his own, reassuring him. Siroth would never let him fall. Even when his beloved Faril had died on his back, Siroth had borne her body safely to the ground.
As they flew, Markus’s other fears became more tangible. He wondered if Aram had ever made it out of the Portal Stones, and he feared he hadn’t. Markus didn’t know what good he could do anyone without Aram. He couldn’t protect them all. His immunity to magic didn’t extend beyond himself. The best he could do was jump in front of an object under magical attack. He had no idea if that even extended to protecting the dragon he rode.
As if sensing his doubt, Siroth pressed upon him a feeling of faith that was both unearned and undeserved. Markus didn’t understand where that misplaced faith could have come from, for the dragon did not know him. In response to that thought, Siroth seemed to take offense. Apparently, he considered himself a fine judge of character.
But how did Siroth know anything about him? Had he somehow inherited the bond from Faril? As soon as Markus’s mind formed the question, the dragon summarily dismissed it. Even though he respected Markus, Faril had been his beloved, his soul’s companion. Markus understood and felt embarrassed for even thinking that a dragon as great as Siroth would ever form any kind of bond with him. But Siroth dismissed that idea too. An image of Markus riding a dragon even larger than Siroth flashed briefly in his mind, and he took that as assurance that he was worthy enough to someday form a dragon-bond.
If he could.
He was Impervious to magic, so was such a bond even possible? For that matter, how was Siroth able to communicate with him at all? He thought of Esmir. The old Warden had bound a dragon, so somehow, it must be possible. Perhaps because it was a connection of the soul and not a connection made by magic. He would have to ask Esmir about it.
Siroth adjusted his wings and began his descent. They slipped into the clouds and the world became engulfed in a blanket of mist. But that didn’t last long, for with one stroke of the dragon’s wings, they broke through the other side, bursting out of the clouds.
All at once, Markus had a clear view of the battlefield, and what he saw was terrifying. Thousands upon thousands of enemy soldiers had amassed upon a pockmarked plain and were advancing toward a good-sized town surrounded by earthen walls that looked inadequate.
The sky around them lit up in a blinding flash of light.
A jagged spear of lightning streaked down from the clouds, spiking toward them. Markus didn’t have time to scream before it hit.
Nothing happened.
Terrified and shaking, he clung to Siroth’s back with all of his might. The dragon was just as unnerved as he was. An image came to mind that was startlingly painful, and he knew this was how Faril had died. When the lightning struck, Siroth had been certain Markus would be killed, too, and was astonished that he wasn’t. The dragon’s heart swelled with vast relief, and also vast appreciation, for he now understood Markus’s true value.
And so did Markus himself.
Siroth landed amidst a gathering of dragons that were protected from the battlefield by a low ridgeline. The moment he leapt from Siroth’s back, Markus found himself swallowed by a bedlam of confusion. Dragon riders converged on him, cheering and slapping him on the back. At first, he didn’t understand why, but then Siroth reminded him of the lightning strike that should have killed them both.
Vandra rushed up to them, demanding, “Where’s Aram?”
The Wingmaster’s face was covered in grime, and she stood gripping the hilt of her sword. There was a wildness to her eyes that Markus had never seen before. Her gaze didn’t stay in one place, but kept shifting, as though distrustful of the ridgelines behind them.
“Aram is…” He swallowed, not knowing what to say. “Right now, he’s … lost.” He winced, knowing how bad that sounded. “I mean, hopefully he’ll be on the way.”
Vandra peered at him with a hard and probing gaze. “What do you mean, lost?”
Markus glanced back at the ridge. “He went into one of the Portal Stones in the Henge. He hasn’t come back out yet.”
“And how long has he been in there?” Vandra asked, brow furrowing in concern.
Markus wasn’t sure. “He went in there right after sunup.”
Vandra recoiled. “It’s late afternoon!”
What?
It was already?
“Maybe he came back out,” he whispered, feeling weak.
Vandra scrubbed her hair in frustration. “Damn the wind and all it blows! Why did Esmir send him in there if he wasn’t ready for it?”
Markus didn’t have an answer to that. Vandra shot him an exasperated look then flung her hands up. “Then you’re it! You’re all we’ve got.” She looked like she wanted to kill someone, maybe even him. “This is the situation. Their sorcerers have magic, and we don’t—at least, we don’t anymore, thanks to Esmir. All we have is you. Obviously, you can’t take on the entire Aragharian army by yourself, so I will have to find another way to use you.”
Had she seriously thought that Aram could take on an entire army? And what could he do, without Aram?
“Their objective is the Caverns of Eld Elan,” Vandra went on, pacing back and forth. “They’ll have to cut through the town of Inuine to get there, and that will slow them down. But after the town falls, there will be nothing between them and Eld Elan.”
An entire town was going to fall … and she was worried about a cavern?
“Why do we care about a bunch of caves?” Markus asked.
Vandra shot him an exasperated look. “The Altier Anchor is located in a cave system. That’s where you’re going.”
“Me?” Markus balked. “Just me?”
“We don’t have anyone else!” Vandra snapped. “I can’t even send anyone with you, because they’ll just be knocked out of the sky!”
A wave of dizziness convulsed the ground, and Markus extended his hands to steady himself. Where was Aram? He needed him here. He couldn’t defend an entire Anchor alone. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t have magic!”
“They do, and that’s the point. Prevent them from using it! Fly to the cave system and guard the Anchor there with your life. We’ll try to find a way to meet you there but, honestly, I don’t know how we will. You need to kill their sorcerers, and you’ll need to do it alone.”
“How will I find them?”
“They’ll find you. Go to Eld Elan. Stay there and don’t leave the Wellspring, no matter what. And when they come, kill them. It’s as simple as that.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Calise considered the arch before her that was formed by three enormous monoliths. Just looking at it, there was no way of telling that it was a portal. She could see right through to the other side, where the sand of the Henge extended to the cliff wall. There was no doorway or shadow, nothing that looked out of the ordinary.
And yet, she could feel it.
The Portal Stone didn’t feel right. Even from a distance, there was a discordance to it that just seemed out of step with the rest of the world. It took her a long moment to
put a finger on exactly what it was, to pick out the individual strands of aether with her limited vision. Beneath the arch, the threads were rotated at an angle, as though the warp and weft of the world had become inverted. That’s all she could see with her limited mind-sight, but it was enough to give her a moment’s pause. Wherever that doorway led, it was at odds with the rest of the world.
She glanced at Esmir for reassurance but found none in the old Warden’s stony face. He stood with his arms crossed, glowering at her from beneath a protruding ridge of eyebrows, every line and wrinkle of his face mustered to intensify the expression. Frustrated, she turned back toward the portal. No matter what lay on the other side of that archway, she had to go in. Whatever it was, Aram was facing it alone. And if she didn’t bring him out, there was far more at risk than just his life.
Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, Calise walked into the portal.
She stepped out into the Southern Eyrie. It was dark, as though nighttime had settled over the mountains. And there were other inconsistencies. For one thing, she was alone. There were no other people about, which would never happen in the real eyrie, even at night. The screens had been pulled over the individual alcoves, so she couldn’t tell whether or not they were occupied. The scent of dragons that she found so comfortingly familiar was absent from the air, as though the eyrie stood long abandoned.
She turned slowly, considering the strange situation around her, trying to decide whether it was real or not. Was this all part of a hallucination? Or had she been transported to the future or past somehow, to a time where the eyries stood empty? She was reminded of the night she’d gone with the apprentices to explore the Heights, when they had found the dragon cairn. This place had a similar feeling, though this was eerier because it hit closer to home.
She heard a sound behind her and turned.
Standing behind her was a being unlike any other she’d ever seen. It wasn’t human, but rather something that looked at least partially reptilian. It was much taller than a man, and extremely slender, clothed in black robes. Calise sucked in a sharp breath. The creature before her was so inhuman, she had no way of guessing what its intentions were, for its face contained no comprehensible expression.
Summoning every scrap of courage she had, Calise took a step toward it. “Are you an Overseer?”
She wasn’t surprised when the thing did not respond. It seemed aloof and hadn’t moved at all, as though its only purpose in life was to observe.
“I’m looking for someone,” Calise said. “His name is Aram Raythe. He’s in here somewhere.”
Again, no response. She couldn’t tell if the creature even heard her. Her eyes darted around the large cavern that was so familiar and yet so utterly foreign. Like the being in front of her, the eyrie seemed frozen in time. She was beginning to get the feeling that she stood in a world where she was the only thing alive.
“Please,” she whispered. “Wherever he is, we need Aram back. Something bad has happened. Please return him to us.”
The thing continued to stare at her with its liquid black eyes, unblinking. Calise felt herself starting to sweat despite the cold temperature in the lifeless eyrie. She had a prickling feeling on her palms, and the little hairs on the back of her neck stood upright.
“Please.” She spread her hands. “At least show me where he is.”
Nothing.
She clenched her fists in desperation, struggling to come up with some way to appeal to this detestable creature—if it even understood her at all. She thought back to what she knew of the Overseers, which was very little. They supposedly administered the Trials for those who would be Champions, culling those with the Gift who did not meet some standard of character.
If that were true, then there was no way Aram would ever fail such a test. His character was flawless.
Or maybe it wasn’t.
Was it possible to be too kind? Calise felt her heart sink. Perhaps Aram didn’t have the fortitude to be a Champion. He didn’t have much confidence in himself. The more she thought about it, the more she feared for him.
Markus collected some wood for torches then buckled himself into the harness on Siroth’s back, feeling the muscles beneath him bunch. Pushing off from the ground with his strong legs, the dragon pulled himself into the air with a powerful stroke of his wings. They gained altitude quickly, and as they rose, Markus had a good view of the moorlands below. The army of Araghar had been met by the defenders of the Highlands, a small garrison that had been deployed to protect the nearby town.
The Highlanders were enveloped by Kathrax’s forces, fighting a losing battle. Markus had no idea who these people were, and he could see none of their faces, for which he was glad. Otherwise, he didn’t think he could pass by overhead and leave them to their fate.
There was nothing he could do for them. His own mission was crucial, and there was nobody else that could do it. He understood enough about the Anchors to know that they were like rivets, only they held the world apart instead of together. Kathrax was trying to destroy those rivets, and if he did, the world of magic would fall prey to the world of men. All that was good and wholesome in this world would be consumed by those who longed to despoil it.
He couldn’t let that happen. But he didn’t know how he could possibly defend the Anchor by himself, not against sorcerers capable of grounding an entire dragon Wing. Even if he had Aram with him, he didn’t think it would matter. Nevertheless, he had to try.
He had no idea where the caverns were but, fortunately, Siroth did. The dragon flew straight toward them, untroubled by the lances of lightning hurled at them by the sorcerers on the ground.
Ahead, the rolling moorland tumbled into a broken karst region that looked like a stone forest. Small streams threaded around sculpted rocks that loomed like craggy sentinels over the surrounding landscape. A fine mist clung in a layer above the trees, looking almost like smoke. Somewhere down there was their destination. The dragon banked slowly over a thicket of riddled stone monuments, at last alighting atop a ribbon-like ridge of hills.
Shivering, Markus slid from the dragon’s back, his boots slipping before finding purchase on the rocky hillside. He stood for a moment taking his bearings, uncertain where to go. Immediately, a vision sprang to mind of a dark cave gaping from within the shadow of the canyon below. In the vision, a slender path meandered through a forest of enormous, sculpted rocks, some of which he recognized, for they were standing in front of him. He started toward the path then paused, turning back.
“Will you be here when I come out?” he asked the dragon.
There was a heavy pause, stretched and burdened by the weight of unendurable grief. A muddled mixture of emotions was the only answer he received, and it took him a while to interpret it. Yes, Siroth would wait. His beloved rider was dead, and the dragon feared that Markus’s death was imminent too. He had no desire to witness the fall of another courageous soul and would much rather flee this world than bear another loss.
Nevertheless, he would remain. If Markus survived, he would need wings to carry him away.
Feeling a humbling gratitude more poignant than any he had experienced, Markus raised his sword in salute to the dragon’s courage. Then he held his weapon close and started down the trail toward the cavern.
Aram froze, trembling in fear. The Exilari sorcerer who blocked the entrance to the alley was no one he recognized, but that didn’t help, for one sorcerer was just as dangerous as another. Cold revulsion broke over him like an icy wave and, all of a sudden, he was drowning in it. His thoughts had frozen to a standstill, and his body locked rigid. Sharp, jagged breaths hissed from his chest, his pulse thrumming his veins. He took a slow step backward, followed by another.
“Stop.”
The word snapped around his neck like a collar, and he halted without meaning to. The sorcerer raised his hand, extending it toward him slowly. Rooted by terror, Aram stared at him, unable to react. Inside, he struggled against a mindless, fera
l panic.
He wouldn’t go back to the cellars. He wouldn’t.
Opening himself, he sought the same violent power he had used to save his mother from Haldor. But no matter how much he struggled to grasp it, his command of the aether eluded him completely. He couldn’t touch it, couldn’t summon magic to defend himself.
The realization was chilling.
His magic was unlocked in the Shadow Realm, but not in this place. The fact that he was once again bound by the rules of his own world could only mean one thing.
This wasn’t a test.
Somehow, this was real.
He wanted to call for help or scream or flee, but he was too terrified to do any of those things. So, instead, Aram stood still, frozen raw.
The young sorcerer motioned him forward. “If you surrender without a fight, I’ll let your mother live.”
The man knew who his mother was, which meant that he knew who he was.
Aram felt physically torn in half. Could he go back to the cellars to save his mother’s life? Did he have that kind of courage? He tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry to accomplish the act.
Despair claimed him. In front of him was a decision he didn’t have the strength to make.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Sergan wound his way across the battlefield, his mind muddled in a strange, surreal haze. Obriem trailed behind him, sword and shield in hand, looking fiercely disappointed that he hadn’t had the chance to kill anything. Most of the battle had been waged in the sky, not on the ground. What was left of the Inuine garrison had been routed, the men fleeing toward the hills, and Lazair’s general had dispatched riders to give chase. There was nothing between their own forces and the Caverns of Eld Elan.
Killing was thirsty work, and Sergan could’ve downed an entire flagon of wine. His throat was crusted with dust, his mouth achingly dry. He didn’t understand why that was, considering he hadn’t broken a sweat throughout the entire battle. Not once had he looked even one of his victims in the eye. The dragons and the riders he had brought down with conjured lightning hadn’t been given a chance to fight back. They simply dropped from the sky.