Reckoning (The Amazon's Vengeance Book 5)

by Sarah Hawke

  “The lies and treachery of the dragons will be punished!” Dathiel shouted as he floated toward Jorem. “You stole our power, you sullied our legacy, and you dared to sit upon our throne! But I told you before, Wyrm Lord: the Age of Sorcery is over. Your tyranny is finally at an end!”

  Dathiel’s entire body burst with energy, and a wave of golden light exploded from his body and rippled through the streets of the Redwater District. There were no strokes of lightning or billowing clouds of flame; the energy simply washed over Highwind like a cool, cleansing wave. Jorem let out a guttural snarl, wondering what this monster had done. Everything went quiet and still, as if time itself had come to a halt…but then the air around him began to hiss and pop as if had been set aflame.

  “You will no longer wield our blood as if it is your own!” Dathiel said, the radiance engulfing his body becoming so bright the entire city looked as if it were suddenly bathed in daylight. “Return to me, my brothers and sisters. Allow me to make you whole once again!”

  Jorem roared lifted his claw to swat Dathiel…but then a fresh spike of agony suddenly ripped through his entire body and bowled him over. He reflexively tried to weave a healing spell, and it was only then that he discovered the impossible truth.

  The Aether was gone.

  At first, he refused to believe it. The Aether was as omnipresent as the wind or the sky. It may have been invisible, but it was as fundamental a part of the world as gravity. No one, not even the avatar of a Fallen God, could simply snap his fingers and remove it.

  And yet…

  As Jorem tried and failed to channel the Aether’s power, an all-encompassing agony flooded his body as if he had just triggered the full wrath of the Flensing. After the Shattering, he had seen the suffering wrought upon the Knights of the Silver Fist and other channelers who had been unknowingly connected to the Fount of Velhari. Jorem had assumed that sorcerers like himself and Kaseya would never be forced to endure such torment. The Flensing could at least be avoided by not overchanneling. But the Wasting Echo…

  This was like one of his organs had been brutally ripped out of his chest. Even in his nigh-invincible dragon form, the pain was excruciating. He rolled onto his side, stunned in torment, and realized that the scales on his arm had faded into a pale flesh. He felt every snapping bone, every twisting ligament, as he slowly reverted back to his human form. Within mere seconds, he was lying naked in the wreckage, gasping for breath and surrounded by fog and snow and rubble. He had no magic. He had no power. He had absolutely nothing at all except despair.

  “What was once stolen has now been reclaimed,” Dathiel declared, stretching out his arm and summoning another sphere of light into his hand. He pointed the blazing tip at Jorem’s throat. “And the judgment wrongly deferred by my brethren shall finally come to pass.”

  ***

  “Tell me…again,” Valuri said between labored breaths as she continued jogging toward the Redwater District. “Why…didn’t we just…fly?”

  “Because Jorem was not convinced he could protect us in the saddle, especially you,” Kaseya replied. “The Inquisitrix can control your Senosi tattoos and—”

  “It was a rhetorical question, Red,” the Huntress bit out. “Let’s just hope he knows what he’s doing.”

  Selvhara followed behind them silently, her elven eyes and ears on the lookout for any signs of enemy soldiers. She didn’t expect to find any—she had seen enough of Dathiel’s plan to know that the southern wall would face the brunt of the Vorsalosian attack, leaving the northern part of the city virtually undefended. The only question was whether or not Jorem could reach her old master in time…

  “This way!” Kaseya called out, pointing and turning down a nearby alley. Unlike the Huntress, the amazon didn’t seem the least bit winded. Her sheer athleticism was truly a sight to behold, even for a thousand-year-old Faetharri like Selvhara. She wasn’t winded either, of course, though the call of her cursed blood was getting harder and harder to ignore.

  Harder, but not impossible. Her new bond with Kaseya was keeping it in check, at least for now. Hopefully, the amazon’s iron will could replace her former master’s control.

  The Silver Temple was near the edge of the Redwater District, and they could all see its spires and bell tower before they reached the gate cordoning off the district from the rest of the city. The heavy oak doors were closed, unsurprisingly, though that didn’t stop them. Valuri turned and kissed the amazon on the mouth, which still seemed strange to Selvhara even though she knew the other woman’s intent. Valuri’s green eyes began to glow as she fed upon the amazon’s sorcerous energy, and her labored breaths almost immediately steadied.

  “Hold on,” she said, turning to the gate and vaulting into the air. Thanks to her tattoos, she leapt far higher and farther than any normal human ever could. Once she was on the parapet above the gate, she tossed down a rope for the other women to climb.

  “Zor kalah,” Kaseya breathed when she reached the top, her blue eyes open wide. “The devastation…”

  Selvhara grimaced when she pulled herself up. A brief gap in the fog allowed them an unobstructed glimpse of this part of the district, and it wasn’t pleasant. The streets surrounding the temple looked like a tornado had struck, and there were several bodies strewn about the courtyard. But all of that was secondary compared to the massive hole on the northern side of the building—and the red dragon wings sticking out of the gap.

  “Is he in trouble, Red?” Valuri asked.

  “No,” Kaseya said. “He seems…calm.”

  “Calm? How is that even—?”

  “Wait,” the amazon interrupted, lifting her hand. “Something is wrong.”

  Selvhara could feel the echo of Jorem’s confusion through her bond with Kaseya. She was still trying to understand what it meant when a deafening roar bellowed across the district—followed by the seemingly impossible sight of a dragon flying backward out of the temple and crashing through several adjacent buildings.

  All three women froze, wondering what in the bloody void they had just seen. But then Jorem’s pain lanced through Kaseya’s collar, and Selvhara soon felt it as well.

  “Maskari!” the amazon breathed, grabbing the rope and leaping down from the gate. In the same instant, Selvhara and Valuri leapt down beside her. The moment they landed, they all saw a single figure wrapped in golden Aetheric energy float out of the ruins of the temple in pursuit of the dragon.

  “What the f…?” Valuri trailed off and shook her head.

  “The Inquisitrix,” Kaseya breathed. “Her power has grown.”

  “Obviously!” the Huntress blurted. “You two go and catch up with him—I still don’t want to risk getting close.”

  Kaseya turned, her eyes narrowing. “Then what—?”

  “I’ll check on the priestess and the knights,” Valuri said. “Go!”

  The amazon watched as the Huntress dashed toward the temple, her face creased in concern, but her attention quickly snapped back to her Maskari. Kaseya and Selvhara sprinted as fast as they could through the frozen streets, though the druid couldn’t ignore the terror tickling its way down her spine. She couldn’t actually feel her master’s presence anymore without his tethers binding her, but she knew what he had intended to accomplish here today. And if he had already harvested the Godsoul fragment from the Eternal Priestess…

  Another draconic roar rumbled through the streets as the two women crawled through the trail of devastation left in Jorem’s wake, and an instant later, Kaseya cried out as if she had been shot by an invisible arrow. She stumbled and fell, her sword and shield clattering across the street. Selvhara dove down to help her…but then she felt the amazon’s pain ripple through her Dal’Rethi collar. Felt it—and recognized it.

  “Faarea,” she gasped. “No…”

  “I cannot…” Kaseya grimaced in pain as she tried and failed to prop herself up on an elbow. “The Aether…it is…”

  “Gone,” Selvhara said, a wave of dread cras
hing over her. She refused to believe it. She refused to accept it. Everything she had suffered—everything this human girl had sacrificed to save her—would mean nothing if the One God had truly escaped the Pale and consumed the Aether. Without it, there would be no more sorcery…and without sorcery, there would be no more dragons.

  “The pain,” Kaseya gasped, her fingers digging into the frozen stones around them. “I cannot…”

  “It’s all right,” Selvhara soothed, squeezing the amazon’s arm. The Wasting Echo was already hitting the girl hard despite the fact she had only ever channeled a tiny fraction of the Aether’s power. Growing up in the presence of the Fount must have left her particularly vulnerable.

  “Jorem,” Kaseya said through clenched teeth. “He…he needs our help!”

  Selvhara turned her head when she heard another roar from somewhere within the fog. Taking a deep breath, she allowed her cursed blood to flow freely once again, and within seconds her willowy elven frame had been overtaken by the wolf.

  “I will aid the Wyrm Lord or die trying,” she promised in a low, guttural voice. “Stay here.”

  ***

  “Get up, Golden Boy!”

  Cassel clenched his teeth as a familiar leather gauntlet grabbed his arm and helped pull him from the rubble. Valuri was crouched over him, her eyes glowing an eerie shade of green. The dragon and the Inquisitrix were gone, though Cassel still couldn’t bring himself to believe what he had seen. Jorem’s fiery breath had completely annihilated her, yet she had somehow survived.

  Or at least, the Godsoul inside her had.

  “Can you move?” the Huntress asked once she had dragged him free.

  Cassel nodded and reached out to retrieve the blade lying next to him. Retribution looked like a normal sword again, and without the Aether, he could barely lift the oversized blade.

  “Mostly,” he rasped, wincing as another spike of pain shot through his body. The sanctuary’s walls were almost completely collapsed at this point, though the falling rubble hadn’t hurt him nearly as much as the Wasting Echo. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn someone was reaching inside his chest and trying to crush his heart.

  “We shouldn’t stay here,” Valuri said, helping him to a crouch. “Red and wolf girl are trying to help Jorem, but I can’t afford to get close.”

  Cassel coughed as he tried and failed to take a deep breath. He knew he wouldn’t survive much longer—the Echo was burning through him far more quickly now than back at Hastien’s Fall.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.

  The Huntress scowled. “We need to—”

  “Tahira…” Cassel said, pulling away and dragging himself to his feet. He could barely see three feet in front of him thanks to the frozen fog, rising dust, and lingering smoke, but he still limped through the rubble until he spotted her red hair and tattered black robes splayed over a pile of stones.

  “Shit,” Valuri hissed, diving past him to check on the priestess. “She’s alive…barely.”

  Cassel sank down next to her and helped Tahira lean up. Her green eyes fluttered weakly, and her cheeks were covered in soot…yet when she looked upon his face, her lips curled into a faint smile.

  “Julian…” she breathed.

  “I’m here,” he said, holding her against him. Her body felt as fragile—and cold—as a wilting leaf. “We’ll get you out here.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head and gently caressing her face with her fingertips. “You can’t.”

  “What do you mean?” Cassel said as he examined her body. Aside from a few burns and scrapes, he didn’t see any actual wounds…

  “I hid it from him, Julian,” she said, her smile brightening. “He never found it.”

  “Found what?”

  “The last spark of her power. I hid it away…for you.”

  “What? I don’t—”

  “The sword,” Tahira said. “Give me the sword.”

  Cassel shared a confused glance with Valuri, but the Huntress shrugged. He laid Retribution down in front of Tahira, his arm wobbling from the weight.

  “I understand now,” the priestess whispered. “I understand why he fears this blade.”

  Cassel stared into her eyes, his head shaking. “Tahira, I don’t—”

  “Take it,” she said, grabbing his free hand and lowering his fingers to her belly. He watched, mesmerized, as her tattoo began to glow a brilliant red.

  “Please, talk to me!” he gasped. “What is happening?”

  “Take the spark,” she told him. “Take it…and use its power to start anew.”

  A surge of power crackled between their bodies and coursed through him, sweeping away the pain of the Echo like a cleansing tide. Cassel inhaled sharply as he felt the Aether return, but the energy didn’t stop inside him. It raced through his limbs and into his sword, and he watched, stricken with awe, as the runes on the flat of the blade disappeared…only to be replaced by a single familiar symbol identical to the tattoo on Tahira’s belly.

  Cassel stared down at the symbol, still stunned, when the steel blade exploded into a brilliant beam of energy once again. Retribution hummed in the freezing air, its eerie luminescence bathing the entire sanctuary in soft blue light.

  “Escar’s mercy,” Valuri gasped. “What is that?”

  “The past,” Tahira breathed. “And the future…”

  Cassel swallowed heavily as he glanced between her and the blade. The tethers that had once connected him to Tahira were gone, but he could feel new ones forming between him and the sword. Crowe had told him that the Bâl Frohim blades had allegedly sheltered the divine souls of the gods at one point, but he still didn’t understand how such a thing was possible…

  “You can still stop him, Julian,” Tahira whispered. “Spill his blood, and the dragon…the dragon will…”

  Her voice became so brittle it fluttered away on the wind, but she continued smiling up at him even as the light faded from her belly…and then from her eyes. Cassel stared down at her, trembling with pain and sorrow and rage.

  Tahira, the last Eternal Priestess, was gone.

  “Shit,” Valuri swore. “I’m sorry…”

  Cassel brushed a lock of red hair from Tahira’s face and gently closed her eyes. An ocean of grief crashed over him, threatening to drag him under. This girl—this woman—had shown more courage in the past month than many knights did in their entire lives. She had known from the beginning that the enemy would come after her from the moment the truth about her powers was revealed, but she had never begged Julian to take her away and hide her. She had saved the lives of dozens of knights, and she had stood her ground against assassins, armies, and now a living god.

  And at the end, she had given up her life to grant them one last chance in this war. And he was not going to waste it.

  “This isn’t over,” he said, turning to stare into the blazing blue blade. “She gave us the weapon we needed. All we have to do is figure out how to use it.”

  ***

  “The last of the Wyrm Lords reduced to a helpless, quivering heap,” Dathiel sneered. “If only the Avetharri could have lived long enough to see their treacherous bloodline finally come to this.”

  Jorem’s fingers clawed at the freezing rubble as he tried to pull himself upright. His arms trembled as if all his muscles had atrophied, and he barely even noticed the cold wind on his naked flesh thanks to inferno of agony blazing in his chest and lungs. He had watched other sorcerers overchannel themselves to death before, and it was always horrific. A part of him wished that Dathiel would impale him on the spear in his hand and be done with it.

  “Your cursed kind can never suffer enough for what they did to my brethren,” Dathiel seethed. “To be forced to watch for countless millennia as ignorant barbarians siphoned our power and spun lie after lie about their ascension—to be forced to wither away, trapped and helpless, as our faithful servants failed time and time again to free their masters…”

  He s
hook his head, his ethereal wings fluttering behind him and holding him aloft. “Sadly, much of the blame belongs with us. We are the ones who warred amongst ourselves, and it was our spilled blood that gave you power you did not deserve.” He pointed his spear at the sickening latticework of purplish veins now covering Jorem’s arms. “We tried to taint it. We tried to make it so poisonous that only a fool would risk its touch…but even the Flensing wasn’t enough to stay your avarice.”

  Jorem’s arms finally gave out, and he fell flat against the ground. His vision filled with spots as if he were trying to see through a snow globe, and his lungs burned every time he tried to draw breath.

  “Mortals crave power no matter the price, you see,” Dathiel said, his golden eyes glittering pitilessly, “and the more you gain, the more you desire. You are stubborn and gluttonous by your very nature. That is why your kind must be brought to heel. You simply cannot be trusted to forge your own destiny.”

  The One God smiled as he drifted forward and kicked Jorem onto his back. “But do not worry yourself, sorcerer. I shall not make you suffer as I have suffered. I will not force you to languish in a prison while the rest of your kin are tortured before your eyes. Instead, I shall grant you the swift mercy of oblivion.”

  Dathiel placed the tip of his spear against Jorem’s throat—

  And was suddenly tackled by a growling blur of brown fur.

  Jorem blinked and raised his head. He was barely able to see through the spots clouding his eyes, but he would have been recognized Selvhara from the guttural sounds alone. She ravaged the glowing god with a frantic flurry of teeth and claws that would have ripped any normal living creature to shreds in a heartbeat.

  Dathiel didn’t even bleed. Even laid out on his back, the One God caught one of her wrists as it came at his throat, then tossed her aside like a ragdoll. When she crashed into the remnants of a shop across the street, he hurled his spear through her chest and pinned her to the wall.

  “The Sarodihm lives,” Dathiel said, his glowing wings lifting him back to his feet. “I should congratulate you, elf. After a thousand-year litany of failure, you have found yet another way to disappoint me.”