In the blink of an eye, two more men met the same fate. The rest, including Roxanne and Effrax, were wise enough to run. Even Keriya had the sense to take cover amidst the iron buildings. One more unlucky man exploded before Rhudain was finished.
Thorion’s snout crinkled. The electromagnetic field generated by a body and soul was usually enough to keep alien threads out. It was a natural defense mechanism—it was the reason why earth wielders couldn’t kill someone by growing a vine around their heart, why water wielders couldn’t suck the blood out of someone’s body, why air wielders couldn’t steal the breath from someone’s lungs. But Rhudain had created fires inside those men.
Mages could break through the body’s natural barriers, but it was an incredibly complex spell. The fact that this man knew the weave of it was not good news.
Thorion reflected threads from his source and spat a beam of light at the mortal. Rhudain reacted like lightning, surrounding himself with fire so hot it glowed blue. The field of flame was bright and thick enough to diffuse the light ray, which told Thorion he wouldn’t be able to win with magic. What was worse, he had lost his element of surprise.
He tucked his wings and dove for the ground. Before impact, he leveled off and shot toward the fire mage. A wall of flames erupted around Rhudain. Thorion raised his protective inner eyelids, flattened his ears to his skull, and squeezed his nostrils shut. He passed through the roaring inferno, his talons outstretched. Because he couldn’t see through the blaze, he missed his mark and only grazed Rhudain; but that was enough.
He rose again and looked back to see a line of dark red stretching across Rhudain’s shoulders. Wielding accelerated the heart, and the stronger the wielder, the higher the heart rate. Even a shallow cut like that would slow him substantially and give Thorion the advantage.
Rhudain started to laugh. He cackled like a madman and Thorion felt something move inside him. He faltered and dropped a few heights before regaining control. What was happening? Was Rhudain trying to melt him from within? Impossible—Thorion was too far away and moving too quickly for the mage to attempt a spell so difficult. It was something else. It wasn’t a physical pain . . .
It was a pain in his soul.
A flash of agony stabbed him and he curled in midair, dropping again before he managed to unfurl his wings and glide over the buildings.
He couldn’t answer. The pain was in his mind, working its fingers into his brain, making him angle toward the open area, forcing him to return to Rhudain. Someone else had joined the mage, a man whose flesh was as black as the furthest corners of space, where no light had ever touched: a shadowman.
“You know what this is, dragon,” Rhudain spat when Thorion landed in front of him. “You know you can’t fight it.”
Thorion felt a twisting sensation in his soul. Bilious panic rose in his gut.
“Necrovar is dead!” He forced the words around a tongue that had become unresponsive.
“You should be smart enough to know that’s not true.” Rhudain nodded to the shadowman, who raised both his hands. In response, Thorion’s head tilted skyward. His soul moved of its own accord, though he fought it with all his might, and his mouth opened as he shot a spell into the sky.
It wasn’t light that he wielded. It couldn’t be. It was dark, yet luminous in an indefinable way. Although it glowed, eating the light around it and sucking the color out of the world, it cast no shadows—because it was shadow. It was light tainted by the touch of necromagic.
“NO!” A ragged scream tore through the air behind him.
“Kill her,” said Rhudain.
Thorion moved against his will. He turned to face Keriya, who was sprinting toward him, brandishing a rock in one hand and a broken broom handle in the other—poor weapons against a mage, a shadowman, and a dragon.
Thorion’s magic stirred. As energy pulsed through his veins, the weight of the mage’s words struck him: he was about to kill his bondmate. He spread his wings and opened his mouth once more.
There was a sudden pain in his right wing membrane, and the icy grip on his mind and soul vanished. He nearly collapsed as the tension left his muscles, muscles which had been controlled by the enemy.
Glancing behind him, he saw the shadowman’s body crumbling around the shaft of a Galantrian arrow. The missile had shot clean through Thorion’s wing to bury itself in the demon’s chest.
Rhudain snarled and wielded again. Before he could do any damage, Thorion lashed out. His claws tore through the man’s gray robes, opening three gashes across his chest.
Hot blood spattered the scales on Thorion’s forearms. Rhudain staggered backward, doubling up over his injuries. To his credit, he maintained his spell—sparks burst from his palms and a fire stuttered to life. He shot a weak jet of flame at Thorion, who let it splash against his chest. It was uncomfortable, but it wouldn’t be fatal.
The fire flickered and guttered out. Rhudain sank to his knees and fell to his side, blood pouring from his wounds.
Keriya reached them, skidding to a halt on the battle-churned snow, gaping at the dying guardsman.
“This is nothing. The war has just begun. Everything you love will die.” Rhudain spat a gob of blood at her feet. “Necrovar is back.”
Yes, Thorion had known. Ever since his eyes had glowed that morning, he had known. Perhaps he’d known before that, but hadn’t wanted to believe it. It had been a happier world when the Shadow had been gone. He’d had a bright future full of hope and promise. Now he was facing a death sentence. He had been touched by darksalm. The toxic compound would slowly burrow into his source, infecting every one of his threads until he died.
And once he was dead, Necrovar would own his soul.
“Keriya?” Another voice, small and shaky, came from behind them. There stood Fletcher, holding a bow and two more Galantrian arrows. It was he who’d shot the shadowman. He had saved Thorion yet again. “Are you okay?”
Keriya shook her head. Thorion reached out telepathically and sensed a tornado of emotion spinning within her.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Why did this happen? How did it happen?”
“What?” asked Fletcher.
Tears glimmered in her eyes, giving them an eerie shine. “Necrovar survived.”
Fletcher dropped the bow and arrows with a clatter that rang in the sudden stillness. He turned to Thorion, as if hoping the dragon would deny it. Thorion said nothing. What was there to say?
Roxanne and Effrax were the next to emerge. Effrax’s arm was slung over Roxanne’s shoulders and the limp in his leg was more pronounced. They came to stand beside Keriya, but didn’t speak. Judging by their expressions, they’d guessed what the attack meant.
“Dragon Speaker?” A new voice, one Thorion didn’t recognize, drifted toward them on a bitter wind. The remnants of the Irongarde troops were emerging from the shelter of the buildings. Every soldier was bloodied. The Galantrians had suffered a resounding loss.
Keriya stepped forward and Thorion went with her. These people were expecting something—perhaps reassurance that everything would be okay, perhaps an apology, perhaps a vow of vengeance for their fallen comrades.
“Is Lord Thorion alright?” one man asked. His right eye was gone and his temple was smeared with crimson.
“Yes,” Keriya lied shakily. “I’m sorry we couldn’t do more to help. We were caught off-guard—”
“I saw him wield shadows,” said another man, younger, with a round face and frightened eyes. “Spit blackness into the sky, he did. How do you explain that?”
Keriya laid a han
d on Thorion’s neck and shook her head, at a loss. He could feel her trembling.
“You told us Necrovar was dead,” said the one-eyed man. His tone was accusatory, and he took an aggressive step toward her.
“I thought he was,” she whispered. Thorion watched as the soldiers’ faces grew slack with disbelief, then taut with fear.
“Do you mean to say,” said the young one, “that he’s alive?”
“Look,” said Fletcher, “I think this is a big misunderstanding—”
His words were buried as the Galantrians began shouting about Necrovar, about being deceived, about spies and traitors.
“You can’t honestly think we’re working for the Shadow,” Roxanne protested. “We were fighting the Imperials alongside you—you saw that!”
“What we saw was a mage who decimated our forces and didn’t make any special effort to kill you, and a dragon who wielded necromagic,” said the one-eyed man.
Thorion stared at the surrounding humans. Flames of anger licked at him, overtaking the worry that reigned in his heart. He couldn’t believe these creatures would turn on him so easily. Yesterday he’d been their savior, their idol . . . now he heard people calling for him to be detained until they could find out what was wrong with him.
“Absolutely not,” Keriya was arguing with the one-eyed soldier. “Thorion did nothing wrong, he shouldn’t be—”
“What of you?” he countered. “You took an oath and told us the Shadow was gone, yet our town lies in ruin and we have witnesses who saw your dragon using dark powers.” He put his hand on the hilt of his sword, drawing it halfway from its scabbard. He hadn’t had time to clean it from the battle. Its steel edge was crusted with blood. “Perhaps, Dragon Speaker, you should accompany us to the fortress.”
Thorion saw her eyes widen in furious realization.
Keriya gritted her teeth but allowed the soldiers to escort her to Indrath Olven. Her friends didn’t understand why she was giving in so easily—especially since they knew their innocence—and they each looked at Thorion in confusion. He shook his head and bowed his neck in defeat.
So it was that they went quietly into the fortress, prisoners in all but name. The vaecount was in no mood to be forgiving after the destruction of his city. When he heard the accounts of how Thorion had wielded what appeared to be necromagic, condemnation settled into the lines of his face.
“Dragon Speaker,” he began in a delicate voice, “I must ask that you and Lord Thorion remain within the fortress walls until we find out what happened today.”
There was nothing Keriya could say except, “Of course,” though Thorion felt barely contained rage threatening to break through the dam of self-control she’d built around herself.
“This isn’t legal,” said Effrax. “As eldest son of the Ember Clan, I demand a fair trial for each of us before you throw us in prison.”
“You aren’t being thrown in prison, you are being held temporarily for the safety of my people while we wait for a trial to be scheduled,” the vaecount returned in frosty tones. “As none of you are royal—including you, Nameless—and as Lady Soulstar has agreed to my terms, I’m afraid we can afford no leniency on this matter.”
“She may have agreed, but I didn’t,” Effrax growled. “Why do I need to be ‘held temporarily’?”
“Mage fire destroyed our city,” said the vaecount. “As a fire wielder, we cannot let you go without investigation. The Smarlindians will have to undergo similar review.”
“They’ve done nothing wrong,” Keriya protested.
“Stay your words,” said Thorion, for he saw that she and Effrax were gearing up for a shouting match. “This is my burden to bear, and you, as my friends, have been dragged into it unjustly.” He flashed an angry look at the vaecount and was pleased to see the mortal recoil from him. “But I would ask that you accept this judgement in peace. Your innocence will be proven soon enough.”
His words quieted Effrax. The Fironian allowed himself to be led away with Fletcher and Roxanne. Thorion and Keriya were escorted from the vaecount’s chambers last.
They were brought to a cold cell in the lower levels of the fortress. The iron walls seemed to close in on Thorion. Iron bars on a narrow window scattered broken moonbeams across the floor. There was an iron bed in the far corner, and he and Keriya settled down on what he could only assume was an iron mattress.
“What are we going to do?” she asked after a long silence.
Thorion’s heart constricted in despair. “I don’t know.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“You do not need to know fear to know that Man is dangerous.”
~ Tolbrayth Solarius, Second Age
“So, what’s our plan?” said Roxanne. “Sit here until they convict us?” She lay on the uncomfortable cot in her cell, speaking loudly enough for her voice to carry through the vents to Keriya and Fletcher, who were in the rooms on either side of hers.
“I’m no good at planning,” came Keriya’s muted voice from the left.
“Well, here’s your chance to get some practice,” snapped Roxanne. “Stop moping and let’s get ourselves out of here.”
Was she being harsh? Yes. Keriya was in shock, but sitting around and being shocked wouldn’t do any good.
“Maybe we shouldn’t.” Fletcher’s voice floated through the vent to the right. “If we escape, it will look like we’re guilty. We should stay until they can schedule a trial and—”
“And nothing,” said Roxanne. “They’ll find us guilty for lying to them.”
“We didn’t lie! We thought Necrovar was dead.”
“It doesn’t matter what we thought, only what’s true,” said Keriya. “And the truth is, I failed my quest.”
“No, you just haven’t succeeded in killing Necrovar yet,” Roxanne corrected her.
“How can I do that? Shivnath’s powers are gone.”
“Obviously some of the power Shivnath gave you remains in your soul,” said Thorion. “Our communication is magic. I’ve explained this.”
“What should I do, talk to Necrovar?” said Keriya. “Think at him telepathically? You’re the only one who can kill him, and you . . .”
She trailed off, and Roxanne didn’t have the heart to keep arguing.
Eventually she grew restless. The quiet of the dungeons rang in her ears. Filled with unpleasant nervous energy, she rose and paced her cell.
Hello? She cast out her thoughts to see if there were any animals in range. Is anyone there?
For the past few months, Roxanne had been harboring a secret: she had the power to communicate with animals. Whether bird or beast, fish or insect, giant jungle cats or rats like the one who’d led her to the armory, she could hear their thoughts and make herself understood to them. She’d grown so used to the hum of their voices in the back of her head that this stillness was unnerving.
There was no response to her mental call. No wonder—any animal with a modicum of sense would have fled the mage fire.
A side effect of her ability to communicate with animals was that she was becoming more like an animal herself. Her senses were sharper, so she was the first one to hear the soft padding of footsteps in the hall.
She crossed to the front of her cell and put her ear to the solid iron door. The footsteps stopped. There was a metallic jangling of keys on a ring and a creak as a door swung inward on rusty hinges.
; Roxanne heard Keriya gasp. “Max?”
“Come with me.” Max’s whisper reached Roxanne’s ears, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She heard the heavy thunk of a deadbolt sliding out of place. Her door opened, revealing Keriya, Thorion, and the Erastatian prince.
“Thanks,” Roxanne breathed, joining them. Max nodded as he moved to Fletcher’s door, unlocking it.
As soon as he was free, Fletcher scurried out, his eyes wide and gleaming in the lantern light. “Don’t you think we should stay? Everyone here loves us.”
“They loved us when they thought I’d saved them,” Keriya said bitterly. “But you know how quickly people turn their backs on you.”
Fletcher’s shoulders slumped and a sigh slipped from him. Roxanne could tell by the far-off look on his face that he was remembering the way his brother, Asher, had disowned and betrayed him before they’d fled Aeria. Fletcher was the only one who remembered Aeria with any degree of fondness, though Roxanne couldn’t imagine why. The place had been backward and wretched—and given how Asher Earengale had acted when his brother had needed him most, she suspected Fletcher was better off without him.
“If yesterday’s attack tells us anything, it’s that you shouldn’t be locked up,” Max said as he led them down the long corridor. “We have work to do.”
They were about to enter a narrow staircase when Thorion stopped. His nostrils flared and he turned to a door to his left. “Open this one. Effrax is in there.”
Max raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest. He thumbed through the keys and opened the heavy padlock on the door. Sure enough, Effrax was inside, lying on his cot. He pulled a lopsided smile.
“Rescuing me, Maxton? Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Get up,” said Max. “We need to be clear of Irongarde before dawn.”
Effrax stood on shaking legs. He looked awful. Sweat beaded on his brow and his face was drawn and haggard. He limped to the door and Thorion partially extended one of his bat-like wings, offering it to the Fironian. Effrax laid his hand on the hooked joint of the dragon’s fingers, using it to steady himself.
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