Fletcher ran after Roxanne. He would ask for explanations later. Right now they had to focus on finding the sword and staying alive. He couldn’t allow uncertainty or fear to distract him. The stakes were too high for him to show any weakness. He had to be strong now, for the sake of Thorion and his friends.
The rat led them through a warren of corridors. Fletcher heard noises echoing from other parts of the fortress, but the ground floor was deserted. Finally, the rodent came to a stop at the head of a long passageway. It squeaked once before disappearing into the shadows. At the far end of the hall, a set of doors stood open. An angry red-orange glow spilled from them.
“What’s that?” asked Fletcher, dreading the answer.
“That,” Roxanne said heavily, “would be the armory.”
A shadow appeared on the metal wall across from the doors, slowly mutating into the shape of a man. Someone emerged from the burning room. He was short and stocky, backlit by the growing flames. His head was bald. A long cloak hid his clothes, but Fletcher didn’t need to see the gray robes to recognize him.
“Tanthflame,” he whispered, as the Commander-General of the Imperial Guard turned and spotted them.
CHAPTER SIX
“The worst crimes are often committed with a healthy sense of justice.”
~ Falrin Vaerthium, Tenth Age
The acid of terror ate at Keriya’s innards. She was too late. Tanthflame had gotten to the sword first. The bogspectre had warned her to protect it, and she had failed. Necrovar had won.
Necrovar is dead, she reminded herself.
But if he was dead, why was someone wielding necromagic? Why was Tanthflame making such a bold move? Why was Thorion sick?
“Drachreenar. I was wondering when you’d turn up.” The commander-general approached, his booted heels clicking on the iron floor. “You’ve been spreading rumors about me.”
“I’ve been telling people the truth about you,” Keriya countered.
“Under normal circumstances, I’d punish you,” he said, his deep voice smooth and calm. “No one is above the law, but maybe we can come to an agreement: give me your sword, and I’ll let your friends live.” Fires flared around his gloved hands, illuminating his light brown face, his lurid blood-red eyes, and the puckered scar that stretched from his forehead to the right side of his jaw.
“Can’t you wield?” Fletcher whispered to Roxanne.
“We’re surrounded by solid iron and deadwood,” she murmured. “He’ll kill us before I can do anything useful.”
“What do you mean?” Keriya asked Tanthflame loudly, hoping she could buy time if she kept him talking.
“The sword, Soulstar! Hand it over!”
Keriya squinted at him. What was he playing at, pretending he didn’t have the weapon? Unless he really didn’t have it . . . but if he didn’t have it, and she didn’t have it, where was it?
He was almost upon them. His spell grew in intensity. Fire swirled around his body in ringlets. Roxanne stepped forward, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, lips thinned to a line of grim determination.
“No,” Keriya cried, grabbing Roxanne and pulling her back. She glared at Tanthflame. “I’ll bring you to the sword. But first you have to let Fletcher and Roxanne go, and promise you won’t hurt them.”
“What are you doing?” Roxanne hissed.
“I have a plan.” That was a lie. Keriya had never been much of a planner, and she had no idea what she could do.
“Agreed.” Tanthflame’s spell dissipated and he snapped his fingers. Six more Imperials exited the armory, moving to surround them. “Rhudain, make sure these children are safely escorted outside.”
One man swept forward. He had dark skin and a sinewy build. Looking at him gave Keriya the chills. His tawny, owlish eyes were too big for his gaunt face, which was marked with two red stripes across his jutting cheekbones. A heavy cloak covered his uniform, but she could see red bands on his sleeves, too.
Rhudain seized Roxanne and Fletcher by their upper arms. Fletcher uttered a pained cry as smoke curled from under Rhudain’s palm. He was a fire wielder, and he was burning them.
Keriya spun to face Tanthflame. “You said they wouldn’t be hurt!”
“And they won’t be,” Tanthflame returned, seizing Keriya’s arm in a similar manner. “So long as they don’t cause problems. Now, which way?” He shoved her in front of him, urging her in the opposite direction from her friends.
“There,” she said shakily, indicating a staircase beyond the armory doors, hoping it led somewhere interesting. Tanthflame marched her forward. The remaining guards followed.
They ascended to the third floor. Keriya led the Imperials onto a carpeted hall, trying to make it look like she knew where she was going. Scampering servants fled at the sight of the guardsmen.
“I’m beginning to think you’re stalling,” Tanthflame said as they turned a corner and came to an enormous pair of icewood doors.
“I’m not,” she insisted. “We have to go through here.”
Tanthflame nodded to his men and one raised a hand. The icewood splintered apart in a blast of fire. Flames ate at the blue-tinged wood until the doors crumbled into piles of ash, revealing a magnificent chamber. It was a chapel, its high walls punctuated by stained glass windows sporting pictures of Zumarra, serpent-god of the Galantasa. Candles glowed on tiered shelves between the windows, illuminating pews where women and children huddled, praying for safety.
The Commander-General pushed Keriya inside, disregarding the civilians who screamed and scattered before him. As Keriya approached the head of the room, where a grand pulpit perched on a dais, she couldn’t help but feel this was her walk to the gallows. She was running out of places to go.
“Just up here,” she said in a tiny voice. The wall behind the pulpit curved outward and a huge, circular window sat at its center. It bore the Imperial Crest: the guardian beasts of Allentria, Shivnath included, twined around a sword. Flanking the pulpit were two huge marble bowls filled with water. The liquid trembled with the reverberations of the violence outside.
Hardly able to believe what she was doing, Keriya broke away from Tanthflame and threw her weight against the left bowl. It slipped off its polished perch and fell to the pulpit steps, shattering and drenching the Imperials.
In the momentary confusion, Keriya sprinted for an iron door beside the dais, which led to another spiral staircase. Slamming the door behind her, she locked it and raced up the steps. Tanthflame’s muffled shouts followed. It wouldn’t be long before he broke through.
A gust of icy wind slapped her when she reached the landing. She was in a bell tower. Wooden ladders lined the walls, leading to the giant brass instruments above. She scrambled up the nearest ladder, grasping the upper platform not a moment too soon. Tanthflame and his men emerged below. The commander-general wielded, filling the tower with a balloon of flame.
The ladder crumbled beneath Keriya’s feet. A deep gong assaulted her ears as the inferno stirred the bells. She heaved herself onto the ledge, rolling to extinguish the fires that gnawed at her cloak, and came to a stop in a corner below an arched window.
“Leave us. Search the chapel,” said Tanthflame. Footsteps faded down the steps as his soldiers dispersed to do his bidding. Did that mean he was abandoning his chase?
No such luck. A second pillar of fire, more intense than the first, shot upwards. Heat engulfed Keriya. Tanthflame would wield until she was burned to a crisp. There was nowhere left to go, except . . .
“Shivnath, please let this work,” she whispered, crawling onto the windowsill. The window was open to the world, so the sound of the bells could reach all of Irongarde. Fierce gusts tore at her, whipping her hair and stin
ging her eyes.
Another ledge ran around the outside of the tower. She lowered one foot and eased herself onto the narrow shelf. The domed ceiling and curved wall of the chapel jutted out two stories beneath her. Below that was an abyss. Thick white mists shrouded the northern cliffs of the city, so it was impossible to see how far the drop was. She clung to the windowsill, though her fingertips were blistering through her gloves.
With a crash, the building shook. The heat lessened, and Keriya was sure Tanthflame’s spell had caused one of the bells to fall.
Maybe it crushed him, she thought. Maybe he’s dead.
“Dragon Speaker!” A voice rasped against the wind, and a hand clamped around her wrist. She looked up and saw Tanthflame leaning out of the window, a crazed gleam in his eyes. “Where is the sword?”
“I don’t know,” she wailed.
His face contorted into a snarl. With his free hand, he grabbed her neck and lifted her into the air. She resisted the instinct to struggle, since the only thing between her and a deadly drop was Tanthflame’s grip.
Keriya clutched at his muscled arm, trying to alleviate the pressure on her spine. He tightened his fingers around her throat and she choked. She wasn’t getting enough air. Bright white spots danced across her vision.
“If you don’t know where it is,” he hissed, “then you are useless to me. You will now be punished for slander, public endangerment, and murder.”
Keriya frowned at him, gasping for breath.
“Oh, you don’t think you’re guilty?” He drew her closer until she was inches from his face. “The only difference between heroes and criminals is who judges their actions. Your trial was held and your fate decided by a corrupt government. You ruined my good name. You brought a dangerous monster to Allentria. You killed my men. For that, you will die.”
And Tanthflame let go.
Time slowed as Keriya fell. Her brain stopped functioning—no longer for lack of oxygen, but because it had been overloaded with pure, numbing fear.
It isn’t possible, she thought as her arms flailed in wild circles. It can’t end like this.
There would be pain. So much pain when she hit the ground. And she would wake in an empty world with no memories and no purpose. She would be dead. She would be nothing. She had been dead once before, and she feared that calm, quiet darkness more than the pain, more than anything.
Her feet struck smooth iron. She hit the chapel ceiling and tumbled down its polished surface. Its slope was steep enough that the initial impact hadn’t hurt her too badly, but that also meant it was too steep to slow her descent.
She shot over the curved edge and hurtled past the stained glass window. Shivnath’s picture leered at her as she fell. She reached for the dragon god as if she thought that would help. As she did so, she noticed a strange shadow in the sky. It was hurtling toward her. It looked like a massive arrow, helmed by two points of glowing, purple light.
“Thorion!”
Thorion soared close enough to grab her arms with his front paws. He spread his wings, catching the wind. Something tore in Keriya’s shoulder as her descent abruptly slowed, and she winced in pain.
she replied, watching her toes skim across the top of the fluffy mists. With a powerful flap, Thorion propelled them upwards.
Thorion backwinged to slow their momentum. Keriya could feel his muscles straining. He lowered her and loosened his grip, and she sprawled onto the cobblestone street. A frisson of pain shot through her shoulder. She felt the skin on her elbows and knees being scraped away through her clothes, but she didn’t care. She was alive.
Thorion stretched out his hind legs and landed gracefully beside her. He lowered his head and let her put her arms around his neck so he could pull her to her feet.
“Your eyes are glowing,” he observed.
“So are yours.” They stared at each other. They both knew what it meant, but neither wanted to admit it.
“I have to find Fletcher and Roxanne.” She limped toward the fortress with Thorion. The sound of hoofbeats sent them into the shadows of a nearby building. Keriya flattened herself against the wall as a group of Imperials galloped past on horseback. She suspected the raid was over now that Tanthflame knew the sword was gone.
When the coast was clear, she and Thorion emerged once more. Bodies littered the streets. The mangled corpse of the child she’d seen in the Galantrian Village resurfaced in her brain, the vision rearing up from the dark place where Keriya had hidden it. She looked at the sky so she wouldn’t have to confront the gruesome scene, but the image of that tiny, broken body by the wharf remained emblazoned in her mind’s eye. There was no future for that child, nor these people. They were alone in the darkness, now and forever.
Ahead, the ruined gates of Indrath Olven stood deserted. As Keriya came to the stretch of open land between the city and the fortress, a flash of movement caught her eye. To her left, a plume of fire shot into the air. A group of people was fighting at the western edge of Irongarde’s wall. She saw huge chunks of earth flying around, countering whips of white-hot flame.
“Roxanne,” she whispered, and she began to run. Thorion followed, but she said, “You stay back. If there’s a necro-wielder around here, if he twists your soul—”
“I’m not leaving you defenseless,” he argued, spreading his wings and leaping into the air, nearly clipping her as he flew past.
Tears sprang to Keriya’s eyes. She had no magic, no fighting skills, and she could no longer rely on her sword, which was the only thing that had saved her from Necrovar. The townspeople revered her, but she couldn’t do a thing to save them. She was defenseless—and useless.
As she drew nearer, she saw Fletcher crouching by the body of a dead soldier. He had grabbed the man’s bow and arrow and was trying to fit the fletching to the string. Roxanne had joined a group of nine Galantrians, all of whom were wielding against Rhudain. To Keriya’s surprise, Effrax was also there. He was on his knees, and veins were standing out on his throat with the effort he was putting into holding Rhudain’s spells at bay.
Though Rhudain was fighting eleven people at once, he didn’t seem particularly bothered. He created a sheet of fire that diffused a water spell, while simultaneously wielding three counter-attacks that took out the left flank of his enemies.
Roxanne wielded the earth beneath his feet to unbalance him, but he burned the dirt and stone as she manipulated it, melting her spell. This man was clearly in a league of his own. Charred corpses surrounded him. Keriya feared Fletcher, Roxanne, or Effrax would be next.
Keriya stared at Rhudain, who moved like the fire he wielded: choppy and sharp, yet somehow also graceful and fluid.
Thorion banked and dipped low, disappearing behind the iron skyline. Rhudain burned a series of projectile icicles and shot concentrated bursts of fire through the hearts of two more Galantrians. As Roxanne leapt out of the way to avoid a flaming missile, Rhudain’s eyes slid from her and landed on Keriya.
And he smiled.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“If your wings are broken, you walk. If your legs are broken, you crawl. But if your spirit is broken, you are lost.”
~ Sagerius Fangheart, in the Age before Ages
Thorion rose in the air, gliding on cross-currents. If he was honest with himself, Rhudain was more than a match for him. He was young and he’d only just begun to wield. He needed real battle experience to survive a fight like this.
Dragons shared a hive-mind, which meant the knowledge of each individual was available to all. Thorion could have plucked battle techniques out of that information bank, but his family was trapped in the Etherworld, which made telepathic contact with them impossible. Even if he had been able to mentally access the hive, his bond to Keriya had superseded his connection to his kin.
He was on his own for this fight.
Shaking his head, he concentrated on his target. There were more ways to win a fight than with pure strength. He was smarter than Rhudain. He was a dragon.
Then he saw something change in Rhudain’s demeanor. The mage straightened and the air around him shimmered with heat. He had been toying with the Galantrians, but now he was focused. Thorion followed the direction of the human’s gaze and saw Keriya. He growled. Stupid of him to have left her alone.
Rhudain pointed at the nearest soldier, a man who’d been valiantly wielding against him non-stop. The soldier dropped his threads and sank to his knees. He clutched his chest and a look of pain crossed his face. Then he exploded. Fiery melted innards burst violently from his body.
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