War of the Raven Queen: The Goddess Prophecies Fantasy Series Book 6

by Araya Evermore

  ‘Exactly,’ said Asaph, his eyes shining. He noticed the emerging Saurians and eyed them curiously.

  ‘Asaph, meet Ekem and Ata,’ said Issa, nodding to the Saurians. Without elaborating, she added, ‘They fought off the harpies and looked after me before taking me to my father.’

  Asaph and the lizard-men regarded each other and then the Saurians lowered their gaze as if in respect. Asaph bowed stiffly, clearly unsure of the protocol or the history between them.

  ‘Greetings, Dragon Lord, cousin to Saurians,’ said Ekem.

  ‘I’m honoured to meet you,’ said Asaph awkwardly. ‘Thank you for protecting her.’

  ‘It is our duty, to the Queen of Ravens,’ said Ata.

  ‘Ata, how far is it to where you saw the soldiers?’ Issa asked.

  ‘Directly north to the border, maybe a day on foot,’ he said, pointing a claw. ‘The swamp dries up and the ground turns into rocky hills. It’s very dangerous, harpies inhabit the borderlands.’

  Issa looked at the horizon. ‘We can make it from here. Thank you for bringing me this far. If you would like, Asaph can carry you closer to home?’

  Ata and Ekem’s eyes widened and their long, red tongues flicked rapidly in and out. They spoke to each other briefly, then Ekem said, ‘We never fly.’

  It was with some reluctance that Issa said goodbye to the Saurians. She wished she could be back with her father, building a house together far away from the troubles of the world. Until Baelthrom finds us.

  Asaph gently picked her up and she watched them, and the swamp disappear beneath the clouds. A keen wind grew up and she was thankful to nestle into Asaph’s huge claws.

  Ekem and Ata watched the giant golden dragon lift into the sky, circle once and then speed away.

  The Saurians looked at one another, then Ata spoke. ‘It’s as the Oracle foresaw, the last Dragon Lord has returned and now our dragon cousins awaken.’

  Ekem nodded. ‘We are being called to war, the last. Whether we win or lose, live or die, our world will never be the same again. We must gather our warriors and march to the Black Mountains to meet our enemy, the last battle will be there. It’s as the Oracle foresaw.’

  Ata looked back up at the sky. ‘It’s as the Oracle foresaw,’ he repeated with a nod.

  ‘Diredrull,’ rumbled Asaph, slowing and lifting higher into the clouds.

  Issa stared at the dark mountain looming monstrous on the horizon like some terrible beast. Cormak had told her of the once splendorous city that had stood here hugging the lone mountain—itself a source of awe and mystery in a land that was otherwise low country. Tarvalastone, the wonder of Dwarven architecture, gleaming with gold, and more impressive inside than out. She imagined glistening marble walls, great turrets reaching into blue skies, surrounded by the Low Hills of green grass and fertile valleys cut through with gushing rivers.

  Diredrull was none of that. Whatever gold there was, was long gone. Even from this distance she could see the grand turrets were no more. Instead great blocks of black rock formed enormous walls ensnaring the mountain in a deadly embrace. The parched, cracked earth had seen no river or rain for hundreds of years. No sun rose here, there was only the angry red sky and the endless rumble of thunder, the sickly feel of the Under Flow moving just beneath the earth.

  Issa shivered.

  ‘There are Dread Dragons,’ said Asaph in a low voice. ‘I can feel them.’

  Issa strained to see through a break in the clouds and thought she saw black shapes flying. ‘What about the others, Freydel, Haelgon, even Marakon? Can you feel them?’

  ‘I can only feel dragon minds. What’s left of them.’

  ‘Don’t get too close. I feel strong magic, and not the good kind.’

  Asaph took a wide birth of the ugly Dark Dwarven stronghold and came up on the far west side. Much further west, the sky brightened.

  ‘Look,’ Issa said, butterflies in her stomach. ‘The lands we’ve taken back, the sky is changing!’

  ‘It’s recovering,’ said Asaph. ‘So Maioria can heal herself, there is hope.’

  ‘I hear drums,’ said Issa, picking up the faint sound of a monotonous dull beat. She recalled standing with the Guardians of the Portals beside the giant oak tree as the Sword of Binding was passed to her. ‘They are the drums of war,’ she whispered.

  ‘The Feylint Halanoi is marching, look beyond that ravine,’ said Asaph, flying lower.

  Issa inhaled. Sure enough, several miles ahead, marched thousands upon thousands of soldiers in neat, ordered lines and units, their armour and weapons gleaming in the dull light.

  They came closer and she saw the tabards and pennants of every country and faction, Davono, Frayon, Atalanph, Feylint Halanoi, and hundreds of mercenary flags she did not recognise. There were dwarves, elves and Karalanths—Issa had never seen so many people moving, there were at least ten thousand soldiers marching and the thump of their drums beat victory into the land.

  Asaph chuckled long and low. ‘Look what you managed to do. We’ll take back Tarvalastone and Venosia will be ours.’

  Issa swallowed. ‘ “We.” I didn’t do this alone. Thousands will die. I saw not one but many Dromoorai back there.’

  ‘They are willing and ready to fight for their freedom. This is the only way,’ said Asaph.

  ‘I don’t want it in my name,’ Issa shook her head, the horror of battle bringing unwanted images into her mind. Visions of bloodied fields, a dying man reaching out to her before falling face down into the mud, and through it all a cold-faced warrior woman dressed as she was now.

  A horse neighed, and she spied Duskar prancing to the rear with the pack horses. The nimble horse looked to the skies as if sensing her. He was tied on a long rope to another horse ridden by a man in Elven armour. Velonorian, she guessed. The poor elf would be worried sick about her.

  ‘Let’s join them,’ said Asaph, excitement in his voice.

  The talisman grew warm in her belt and she looked at it. A white spear flashed on its surface.

  ‘Wait, where’s Marakon? Can you see him?’ she scanned the lines of soldiers but there was no sign of the half-elf commander.

  ‘He’s not here,’ said Asaph.

  ‘He should be by now, it’s been days, even weeks.’ She bit her lip. What if he’d been killed in the demon tunnels? What about Velistor, Staff of the Gate? Even if they were allies, it was an uneasy truce that held between demons and humans. There were still enough unhappy Grazen who might attack, who might steal the spear. A Star Portal magical tool falling into demon hands would be a terrible thing.

  The talisman was hot now and she felt it pulling to the South. She pictured Marakon, focused on the talisman and entered the Flow. Fields of moving energy appeared before her, far into the distance came a flash of white and then of black. Good magic and evil? Was Marakon in trouble?

  ‘No, we must go south. We can be with the others soon,’ said Issa, squinting into the distance where a jagged spine of rocks reached into the sky. ‘I think I can feel Velistor, and Marakon.’

  Yisufalni swam through a sea of darkness.

  It filled her body, entering her with every breath, finding every orifice, chilling every particle. She called for Murlonius, but her mouth only let the darkness in. He was far away; this blackness was her end.

  ‘The Immortal Elixir,’ an airy voice whispered, shuddering through her like thunder. The voice was the darkness, the sound of Oblivion. ‘I let none of your kind have it. You are privileged.’

  That voice, I know that voice from long, long ago! She gasped and choked, trying to get whatever was in her, out. Pain bolted through her body, she convulsed and screamed, and then the pain faded. It returned stronger than before. Parts of her were dying, she could no longer feel her extremities.

  ‘At first, there’s pain. Then there is only power and beauty.’ The voice turned quiet, pondering. ‘I no longer despise you and your kind, it could be said I have almost forgiven you. All things that occurred in the past
are petty, are nothing compared to what lies before us. As a gift to you, I have allowed you to join me.’

  Pain came in the form of burning within then a bolt of lightning brought a different agony. Her body contorted, and she made a horrible gargling sound. She couldn’t breathe. She opened her mouth and sucked but no life came from the air.

  The pain passed. Her vision became a little clearer. A huge dark shape moved towards her. She tried to move back. Deathly cold chains wrapped her arms behind her back, tightened. The black magic upon them could not be undone.

  Pale orange eyes flared, illuminating the massive tripartite helmet. Baelthrom reached a hand down and clamped under her chin jerking her up off the ground. Pain exploded down her spine as she flopped in his grasp.

  ‘An hour left, my Great One,’ said the yellow-eyed dark dwarf at his side. His repulsive gaze travelled over her naked body.

  ‘Find the other one, find the male. I want them both. He’ll be hunting for her,’ said Baelthrom, dropping her.

  Yisufalni fell to the floor, twisting an ankle and crying out. Waves of pain rolled over her. She drifted, sinking deeper into the dark soup where there was no pain, but there was no life either.

  Bright light exploded in her mind, calling to her, drawing her on.

  ‘Murlonius?’ she whispered, shielding her eyes against the brightness. It came closer. Warmth pushed back the cold. The light began to flicker and flash silver and gold and pink.

  ‘No, I know you,’ she smiled and reached for the power of the Orb of Life. ‘You survived here, alone in the darkness, waiting.’

  The orb spoke to her with feelings, joy at her presence, the desire for freedom, fear of the dark, and the calling for union.

  ‘Yes, this is the only way. We must become one for you and I to survive. It is the end, but at least it is not Oblivion,’ she whispered, giving her agreement.

  Yisufalni touched the light and it filled body and soul. Enraptured, she became one with the light, and the darkness, the pain and the cold fled.

  The Orb of Life burst into blinding light, filling the chamber with the Flow. The iron ring shuddered angrily, red lightning flickered across its surface as the Flow assaulted it.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Baelthrom roared.

  ‘I don’t know, my Lord!’ cried Kilkarn. ‘Urgh, the light, the pain, make it stop!’

  But the light increased. It spewed from the Orb of Life, snaked up into the air, then poured down upon the Ancient at Baelthrom’s feet. The woman groaned as the light touched her. Baelthrom grabbed at her but the light flared, burning his hands and forcing him back.

  He drew upon the Under Flow. It came in powerful waves, but before he could direct it, the Ancient’s body became consumed by the light. The light and the Ancient flared brightly, then both she and the light blasted back into the orb.

  Unspent red energy hummed around Baelthrom’s hands waiting for his command. The Ancient was gone and the Orb of Life now dull and empty, like it had been since he’d taken it thousands of years ago.

  He stalked over to the pedestal where the remaining orbs were, Kilkarn hobbling after him.

  ‘She’s in the orb?’ Kilkarn chanced an intelligent conclusion for once.

  Baelthrom lifted his arms and roared.

  18

  Battle for Tarvalastone

  ‘There!’ Issa spotted a gleam of metal in the distance.

  A hundred soldiers with a score of horses moved just below a rocky ridge, armour and weapons polished and gleaming. They’ve not seen war yet, Issa thought.

  ‘Look, there’s Marakon!’ She laughed and pointed at the tall, bearded half-elf with the eyepatch leading the unit. He carried the white spear, Velistor, and her raven talisman glowed in response to it. ‘And there’s Bokaard.’ The heavily muscled Atalanphian captain followed him.

  Asaph slowed his approach and she felt the tingle of his strong cloaking magic. It was wise to be cautious, she thought. Now they were close, she could see most wore the Feylint Halanoi tabard but then her eyes widened. A handful of others wore a different tabard. ‘Look at their tabards! A black raven on an indigo moon.’ The raven was stylised into the same shape as her raven talisman, cleverly formed into a circle with wings flared, talons out-stretched and head turned to one side.

  ‘The Knights of the Raven,’ said Asaph, approvingly. ‘You should be wearing one as well.’

  Indeed, Issa thought, and a thousand others, too.

  Ehka cawed and she sensed something wrong. The soldiers were moving hurriedly but their progress was hampered by the rocky terrain. A female dwarf paused and looked behind—she seemed out of place amongst the soldiers, even her armour looked awkward. Wizard magic moved, and Issa glimpsed the edges of a shimmering shield above them. The dwarf hurried on. Marakon leapt over a rock and shouted something. Horses stumbled, and soldiers scrambled, weapons drawn at the ready, further slowing their progress.

  ‘But what are they running from?’ She squinted below but couldn’t see anything. Peculiar magic moved, it wasn’t the Under Flow, but it wasn’t good either.

  ‘Harpies!’ growled Asaph just as she spotted a dark cloud cresting the ridge behind the soldiers.

  Issa lifted her raven talisman and caused it to glow a bright indigo blue. The spear in Marakon’s hands burst into white light, startling the half-elf. He stopped and stared up. He could probably see the indigo light but nothing else through Asaph’s cloaking magic, she realised.

  ‘There are thousands of them,’ Asaph’s voice was filled with horror.

  Issa looked ahead and saw the mass of screeching harpies, a wave of harpy magic rippling the air around them.

  ‘Far too many,’ Issa whispered.

  Asaph must have heard for he grinned and said, ‘It’s foolish to bunch so close together before a dragon.’

  They were suddenly hurtling through the air towards the bird women. Issa gripped his talon tight, squinting against the rushing wind. She entered the Flow. A hundred beautiful faces with cruel black eyes loomed into her vision, and then were engulfed in a sea of scorching flames. Screaming and the stench of burning feathers filled the air.

  Asaph arced upwards so fast her stomach somersaulted. She didn’t even get a chance to use the Flow before he was coming at the harpies with another bout of fire. Most moved out of his way but a score weren’t quick enough and exploded into flames.

  Harpy magic flashed, but Issa was ready, and it bounced harmlessly off her impenetrable wall. Asaph turned, and she glimpsed Marakon and his soldiers besieged by harpies far below. She watched as more harpies fled from Asaph and descend upon the soldiers.

  ‘We have to help them,’ she screamed over the rushing wind.

  ‘I can’t use fire, it will kill them too,’ growled Asaph.

  ‘The clever bitches know that!’ shouted Issa. ‘We have to fight them on the ground.’

  ‘Yes, but I cannot,’ said Asaph, his voice unusually quiet and strained.

  Then she spotted what he had already seen, and her heart skipped a beat. ‘Dread Dragons!’ Between them and the far distant dark walls of Diredrull, flew at least five of Baelthrom’s most prized abominations. ‘They’ll kill us all.’

  ‘No, I’ll lead them away. They’re after me, I can hear them in my mind,’ Asaph said. ‘With magic, I can fly fast, much faster than they can. That’s one thing I can thank Morhork for.’

  ‘I’m not leaving your side,’ growled Issa. She looked down. A bloody gash streaked across Marakon’s cheek, and more than one soldier lay unmoving on the ground in a pool of blood.

  ‘Let me get you somewhere safe from all of them,’ said Asaph, his voice weak. He knew she’d refuse, she thought. ‘If I don’t do something fast, we’re all going to die. I’ll take my own life before I become one of them!’

  ‘All right,’ Issa slumped her shoulders. ‘Set me down over there by those rocks. With the power of two orbs, I can help Marakon. You lead away the Dread Dragons.’

  Asaph banked and d
escended, setting her down in a smooth motion without landing. With her heart in her throat, she watched him rise and turn towards the Dromoorai, golden scales bright and gleaming. Dragon magic shimmered, and he shot away.

  The Dromoorai spread out, ready to intercept him.

  He’s right, they’re only after him, thought Issa. ‘Blessed Zanufey and Feygriene, please protect him.’

  A harpy screamed, and a harrowing cry grabbed Issa’s attention. A man struggled with a harpy, her talons embedded deep into his shoulders making his arms useless. Issa pulled her sword free and ran at her. She leapt the last few feet and swiped her sword with such force the harpy’s head flew from her shoulders. Blood and feathers sprayed over her.

  Issa didn’t pause and ran to the next soldier fighting two. One gripped his spear and the other clawed his face so that blood ran into his eyes.

  Issa roared. Her sword sliced through the harpy’s leg, releasing the man’s spear. The harpy screeched and struggled into the air gushing blood from her stump. The other harpy turned on Issa. She raised her sword, but the man’s spear burst through the bird woman’s chest.

  Issa ran on to the next, too busy with her sword to think about using magic. Talons scraped across her back, hard enough to penetrate Dread Dragon armour, and she sprawled on the ground. There came a scream and a thud, then a strong hand gripped her arm and pulled her up. She blinked up into Marakon’s bloodied face.

  ‘There are too many. At least six to one,’ he shouted over the din. ‘We’re good, but not that good. Our wizard is tiring.’

  She glimpsed the slender dwarf wizard surrounded by soldiers trying to protect her. Her face was pale and drained, and she swayed from left to right.