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

by Araya Evermore

  Horses screamed, closer. Issa ignored them and the growing terror, instead focusing on images of her parents.

  ‘And this is father.’ She shared her memory of her parents smiling down at her when she herself was a babe.

  Her sister cried out in agony, breaking the memories. She clawed at her own face, scratching welts into her bruised flesh. ‘I know only darkness,’ she howled.

  ‘No, sister stop, please!’ Issa grabbed her hands and struggled against her surprising strength. ‘Sister, don’t! Feel the life-force you took from me; the memories are within! They are yours too. Reach for them.’

  She held her sister close, trying to avoid her clawing, punching hands. In her arms, Issa noticed her sister’s hair was long, straight and brown, more umber and lighter than her own.

  ‘Your hair’s like our mother’s,’ she said. ‘Look, mine is dark, more like father’s.’

  It seemed the most frivolous thing to say but her sister slowly ceased her flailing. She looked at Issa’s hair with wide, child-like eyes. She touched it and lifted a few strands closer to her face. Was there a flicker of her sister in there?

  ‘Yes, sister, reach.’ Issa smiled through the tears.

  Her sister convulsed, her back arching painfully. Her watery-pale eyes suddenly rolled back in their sockets and then turned completely black. She scowled, just like Lona scowled, and a tormented howl tore from her lips. She moved in a stagger, as if possessed, and her hand whipped towards Issa so fast, she barely glimpsed the dagger as it plunged towards her throat. It was strange, made of beautiful crystal, and she did not have time to stop it.

  She became aware of the hooves pounding behind her and the clacking of horns, so loud she wondered why she hadn’t heard them before. A black sword flew past her nose and slammed into her sister, piercing the left side of her chest. She jerked violently in Issa’s grasp and the dagger missed her throat as she fell. The black sword ploughed on, embedding itself all the way to its hilt. Red blood spilled down white cloth.

  A woman howled, it sounded like Lona but came from far away. Her sister’s black eyes turned milky white and shock spread over her childish face. Issa pulled her close, felt her labouring heart shudder against her own. Silence fell. Hot wetness spilled over her hands. Issa held her tighter, willing her life force into her, but it could not be done.

  Pounding hooves halted. A beast snorted smoke that billowed over her, the blackness stark in the grey of the shadow world, the stench of something long dead.

  In the glaze covering her sister’s eyes, Issa saw the four horsemen reflected back. Black knights on beasts, three with swords aloft pointing at her.

  ‘Sister,’ gasped the girl in her arms. ‘I still feel the light. I still feel it.’

  Tears streamed down Issa’s cheeks. Her sister’s heart stopped, and she became limp. Issa grabbed her close and screamed, feeling the light of her sister pass right through her and upwards.

  A huge metal hand reached down and gripped around her throat, shutting off her scream and lifting her up by her neck. Her sister flopped from her grasp and lay still, so pale and lifeless she was already a ghost in the Realm of the Dead.

  Issa had no fight left within her. She surrendered.

  Ehka cawed loudly.

  I’ve got nothing left within me, Ehka.

  A flash of magic blinded her. The hand around her neck jerked and she was falling, but the hand still gripped her neck. The ghost realm vanished, and she hit the ground of the Hall of Memories hard. The metal hand dropped from her neck, dismembered at the elbow. Beside her lay Velistor, bloodied and thronging and flashing bright. Beneath her, a giant symbol of the Murk slowly dimmed.

  The hum of the translocation faded into chaos.

  Four demons, their backs and wings filling the space in front of her from floor to ceiling, slashed demonic weapons against a sea of black flooding out of the vortex.

  Through the swirling mass, Issa glimpsed Lona and other Yurgha, their pale hands raised, black magic surging from their palms. To her right, on the far side of the room, Marakon, Eiretonne and Bokaard, along with Cusap’anth and Rhul’ynth, battled against the Knights of Maphrax. Maggot stood back from them all hurling Jabber, his beloved tiny spear-like weapon, whilst Thiashar whizzed wildly left and right, desperately dodging magic and blades.

  Clanging metal, demon howls and the screams of beast-horses deafened her ears, and the crush of black magic stole the air from her lungs. She pushed herself to her feet and readied to enter the Flow, but her eyes fell upon the still, pale form of her sister on the ground, beside whom Ehka huddled.

  The noise and mayhem faded away into silence.

  Gone, and I could not save her. The sorrow cut deep, tears instantly springing into her eyes—but there was rage too. Not knowing what else to do, she picked up Velistor and felt it rumble with a desperate need. She aimed it at a Knight of Maphrax, struggled to find her mark on the moving target, then hurled it, screaming her rage.

  The spear plunged through its chest, ignoring the armour the knight wore. Its terrible mount reared and pawed the air as if it, too, had been struck.

  Seeing his chance, Marakon lunged in, raised his sword, and smote the knight’s head from its shoulders. Without pause, he swung his sword back and slashed at the horse. Horse and rider jerked backwards, becoming immaterial as they faded from the world. The beast’s hind quarters turned into smoke and then the whole horse and knight exploded, smoke and soot filling the air in the place they had been. Velistor fell and clanged upon the floor.

  Issa looked at Marakon. He caught her glance as he looked up from the smoking knight, her own pain and fury mirrored in his face. With deadly calm, he snatched up Velistor and turned upon the next Knight of Maphrax, once his knight, once his friend. Now only the spear in his hands had the power to kill them.

  Issa entered the Flow too late. Black magic slammed her against a pillar, knocking the breath from her lungs. She gathered herself, drew upon the Flow fast and hurled it at the vortex.

  Sonic booms shook the chamber and they plunged into darkness. Demon howls filled the air.

  ‘Lightning,’ Issa commanded.

  White forks streaked from her hands into the vortex. The air shuddered, pressure grew, crushing down upon her until her head pounded and bones creaked.

  Someone entered the Flow and magic added to her own. Naksu, she recognised the signature. The Under Flow groaned as the Flow surged. The pressure shattered, cutting off the screams of beasts and demons. Immediate silence and a void in magic descended. The darkness receded.

  Issa slid down the wall, panting. Was it over?

  Demons, half shadow and half materialised, looked around, their scowling faces softening. Marakon and the others, paused in mid-battle, now slowly straightened and lowered their weapons.

  Naksu sighed, a relieved smile growing on her exhausted face as she smoothed her robes.

  ‘We shut the vortex, somehow,’ Issa panted.

  ‘They couldn’t cope with the purity of Maioria’s magic,’ said Naksu.

  Ehka hopped unsteadily over. She pulled him onto her lap and lay her head back against the pillar. ‘Thank the goddess you all came when you did. How did you find me? I fell down a long airshaft. Never mind. How many horsemen did we take?’

  ‘Two down,’ said Marakon, a pained look on his face. ‘Two got away.’

  Rhul’ynth came over and Issa looked up into the face of her friend, dried blood marring the swirls of blue warrior paint. Issa forced a smile. ‘I’m all right, but how in hell did you get here?’

  ‘We breached the south-western wall through the hidden gate, and ran right into Marakon,’ said Rhul’ynth. She took a cloth and bent to gently wipe the blood and dirt from Issa’s forehead.

  Marakon stood beside her. ‘The swamp fairy was leading us to you after we lost you in the collapsing tunnel.’ He nodded to Thiashar who hung close to the ceiling, her light unusually dim.

  Cold hands pressed on her leg and Maggot dared
to materialise his face. She smiled at him. ‘So, you didn’t run away but went to get help.’ She glanced at the demons to her left. They clustered together and eyed Marakon warily, knowing him better as Demon Slayer.

  ‘King promised warriors. Now was a good time,’ said Maggot.

  Issa watched the demons shuffling awkwardly, clearly not used to humans, and certainly not fighting alongside them. ‘Will you fight for us?’ she asked.

  ‘We fight in the shadows until we can bear this world no longer,’ one growled. ‘Then we return to our king.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Issa, moved, but her emotions were conflicted. The demons had betrayed her mother and caused so much pain, and yet here they were helping her. She couldn’t hate them, but Gedrock had better have some answers for her. Apart from Maggot, she wondered if she could ever trust them fully.

  With Rhul’ynth’s help, Issa got onto her bruised feet, and in halting steps, she went to her sister. Marakon followed, then the others.

  ‘Who is she?’ Cusap’anth asked.

  Issa knelt down, trying not to see the ugly black sword impaling her body. ‘My sister,’ she croaked over the lump in her throat. She doesn’t even have a name! All those years we could have spent together, gone. I could have loved you, I do love you. You could have met father. We could have healed you and made you strong, but not now. What can I tell father? Issa smarted in bitterness.

  Marakon knelt beside her. As gently as he could, he pulled free the hateful sword and threw it on the floor. It hissed and turned into smoke.

  ‘Only a few days ago I had a sister,’ Issa whispered. ‘Already she has been taken from me. That thing that came out of the vortex, out of the Dark Rift, took her as a slave and killed my mother. My sister might be gone but at least she’s free of this bitter world of pain and torment.’

  Before the sobs could come, Issa entered the Flow and pulled indigo magic to her, cool and gentle. Tears blurring her vision, she worked indigo light from her hands into her sister’s body, the blue flames engulfing her swiftly. The magic fire flared brightly for several moments and then disappeared, her sister’s body along with it. Turned to light. Zanufey carry you, beloved!

  A strong hand gripped her shoulder. She looked up at Marakon, and he pulled her up and into an embrace.

  ‘Find solace in battle,’ he whispered in her ear.

  ‘And there’s a big one occurring right now above our heads,’ said Cusap’anth, his sensitive ears overhearing.

  Issa nodded, and a steely resolve came over her. ‘I can fight.’ I’ll lose myself in battle, so the sorrow cannot touch me!

  Marakon hung back as the others left the strange chamber of stone mirrors.

  Alone, he knelt beside the pile of dark ash on the floor, all that remained of one of his knights. My knight killed by my own hand, like so many had been in those dark times. He had deliberately targeted the knight with the ring on his finger.

  ‘Meyer,’ he whispered, casting his mind back to memories of conversations shared thousands of years ago.

  ‘I’ll train your horse. You’ll never want to ride another again.’ Meyer’s hair caught the sunlight, his white teeth shining as he grinned.

  Meyer had trained horses for the Knights of the Shining Star. He had a way with them, a special relationship, like a Daluni but only with horses. This pile of ash was not Meyer but the remains of something twisted and evil.

  Where are you now, Meyer? Does anything remain of you in the tormented darkness? Forgive me, for everything. Cold wrapped around his heart for all the wrong doings of a life lived long ago. I’m sorry I could not save you.

  He forced back the tears, he would not grieve, not here, not when there was a battle to be fought. He would find solace in the sword and spear in his hand.

  Gently he stroked the pile of ash, his fingers touching something hard and round. He picked it up and stared at the gold ring with a prancing horse engraved on it.

  Giving a long sigh he stood, slipped the ring into his pocket, and hefted Velistor. Feeling the spear’s need draw him on, he followed after the others.

  Naksu took Ehka from Issa’s arms as they walked out of the hall. ‘You save your magic. Let me help him.’ The seer began her inspection of the bird, who sat quite calmly in her arms. ‘So, you found the Hall of Memories?’ Naksu smiled knowingly.

  ‘Yes, and I don’t care to ever come here again,’ said Issa.

  ‘It’s not an evil place, but it’s always a trying place,’ Naksu nodded. ‘What happened to you in there was not normal.’

  ‘Nothing that’s happened to me in this life can be considered normal,’ said Issa. She stopped suddenly and looked around. ‘Wait, this isn’t the place I entered from.’ She noted the wide cellar filled with ancient barrels lining the brick walls as far as the braziers would stretch. Many were smashed and empty.

  ‘And how did you find me? I fell all the way to the end of an air shaft, maybe a mile deep.’

  Naksu smiled enigmatically and continued walking. ‘The Hall of Memories does not stay in the same place. It moves at will. That’s why it’s so difficult to find. This must be the ancient dwarven section before the dark dwarves took it. Look at that old barrel of wine. Dark dwarves don’t drink such fine beverages.’

  Issa looked at the old barrel laying on its side. ‘A place that’s not quite in the real world…more in the land of fae,’ she murmured.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Naksu.

  Issa rolled back her shoulders. ‘I hope I don’t end up in any more of those places.’

  Stone steps led up into a long corridor. Something must have been heard for Marakon paused and raised his hand for quiet. Bokaard padded silently ahead to scout. Issa followed Marakon’s lead and pressed herself against the wall beside him.

  ‘Where are the others? Your soldiers and the Saurians?’ she whispered.

  ‘Ahead, fighting. They might have reached the courtyard by now. When that swamp fairy found us, we split off to come and find you. We thought you were gone.’

  ‘Thank you, Thiashar,’ Issa nodded to the green light high above.

  Bokaard came back. ‘Can’t see anything obvious.’

  Quietly they made their way through several wide, empty stone corridors. Issa imagined them in their heyday, adorned with rugs, chairs, tapestries and paintings—much like Castle Carvon or Castle Rebben. Now there was only dark emptiness. At least they were in the light dwarves’ old home rather than the dark dwarves’ evil tunnels.

  There came the distant sound of clashing and Issa thought of Asaph. Was he out there somewhere battling Dread Dragons? She gripped her sword and pushed on, keen to get outside into the light.

  Voices shouted ahead, and everyone paused.

  ‘Let me go,’ whispered Eiretonne to Marakon.

  The dwarf inched forwards up the stairs and peered around the corner. He didn’t return immediately so Cusap’anth silently stepped beside him and both scouted. The moment captured Issa, two bitter enemies now standing side by side, giving hope that an old rift could be healed.

  The seconds passed like hours and Issa’s skin prickled. She longed to fight or move or do something.

  Finally, Eiretonne turned back to them. ‘Dark dwarves,’ he mouthed.

  The dwarf glanced up at the Karalanth and the deer-man down at the dwarf, a fiery look shared in their eyes. Eiretonne lifted his axe and gave a low chuckle. Cusap’anth drew his bow and broke into a smile.

  As one, the dwarf and the Karalanth leapt around the corner. Issa looked at Marakon who shook his head then grinned. Together, they ran after them.

  22

  Battle of Queens

  From wall to wall, the hallway ahead teemed with dark dwarves, their black axes raised, yellow eyes gleaming as they stomped forwards.

  Behind them came a horde of Maphraxies, their eyes narrowed, mouths opened to roar as the enemy ran to meet them.

  Issa, barely a pace behind Marakon, took the Maphraxie on the farthest left swinging its black ir
on flail. Her sword whistled, shuddered into its shoulder then stopped, forcing her to pull it free. The Maphraxie howled a gust of putrid, rotting breath, from a mouth filled with grey, broken teeth; its eyes alight, not with life but with Sirin Derenax.

  Issa smarted, rolled under its flail and slashed its exposed calf. Dark blood oozed but the Maphraxie remained standing. She rolled desperately to avoid its return swing, black spikes swishing past her nose.

  With the barest intention, Issa threw her hands forwards and the Flow responded without her even entering it. Shards of paving tore from the floor, hurtled forwards and impaled the Maphraxie. It gave a surprised look, then fell straight as a plank. The ferocity of their attack was already pushing the enemy back.

  Naksu helped her up, her staff glowing. ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Issa said, looking at her hands and feeling the pulse of Illendri in its pouch. ‘Illendri responded to my whim and the Flow was there. I didn’t choose to enter it – it was just … already there.’

  Naksu nodded, considering her thoughtfully. ‘The magic users of old never had to enter the Flow. It was once as you describe, always there, an integral part of us, like breathing.’

  The baying of death hounds broke off anything else she might have said. The undead dogs bounded towards them, long tongues dripping drool, fangs bared. Naksu held her staff up and magic moved with a flash. The dogs catapulted back over the heads of the oncoming Maphraxies.

  In the light, Issa glimpsed the swarm of the enemy filling the halls. She swallowed. They were outnumbered.

  A Maphraxie filled her view. The shadows moved between them and then a demon stood there, the muscles of its back bulging. The Maphraxie paused, the demon screeched and leapt. Both Maphraxie and demon became shadow and then were gone whilst Issa stood blinking.

  Rhul’ynth screeched. The Karalanth warrior struck swords with a Maphraxie whilst kicking a death hound attacking her rump. Issa ran and leapt on the death hound’s back, sinking her blade into its neck.