Throne of Magic

by H. D. Gordon

  “Stay here, all of you,” Surah said. She glanced at the three of them only once, the look in her violet eyes as grave as the dead. “Do not follow me. That’s an order from your queen. Break it, and it will be considered treason.”

  With that, she portaged off the balcony, materializing in an instant before the Dark Lord. Dagon had chosen a small hill just outside the city, a dramatic vantage point that he’d no doubt picked just for that purpose.

  He was wearing the same black suit and mortal body he’d been wearing in the Underworld, the same crooked grin on a handsome mask that hid a devil.

  His forked tongue flicked out over his lips in a way that was grotesquely serpent-like.

  “Ah, dearest Surah,” Dagon said, “you’ve come to make payment.”

  Surah slid her sais out of their holsters and gripped them with a wicked grin of her own. “I owe you nothing, Dark Lord,” she replied with a calm some small part of her knew she should not feel. “And I told you, return to my land and I’ll take your head.”

  Dagon quirked an eyebrow. “That wasn’t a joke, then? Pity. You’d enjoy this more if you just gave in.” He touched his chin, face frowning in thought. “Then again,” he added, his voice lowering to a whisper, “I’ll enjoy it more if you struggle and scream.”

  Anger surged through Surah that was as hot and bright as a dying star, nearly exploding from her being. Her hand flicked up and a powerful pulse of dark magic flew from her fingertips, catching the Dark Lord off guard.

  The energy hit him dead center his chest, knocking his deceptively benign form into the air and onto the hard earth. Surah was unaware of it, but a bit of blackness had momentarily swirled into the violet of her eyes, like a drop of ebony ink amongst the purple.

  Dagon was on his feet again within the same instant. His head tilted to the side, and some of his dark hair fell into his face.

  “Well, now, that wasn’t very nice,” he said, the words coming out a growl.

  His attack struck Surah before she was even aware it was issued. The wind knocked out of her as though an iron fist had slammed into her stomach.

  She doubled over, the air rushing out of her in a painful whoosh, and lost her grip on the Black Stone. Instead, her hands gripped at her knees for balance as water filled her eyes, but it was miraculous that it did not steam up immediately with the hot rage that accompanied it.

  Surah portaled forward, slashing at Dagon with both sais and drawing black blood from two separate spots on his arm. For a moment, the façade the Dark Lord was donning blinked out of focus, and the true Demon form of the immortal was visible to all.

  She couldn’t be sure what look came over her face when she saw this, but whatever it was made Dagon smile widely, and apparently decide to stop with the pretense altogether. Surah watched in equal parts horror and fascination as the Dark Lord took his true form, his body mangling and morphing in a way that was both terrible and mesmerizing.

  His neck elongated until it was nearly a foot long and thick like a tree trunk. His once creamy, white, and unblemished skin melted away into a scaly, rough black, the expensive suit tearing away with his body’s expansion and falling to the earth in shreds.

  His hands and feet grew into claws and hooves, the fingers stretching long and the toes rounding off like that of a horse.

  Horns sprouted from his forehead, long and spiraling, piercing at the darkening sky. His mouth and face grew into something obscene, terrible in its animation.

  Wings, black and bony, sprouted from his back and spread out to a span of nearly twelve feet. The part of his skin that she’d cut with her weapons oozed dark blood that steamed when it met the cool night air.

  For a moment, Surah could do nothing but stare at the creature before her in disgust and horror. The shift had been nearly instantaneous, but each crack of bone and rearrangement of physical feature had been awfully visible.

  Dagon’s voice was no longer that of a mortal, but rather carried the weight and intimidation of the Dark Lord that he was.

  “I tried to be reasonable with you,” he said, the words vibrating in her ears. “It will hurt much worse with me in this form, and when my child is born, it will also be in true form, and thus, will rip you open from the inside out.”

  Surah didn’t justify this with words. She flicked her wrist again, sending another wave of magic at Dagon, but was too slow this time.

  The Dark Lord was much more agile in this form, and he slipped right past the strike with an ease that gave Surah pause.

  Dagon saw her hesitation and gave a cackling laugh, swiping at her with his long claws. She portaled out of his grasp just in time to avoid capture, landing behind him and driving her sais deep into his scaly back, though not as deep as she’d intended. The rough skin there was harder to puncture than she’d anticipated.

  Dagon spun around fast, backhanding her across the face. It felt like fire was scorching over the skin he’d struck, and Surah let out a cry.

  As her head rocked back on her shoulders, the world went a blinding white. The scene began to creep back in around the edges of her vision.

  She felt his claws wrap around her ankle, and again she portaled out of his hold just in the nick of time. Now she stood fifteen feet away from him, panting, the taste of her own blood filling her mouth, but the fire in her soul not close to quenched.

  He roared out in rage, taking to all fours and charging at her like a bull, sharp horns aimed at her chest. Again, Surah evaded the attack, but she could not do so forever, and the both of them knew this.

  She needed to take him out, and quick. Gripping the Black Stone, Surah used all her strength, sending a bolt of energy at the Dark Lord.

  It struck him dead center, knocking Dagon to the ground, and knocking Surah to the ground as well. She had used so much magic in that one attack that she didn’t even have enough strength left to stand up.

  But Dagon did. He regained his feet and moved to stand over her, his claws clenching and unclenching, ropes of saliva hanging from his maw, where his forked tongue lolled in excitement.

  Surah felt a scream bubble in her stomach as he settled himself over her, and she used what little strength she had to kick at him, but her blows were about as effective as a child’s, and her struggle only seemed to excite him.

  Fear threatened to overcome her. She was moments away from being raped by a Dark Lord in front of her entire kingdom (or at least those who’d dared to stay) and for a panicked moment she could think of nothing to do.

  Around her neck, the Black Stone pulsed hotly, searing the skin there, snapping her back to focus. Whipping her head to the side, she bit deeply into the scaled arm that Dagon had braced beside her, slamming her jaw shut and tearing out a chunk of rancid meat, which she spat out immediately. The Dark Lord’s awful blood ran down the sides of her mouth.

  Dagon roared in anger and pain, and Surah used the time to scramble out from underneath him. She removed a silver dagger strapped to her upper right thigh, and thrust it as hard as she could into the Dark Lord’s belly.

  Where it broke skin, dozens of strange beetles emerged from the wound, pouring out the way blood would have had he been mortal.

  Surah was as tough as one could come, but she hated insects. They terrified her, and had since she was a little girl. She was sure it had something to do with the time her brother Syris had put a handful of fireflies in the hood of her cloak and laughed when she pulled the hood over her head, pausing before running around in circles and screaming.

  But no such panic could be had here. She may not be able to kill Dagon, but if she could evade his attacks long enough to cast a banishment spell, she could send the bastard away for a long time.

  Trouble was, he hadn’t given her any such opportunity. A banishment spell was not like other magic. It could not be done with a mumbled incantation and a flick of one’s wrist. It took time, patience, and enormous strength, none of which Surah had at the moment.

  Suddenly, as she portaled out of
Dagon’s reach once more, she realized that she’d underestimated her enemy, that she had allowed her emotions—and yes, she thought now, may as well admit that the Black Stone was playing a certain role as well—to get the best of her.

  These self-doubts and dark thoughts grabbed a hold of her. It was only a moment, but it was enough. She’d become distracted, and that was all it took.

  Dagon was on top of her before she could take another breath, the beast pinning her body to the ground, which had not been gentle on her tailbone when she’d struck it. He held her wrists in his claws, the sharp nails there biting painfully into her skin.

  His weight was enormous, crushing, allowing for only shallow, inadequate breaths. She felt his lower half shifting in the most terrible of ways, felt her cloak being ripped away, her heart beating boldly in her throat.

  And then Surah Stormsong was too horrified to even scream.

  Chapter 33

  Samson

  The feeling slammed through his stomach, twisting it into knots and making it hard to breathe.

  Mila sat across from him, had not spoken a word to him since before the fight, since before Sam had killed her father and taken his place as King of the Beasts.

  Now his betrothed came forward, studying him, and spoke for the first time. “Samson,” she said, her sweet voice filling his head. Concern had crept into her tone, and Sam was oddly moved by this. “Are you all right?”

  Samson’s tongue felt thick in his throat, and he had to swallow twice before he responded. “I… I don’t know,” he answered. “Something is wrong.”

  After the fight, Sam had dragged Drake’s body to the river, where the Great Cats sent their dead who were too important to eat. Drake had been heavy, and the process had been long, but he’d done it because it was what was expected, and because Drake deserved the respect.

  The pride had followed behind, had stood witness as Sam set the former King’s body at the edge of the surging river that ran all the way through the eastern jungles for over two hundred miles.

  The waters had welcomed the dead king’s body, picking it up the way a mother scoops up an infant, with ease and familiarity. Mila had stood beside Sam, silent as the night as she watched the waters carry her father away. Sam was sure she must hate him.

  But she was a royal cat, and she’d walked dutifully beside him while he’d led the pride home and climbed atop the king’s rock in the clearing the cats occupied.

  Mila had stepped up and held her head high as Samson addressed the pride as their new king, as he had claimed her as his own, just as Drake had intended in case of this turn of events.

  She had done these things, but Sam could not miss the bitter resentment that had touched the corners of her slanted green eyes. And she had not spoken a word until just now, when whatever feeling he’d experienced had slammed through him.

  The two cats were alone in a comfortable but cozy cavern in the heart of the jungle. They’d been alone for the past hour, and had only sat uncomfortably in silence, pretending to sleep though they both knew the day they’d had would not allow it.

  Mila scooted closer, sniffing Sam with concern as he squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden sickness that had befallen him.

  The answer entered his mind only seconds after the sickness slammed into his stomach: Something was wrong with Surah. He couldn’t say how he knew this, but he did. He knew it as surely as he knew revealing it would only cause his new bride to hate him more.

  But he wouldn’t lie to her. Mila deserved so much more than Sam thought he could give her, but at the very least, she deserved the truth.

  The words came before he had a chance to stop them. “I have to go back,” Sam said.

  For several long moments that felt like lifetimes, Mila said nothing, didn’t even blink as she stared at him in the darkness of the small cave.

  Just when he could no longer take the silence, Mila spoke. “You are the king,” she said, and that was all.

  She’s in trouble, Mila. Really big trouble.”

  “You are the king,” she repeated.

  Samson took to his feet, his anxiety over the wellbeing of his Surah too much to even consider ignoring.

  “You’re right,” he said, as he exited the cave. “I am the King.”

  Chapter 34

  Surah

  One moment he was on top of her, his weight crushing the air from her chest, his hot, foul breath blowing into her face, as if the fires of hell burned in his belly.

  The next moment, he was gone, knocked from her as if by magic, his awful, winged form flying to the side and setting her free.

  Surah scrambled to her feet, conserving her magic for the banishment spell. With a drop of her stomach, she saw who had come to her rescue.

  Theo, Lyonell, Noelani and Bassil stood off to the sides, one positioned in each of the four directions, swords at the ready and the looks of warriors on their faces.

  Dagon stalked over to Noelani first, breathing fire from his throat like a dragon, shooting the flames at Noelani, who rolled out of the way just in time.

  In this moment, Lyonell moved in, slicing at the Dark Lord with his long Hunter’s blade, drawing more steaming black ooze and beetles from the wound.

  Surah charged at Dagon as well, but Bassil’s voice cut through the battle-induced haze. “Surah, the spell!” the Warlock called out. “You must banish him.”

  Gripping the Black Stone around her neck, blackness swirling in the violet of her eyes, Surah began the banishment spell.

  Everything that happened next occurred quickly. Surah only got three words into the incantation, and then the world took on an awful clarity.

  Lyonell’s brave strike at the Dark Lord was a touch too slow, and Dagon gripped the Hunter’s neck and snapped it to the side the way one might break a twig between their fingers.

  The snap was audible, and it was this sound that seemed to freeze the world, to hold time still before letting the reality of what had just happened settle.

  In the next instant there was a gut-wrenching scream, a cry so full of agony that it twisted her stomach just to hear it. Surah stood wide-eyed as Noelani charged Dagon with her blade.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her teeth were bared in horrible rage. She got snatched up as swiftly as her husband had, her neck snapped with just as much ease.

  The Dark Lord tossed the two bodies of Surah’s personal Hunters to the side as if they were nothing more than cotton-filled dolls, and Lyonell and Noelani landed in lifeless heaps upon the ground.

  For these fast, frozen moments, Surah could only stare in horror, her mind refusing to process what it was seeing.

  Bassil’s voice cut through the haze once more.

  He was approaching the Dark Lord with caution, his wooden staff clutched in his dark hand, his face as serious as an undertaker’s.

  “Surah! You must complete the spell!”

  Again, she began the incantation, trying her best to focus despite the absolute shock that was running through her.

  She would not let Lyonell’s and Noelani’s deaths be in vain. She would grieve later, because now was not the time for weakness.

  But she was so angry, so wracked with emotions, her eyes swirling with that unnatural black, and she reached into her cloak and threw a knife hard at Dagon, who had been approaching Theo. It stuck in the Dark Lord’s back and he roared out in anger.

  Yes, Surah thought. She didn’t want to banish Dagon. She wanted to tear him limb from limb… and after the use of so much Black Magic, she was not even close to being in her right mind, or in control over her actions.

  Dagon took to the air, apparently set on killing Surah, the heir he’d intended for her to carry be damned. His enormous wings beat at the sky, carrying him upward with a whoosh of air that lifted Surah’s lavender hair off her shoulders.

  Her head tipped back and she watched as he began his descent, coming down with enough force to crush her like an insect beneath his hooves. Surah didn’t c
are in the least that she was about to die… because she was going to take this bastard with her.

  She slipped a long, sharp rod from her boot, where it had been strapped to her ankle, and waited. With as much force as Dagon was descending, he would crush her, but he would also impale himself.

  She had no thoughts for the consequences of this action, was not even aware of the fact that a crooked, crazed smile had found its way to her face.

  Dagon moved so fast he was just a blur. He hit Surah hard in the side, knocking her off her feet and onto the ground.

  For a second, she thought she must be dead, but there was an awful crushing sound, and the earth beneath her vibrated with the impact of the Dark Lord.

  Surah only got a glimpse of Theo’s face before his body was crushed under Dagon’s hooves, and the devotion in his gray eyes caused all the purple to leak out of hers.

  She gave herself over to the dark magic of the Black Stone, and it enveloped her like a blanket, blocking out the emotions, and everything else that made her who she was.

  Her hands lifted into the air, and with them, so did the Dark Lord. Dagon’s glowing red eyes widened slightly as they took in the swirling, all encompassing black in Surah’s.

  Her grin widened as she saw the uncertainty flash over his face, and then the fear.

  With a flick of her Black Magic-filled fingers, she removed the Dark Lord’s head. It rolled free of his body and fell at her feet.

  “You little bitch!” Dagon’s head screamed at her, his body flapping its wings and kicking at the air where she still held it suspended.

  Dark Lords could not be killed, for they were immortal, but like most physical beings, they could be dismembered, and their body parts banished to different parts of different realms.

  Especially by a powerful Sorceress in the full clutches of the Black Stone.

  Perhaps only by such a person.