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

by Araya Evermore

  He shared her shock. ‘You’re saying that Baelthrom does not care about Diredrull?’

  ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. All of this was too easy.’

  Issa laughed and tossed her head. ‘Easy? You’re saying Baelthrom was prepared to let this fall? That all this meant nothing to him? That it was also a waste of our time? Hundreds died here this day—and the days before, thousands! They still haven’t finished burying them.’ Issa’s face turned red. Asaph laid a gentle hand on her arm, but she pulled away. ‘One thing hasn’t changed, Morhork, you’re still able to irritate everyone.’

  Morhork growled. ‘He doesn’t care because he thinks the game is won. You cannot see it yet under this cursed sky, but that Dark Rift is enormous. Nothing, save a miracle, can now stop us being pulled into it, it’s simply a matter of physics. Everything you see here today is nothing but collateral damage. What he does want is the dragon race to become his own monstrosity. Like pets for him to play with, he wants to enslave all dragons for use in the Dark Rift.’

  Asaph felt sick. Like Issa, he wanted to deny what the dragon said, but an awful feeling told him it was true. He put his hands on his hips and hung his head, thinking it through. ‘I cannot let that happen.’

  ‘Why?’ Morhork snorted this time. ‘You awoke them. It would all be fine if they had not been awoken.’

  ‘What, and have them sleep their way into the Dark Rift?’ Issa laughed incredulously.

  ‘Better that than become a deformed slave for all eternity,’ growled Morhork, bristling. He scraped the ground with his claws, leaving deep grooves in the dirt. ‘When I’ve recovered my magic reserves, I’ll go to them. I’ll fight and die with them. The end is close.’

  ‘I’ll go with you, but not to Yis,’ said Asaph. ‘I’ll raise an army and go to Drax. The dragons will come. There we’ll fight alongside each other.’

  Morhork looked at him and his lips lifted into an ugly grimace.

  Within a sky turning dark blue, twinkling stars emerged.

  Beneath it, giant sconces and bonfires were lit for the gathering people. Soldiers washed in the cool river running through the city, and endless crates of food were stacked in a cleared section. Those in charge of the meals set about preparing a feast, and soon the air was filled with the delicious smells of cooking.

  People worked tirelessly, erecting tents and securing walls, but darkness fell swiftly, and most would have to camp out under the stars, though no one complained.

  Issa patted Duskar and looked up at them. So beautiful compared to that awful dark sky. The horse chomped noisily into his bag of oats. She ran her fingers through her damp hair, almost dry from being washed in river water. Now the dark spell on the place had been broken, cool fresh air blew, bringing the promise of a new dawn. But it was a chill wind, reminding her that they should be in the depths of winter. There would be snow even on parts of Little Kammy by now.

  She pulled up the collar of her seer’s robe, given to her by Naksu who always came prepared with plenty of supplies. Her armour, now washed, was drying by the fire, and Eiretonne had taken her sword to fix the notches in it. The dwarf had been itching to get back to the forge as soon as the battle had ended.

  ‘There you are,’ said Asaph grinning and striding towards her. He was washed and clean-shaven and the firelight caught his hair in a blaze of red. He scooped her up in his arms and kissed her long and hard before setting her down again. She had to steady herself against him.

  ‘Food’s ready,’ he said, taking her by the hand and leading her towards the delicious smells.

  Giant cauldrons and pots hung over fires. They filled their bowls full of steaming stew and grabbed as many hard rolls as they could carry. The bread was old but once soaked in the stew, it softened up and everything tasted divine. They settled down on blocks of rubble next to Marakon, Jarlain, and the wizards. At the next fire along, crouched the Saurians. She raised her eyebrows when she spotted Naksu amongst them. The seer was speaking easily in their own language, further surprising Issa.

  ‘She can even speak Saurian,’ said Issa, blowing on a spoonful of stew.

  ‘She’s a Wayfarer, a traveller. It’s her job,’ said Haelgon, wolfing down his.

  Issa chuckled, marvelling at the seer’s talents. She turned her focus onto her food and managed another half bowl of stew in the same time that Asaph finished three. ‘It’s lucky they aren’t rationing tonight,’ she said.

  Asaph laughed and set down his bowl. ‘I could eat enough for a dragon.’ He put his hands behind his head and leant back, a satisfied look on his face.

  She sighed and leant against him. ‘Ah, if only Drumblodd could be here with us now. To see our victory and everything he fought for. Goddess bless him.’

  ‘Goddess bless him,’ echoed Luren. Haelgon nodded but said nothing, his eyes seeing into the middle distance.

  ‘And Hally and Drenden and all the others,’ said Marakon, staring at the fire. Jarlain squeezed his arm and he smiled sadly at her.

  Asaph laid an arm around Issa’s shoulder, lost in his own emotions.

  ‘Hey, lads and lasses.’ Eiretonne came stomping over, cradling half a dozen or so dusty brown bottles, eyes gleaming with joy. ‘You won’t believe what we’ve just discovered!’ He handed out the bottles, and Issa noticed his face was rosy. ‘The finest Tarvalastone dwarven spirits. Get yer lips around that and you’ll find your aches and wounds gone by tomorrow.’

  He winked at Issa as she took a bottle. She pulled out the cork and brought it tentatively to her lips. Cool liquid filled her mouth, sweet, strong and suddenly warming. Her cheeks flushed, and she felt herself relaxing. Asaph took the bottle from her and drank deeply, smacking his lips appreciatively.

  Eiretonne chuckled. ‘Yes, me lad, that’ll put hairs on yer chest, and yer feet. Get it next to the fire, the warmer it is the better.’ The dwarf placed his bottle near the hearth then seated himself next to Bokaard.

  Whilst everyone ate, drank, and talked about their battles that day, Issa considered telling Asaph more about her sister, but emotions threatened to overwhelm her when she wanted only to be peaceful and joyful this moment.

  ‘Whilst you were tending Duskar, I went exploring,’ said Asaph. ‘I found a room in a turret with all its windows still intact. There’s a fireplace too which I’m sure we can light if we take some kindling. It’s draughty though, tricky to get to and unimpressive when you do, but given that it’s pretty full down here, I thought it would be a nice place to be alone, to sleep and watch the stars.’

  ‘Sounds perfect,’ said Issa, yawning and stretching. ‘Show me now before I drink too much of this.’

  Asaph helped her up and led the way through the fires and groups of soldiers eating, drinking and laughing. He grabbed a wrap of kindling from the pile and she took two wool blankets from the stack.

  They climbed the stone stairwell and had to jump the gaps between the missing steps. They clambered under fallen beams and masonry until they reached a short hallway. Asaph turned left and emerged out onto a rampart. At the end stood the tiny turret, nothing more than a guard house but at least it had an intact, heavy wooden door. He shunted it aside and led her in.

  Narrow windows lined the hexagonal room from ceiling to chest height and the stars above trickled their light through. They set about filling the tiny fireplace with kindling and lit the tinder with flint. Soon, a fire blazed and warmth filled the room.

  Asaph stood behind her and held her close as they looked at the stars. He took a dram of liquor and passed it to her. She took the bottle, raised it to her lips and drank, shuddering as the contents warmed her thoroughly. He ever so gently kissed the exposed part of her neck, his lips brushing against her skin, making her whole body tingle with anticipation. The raven mark on her chest began to throb.

  Feeling butterflies in her stomach, she turned and kissed him fully on the lips, loving his warmth. He smoothed back her hair, then ran his hands down her back, caressing her bottom, and
when she leant her head back, he kissed her throat and lowered his face to her collarbone. His hands loosened her robe. She let it fall from her shoulders and gasped when he kissed her breasts, feeling the whole world melt and waver.

  With fumbling fingers, she undid first his shirt and then his trousers, desperate to feel his naked skin next to hers. His eyes were alight with desire and his expression was serious, eager and tender all at the same time. This time, she wasn’t afraid. This time, she was free.

  She helped him push the robes from her hips and sank down to the floor beside him, noting how hot he was, how flushed his skin and how hard he had become. A flash of overwhelming fear passed through her and was gone. Asaph stroked his hands over her skin, everywhere he wanted, and she allowed him free passage - tonight he was in control, and she would trust him. When he kissed her she returned it with equal passion and followed where he led.

  The Flow opened up before her as he moved on top, stroking, whispering, feeling. When their marks touched, magic flared consuming them both; he became golden fire in the Flow and she a sea of indigo. Together they lifted, their beings blending and becoming something new, something more than the sum of their parts, something beautiful.

  She gasped as his power filled her, orange flames warm within and without, and she found herself moving with him in wanton abandon. The magic intensified, the world became pure energy and she was vaguely aware that it wasn’t always like this; that this was otherworldly, special, divine.

  She heard herself groan, felt something building to a crescendo inside her as Asaph’s whole body trembled upon her; and the noise he made, the burst of his breath on her face—she didn’t want him to stop.

  A wave of ecstasy exploded through her and she felt him shudder and pause, his whole body straining as she lost herself completely.

  A new world opened before her. One of light and the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. She moved along an endless hallway of light, and when she wondered if she walked, she found her legs appeared, as if thought alone had created them. She was serenity and ecstasy combined, and she knew where she was, where she was going. Ahead beamed the light of the One, the Source of all, and it bathed her in peace, beauty, and absolute trust.

  ‘I am One,’ she said, her voice a melody vibrating harmoniously with the exquisite tinkling sound.

  ‘I am spirit,’ she said, and the light resounded.

  ‘I am eternal,’ she breathed, and the light became a chorus.

  Then she was drifting back down, a feather floating through clouds of light. Hot lips kissed hers tenderly and she kissed them back, wound her hands in his hair. She looked up into Asaph’s blue eyes and saw, echoed within his, the wonder she felt.

  ‘I saw the Halls of Creation,’ she whispered, stunned.

  He nodded, and his brow furrowed. ‘We were one and it was…’ he struggled helplessly, ‘…it was beautiful. So beautiful, words cannot describe it. Issa, I saw the Source of all Creation!’

  He lay down beside her and pulled her close, the fire crackling and warming their entwined feet.

  24

  Baelthrom's Grace

  ‘Why do you come to me,’ Baelthrom’s voice rolled around the dark chamber.

  It was cold too, even to his ethereal form. Freydel shivered again and thanked Ayeth for teaching him this particularly potent projection spell. Through Ayeth’s tutelage and the power of his staff forged from Aralansian crystal, his form was just a projection. Baelthrom would see him only as a ghost, shimmering and opaque, and be unable to harm him in any way—or so he prayed.

  “A ghost in colour,” Ayeth had said. Only Freydel wasn’t dead. His physical body stood in the remains of the crumbled Wizard’s Tower under a sky that raged with red clouds that never rained and a storm that never broke. Thunder rolled around and around, and the air tasted heavy and stale. The shield was gone, along with the power that had once been here.

  Freydel glimpsed his hand in the projection, it was pale, indistinct, and trembling. This was indeed the most powerful mental projection he had ever been able to create. Had his staff been made from Maiorian crystal, he doubted it would have the power to hold such magic.

  His teeth chattered slightly, as if he could feel the coldness of the room, but more likely because of Baelthrom’s looming presence chilling his very soul. Larger than a demon, he hulked in the shadows, the barest light from a distant brazier catching on the tips of his helmet making them look like horns. In the darkness, the Immortal Lord’s eyes blazed first red, then blue, and his wings stretched wide. Enormous! Surely he had grown, thought Freydel.

  Black magic coiled like snakes on the floor around them. A warning. He was here by Baelthrom’s grace alone, even as a projection—perhaps he could enslave a projection too! Freydel forced his mind to calm.

  ‘Should you not be battling with your friends? Thousands are being slaughtered in Diredrull, and thousands more will fall before the end.’ Baelthrom paced, his claws scouring the stone floor.

  ‘There are greater things to be dealt with,’ said Freydel, hating the stammer in his voice. He gripped his staff so tightly his fingers turned numb. ‘Do you remember yourself before you came here, before you became Baelthrom? I implore you to remember.’

  ‘You implore nothing of me!’ Baelthrom roared. Braziers around the room burst into flames, lighting up the chamber. The Immortal Lord lifted his wings and his form grew, becoming ethereal and made of a smoky substance.

  ‘I’m sorry, my Great Lord,’ Freydel stuttered and stepped back, dropping his gaze dutifully.

  Baelthrom considered him. ‘All that has gone before means nothing in the face of what is to come. You fools still think you can stop your inexorable fall into the wondrous Dark Rift.’ He laughed, great bellows reverberating around the room, vibrating the giant iron ring that hung in the centre. ‘Not even I could change the movement of this planet.’

  Freydel paused, the thought chilling him utterly. Ayeth and the crystal pyramids—could they do such a thing? Surely they have the power to alter a planet’s course, he always spoke of their incredible powers. But right now he didn’t feel so sure—in fact, he suddenly felt stupid. Coming here was an act of terrible bravery—or foolishness. Did he really hope to sway Baelthrom’s mind? To make him simply stop his plans and…and what? Go home? He hadn’t thought this through nearly enough. But there had been no time to plan anything! He tried again.

  ‘You were a wise and powerful being, possibly holding more power than you do today,’ Freydel stepped forwards, beseeching.

  Baelthrom chuckled, a strange sound that almost held glee. He lifted and flexed a gauntleted hand. Black magic shimmered around it and his whole form solidified and then grew indistinct, surrounded by shadows. ‘It is not so. This power fills me like nothing before. It becomes me. The Rift has never been this powerful. Every moment, a new world falls into it, feeds it, and it grows. I grow too. That puny being I saw beside you in the Wizard’s Circle…that’s barely a fragment of me. I’ve become so much more even I cannot fathom where I will end. I see an endless universe of dark power—and it is beautiful.’

  He is becoming one with the Dark Rift! Freydel realised, his stomach twisting painfully. He’s filled with the power of it. He felt the Under Flow growing, pulling on him, urging him, seducing him. The power was strong and pure, here in Baelthrom’s chamber. Pure darkness! Did Ayeth know more about this power? Perhaps if he understood just a little, he could disseminate it, learn how to break it.

  Freydel swallowed, if he learned such black arts he would never want to break it, which is why all wizards were forbidden to use black magic. After all, this was not the first time he had looked evil in the face—but it was the first time he had felt it so strong and so pure. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the desire.

  ‘The Dark Rift will destroy you and consume you as it has all others,’ he said.

  ‘No, it will become me,’ Baelthrom breathed, his rumbling voice filling the chamber.


  He’s mad, it’s clear to see, but is he wrong? Freydel pursed his lips, did he dare say it? I must say it.

  ‘The one you used to lo— The one who stood at your side. She is…It’s not…Curse it!’ Freydel took a deep breath trying to find the right words. ‘The Yurgha, they are not your friends. She will betray you. She has betrayed you. That is why you fall into the Dark Rift. It’s her fault!’

  Sweat beaded on Freydel’s forehead, rolled down his face and dampened his collar uncomfortably. Could Lona see what was happening now? Ayeth said she had the ability to see into the past and future, and now with the replica orb…

  ‘I have seen this one you mention.’ Baelthrom moved closer, Freydel stepped back. ‘But she does not have the power she thinks she has. Those given to the powers of emotion have strength but lack stability. Nothing can overcome or withstand a process both accurate in its design and perfect in its execution.’

  ‘No, but she and her entire race believe as you do, that they can rule the Dark Rift,’ said Freydel. He understood the wisdom in Baelthrom’s words. Lona and the Yurgha were unstable in a way Baelthrom was not. Was such wisdom a part of Ayeth coming through? Could he reach anything of Ayeth in Baelthrom if he tried harder? Just the thought gave him hope, but also filled him with terror.

  ‘This Ayeth, who was once you, he’s trying to reach you to stop what you will do.’ Freydel’s voice was barely a whisper. ‘There are those willing to help, you have only to reach for the light.’

  Baelthrom paused his pacing and stood for a long time beside the orbs. He stared at them inlaid in their stone pedestal. They were dull and lifeless, the pale Orb of Life, the muddy Orb of Fire and the grey Orb of Air, so unlike how they had been when brought together at the Wizard’s Circle—all flashing colours and harmonious sounds. Freydel was deeply saddened. He was looking at the waning life of Maioria.

  His gaze rested on the sickly Orb of Fire. Fighting back sorrow for Drumblodd, his colleague and his friend, Freydel’s thoughts turned to Lona. Why had she given Baelthrom the orb rather than use it to progress her own dark ambitions? What vile pact had occurred between them, and who would suffer and die as a result of it? Perhaps Maioria’s orbs were useless to her, perhaps they did not work beyond the realm of Maioria herself. All these things he could only guess at as a shiver slithered down his back.