When she edged around the corner of the stronghold, she stopped short, gaping. There were Taeleia’s saberfangs, tethered neatly to a post outside the annex gates. The cats were agitated by the mayhem. Their tails thrashed and their eyes were wide.
“Max?” cried Seba, staring around. “Are you here?”
No response.
Now she was baffled. Why had he bothered with the cats if he hadn’t intended to use them? Had he gone to join Keriya on foot? That made no sense; they’d be easy targets for the Imperials without mounts to bear them away.
But it was the only plausible explanation. Squaring her shoulders, Seba turned south toward a quiet road—this was the path that led to the barracks, where the off-duty palace soldiers spent their time. It was deserted, since every able-bodied fighter had been drafted to defend against the Imperial Army.
A low, plaintive whine gave her pause. Behind her, the saberfangs strained against their lead lines. Seba glanced at the burning palace. Shaking her head, she hurried back to the cats.
She wasn’t a good rider—she’d been banking on Max’s skill for that part of her plan—otherwise she’d have taken one of them. But she didn’t know how to control them on her own, so they would do her no good. Plus, they were terrifying.
She knew saberfangs could smell fear and she tried to keep her cool as she undid their tethers with shaking fingers. As soon as the cats were loose, they fled down the street. Seba followed them, passing the empty barracks and entering the city center.
People roamed in swarms, fleeing the violence. Seba pushed against the tide of movement, cutting east while everyone else made their way south. As she continued, the ground grew muddy. Perhaps the sewers had flooded, or maybe there was a contingent of water wielders on the attack. She shuddered and picked up her pace.
Fyrxav was an unfamiliar city, but she knew she couldn’t go wrong if she stuck by the towering buildings that lined the base of the dormant volcano. Sure enough, after some twists and turns, she reached the garden wall. There were the yew tree’s branches, poking over the stone barrier. But Keriya and Max—assuming he had joined her—were long gone.
Seba kicked at the wall in frustration. She was about to concede defeat when she noticed the mud at the base of the wall beneath the yew was splattered and churned. Beyond, footprints led toward the nearest street. Seba peered down the avenue, which led due east.
“East . . . toward Arax,” she breathed, her eyes widening with realization as she focused on a dark shape looming in the hazy distance.
It seemed like a ten-age ago that their ragtag group had huddled in the rainforest outside Irongarde, brainstorming ideas to save Thorion. Max himself had been the one with the answer: “You must do as Shivnath commanded. Go to Mount Arax and step through the Rift. Find Necrovar and face him.”
And hadn’t Max been advocating to face Necrovar all along? He hadn’t wanted to go to the Naetren Basin for fear it would distract them from their primary goal. He hadn’t even wanted to go to Valaan, for he’d thought it a waste of time.
Seba tried to recall her tutoring lessons. Her father had made her learn the geography of the empire when she’d been young, saying that a good ruler was as familiar with foreign lands as he was with his own. Those lessons seemed like an eon-age ago, but she’d seen pictures of Mount Arax. It was an important historical landmark, for that was where Necrovar had built his home in the Second Age.
She mentally compared those foggy recollections with her foresight of Max’s death. Corrupted though her memory was, she went over her list of markers: a black sky above. A river of lava below. A canyon of red and black striated rock.
This was it. It had to be. Everything would come to a head on the slopes of Mount Arax. Seba’s foresight was about to come true.
“No,” she told herself. “Max won’t die. I will save him.”
And with that, she took off down the road.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
“Not all promises are meant to be kept.”
~ Shira Okeno, Sixth Age
Spring had settled into the Fironem. Keriya, Fletcher, and Roxanne made their way east across a vast savannah, sheltered by the shoulder-high amber grasses. During the days it was pleasant, but in the evenings it grew cold. Fletcher made fires with a crimson gem he called a gleed, but they had to huddle together for warmth in the darkest hours of night.
The provisions they’d brought from their stint in the dungeons vanished within two days. Thereafter, they relied on Roxanne for sustenance. She’d learned the weave of many new spells on her travels, and now she could create edible plants that provided enough water for them to survive.
“And to think you wanted to do this on your own,” she said to Keriya after the three of them had finished a surprisingly satisfying meal of cactus flesh and sweetroot.
It was hard for Keriya to sleep. She dreaded those awful minutes after supper and before exhaustion claimed her. Everywhere she looked she saw reminders of what had happened or omens of what was to come. She couldn’t look at the stars because there was Valeasi, pointing to nowhere; she couldn’t look at the ground because it was all that separated her from her final battle.
The only thing she could do was close her eyes and listen to her friends’ breathing. She counted the slow, reassuring pattern—inhale, exhale, repeat—as they slipped into peaceful slumber. Eventually, when the counting numbed her brain, she followed them.
As they trudged on, she contemplated the past. She missed the calm and stoic presence of Erasmus. Though she held no love in her heart for Aeria, she yearned to return to simpler times, when she and Fletcher had spent their days hiding from the disapproval of the Elders amidst the boughs of the Felwood. Every so often she allowed herself to recall her time in Irongarde, when she and her friends had been happy.
Those memories made her heart hurt, so she didn’t brood over them for long.
Mount Arax crouched on the horizon, ever present, ever watchful. It grew until the base of its slope consumed the bottom half of the sky. While it wasn’t as tall as the peaks of Shivnath’s Mountains, to Keriya it was twice as imposing. For someone who’d once scaled Argos Moor, Arax should have been easy—but the more Keriya looked at it, the more impossible it seemed that she would be able to reach the top.
On their fifth night they stopped at the edge of the savannah. Beyond, a barren stretch of rock rambled toward the volcano. A human settlement was visible at the base of the mountain.
“We’ll have to go around,” said Roxanne. “South would be better. I think we’ll hit the Chasm if we go much further north.”
“Looks like there’s another village to the south.” Keriya pointed at a dim cluster of lights. Fletcher and Roxanne craned their necks to get a better look.
“I don’t think that’s a village,” said Fletcher, pushing his glasses up his nose and peering at the lights. “It looks more like a camp. Those are bonfires.”
Silence fell as they regarded the pinpricks flickering in the violet dusk.
“Whoever it is, it’s bad news for us,” Roxanne concluded. “No fire tonight. We’ll take turns at watch, and we should leave before dawn and cross to the town under cover of darkness.”
Keriya nodded. “I’ll take first watch.”
“You should rest,” said Fletcher.
“I’m fine. You two get some sleep.”
Keriya sat at the edge of the grasslands as the moons rose. She observed the town, which showed no signs of life. The bonfires, however, burned through the night.
She didn’t feel tired. There was no point robbing her friends of their precious few hours of rest, so she stayed awake. Her mind was oddly blank, and she was grateful for that.
When the sky turned gray she roused Fletcher and Roxanne. First they grumbled about being sleepy, then they chastised Keriya for not waking them for their turns at watch, then they groused a
bout having to run across the open, rocky stretch between the savannah and the town. Keriya found the complaints endearing. It was a crumb of normalcy in a world that had lost all sense and reason.
“Stay low and go fast,” Roxanne was saying. “Fletcher will watch the town and I’ll watch the camp. If anyone sees anything, we drop and freeze.”
“On the count of three,” Fletcher whispered. “One . . .”
Keriya’s stomach clenched.
“Two . . .”
She tensed, readying herself.
“Three!”
They ran as fast as they could. Keriya’s side cramped, but she refused to acknowledge the pain. She kept pumping her legs until they reached the outskirts of the town.
Though the sky was brightening, the village remained dark. There were no early risers on their morning errands, no shopkeepers opening for the day, not even a stray cat on the prowl.
Roxanne voiced aloud what Keriya was thinking: “Where is everyone?”
“It looks empty,” Fletcher wheezed, staring down deserted streets as they hurried along. “Do you think they evacuated because of the war?”
“They’re leagues away from the war,” said Roxanne.
“Maybe they evacuated because of something else,” said Keriya. She glanced at the summit of Mount Arax, which was leaking black smoke in a most ominous manner.
Once they were past the village, the ground grew steeper. They stopped behind a boulder to take cover and rest.
“It’s hot,” Fletcher complained, gasping for breath. Beneath his once-fine coat, his shirt was plastered to his torso with sweat.
“It’s a volcano,” said Roxanne. “What did you expect?”
“And I’m thirsty.” He shrugged out of the coat, stared at it, then folded it and laid it on the boulder, abandoning it in the face of the stifling heat. “I don’t suppose there would be any cacti around here?”
Roxanne pursed her lips. “I wanted to conserve my energy, but . . . we do need water.” She placed her hands on the ground. Perspiration beaded on her forehead as a tiny bud cracked through the surface of the rock.
“What’s wrong?” asked Fletcher.
“Terrible growing conditions. Nothing I can’t handle.”
Sure enough, she produced a small cactus plant. She ripped it from the ground and crumbled it into three pieces. Keriya took her ration and bit into the watery flesh. It was hardly more than a mouthful, but it quenched their thirst before they had to face the next—and arguably hardest—part of their journey.
Arax wasn’t too steep, but in a way, that made it worse. No matter how far they climbed, it seemed like they weren’t getting anywhere. The sun rose and seared them. Keriya longed for another bite of cactus, but she didn’t deserve to ask that of Roxanne, so she kept her mouth shut.
Fletcher stopped abruptly and looked around. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” asked Keriya.
“A strange noise. Like a snake hissing.”
“No animals around here,” Roxanne told him.
A jet of hot steam erupted from a nearby fissure, making the three of them jump. The crevice smoked for a few moments before going quiet again.
“Great,” said Roxanne. “As if things weren’t bad enough.”
“Hey! What are you doing here?”
Keriya’s heart stopped when she heard the voice. She looked behind her to see two Fironians striding uphill. They were in plainclothes, but both were carrying weapons.
“Rahxan was evacuated days ago,” the second Fironian said. “Everyone’s been relocated to the refugee camp by the oasis. You shouldn’t be within three leagues of the volcano when it’s this active!”
As if they’d rehearsed the move, Fletcher and Roxanne drew together in front of Keriya, shielding her from view. She hunched her shoulders and ducked her head, but nothing could hide the striking color of her hair and skin.
“We’re sorry,” Fletcher said loudly. “We’ll leave.”
“Hang on,” said the second man. Something in his tone sent chills through Keriya. “I recognize you.”
“Keriya, run,” Roxanne muttered out of the corner of her mouth.
“No. We’re staying together, remember?”
“That pale one there,” the man was telling his companion. “That’s the Dragon Speaker! She’s wanted by the Imperial government!”
“Can’t be,” came the gruff voice of the first man. “Last I heard, she was in the Erastate.”
Roxanne looked at Fletcher. “Get her out of here.”
“I’m not leaving you,” said Keriya.
“That’s right, you’re not,” Roxanne growled as her hands curled into fists. “You’re going ahead while I deal with these two.”
“Look! You can see her bloody purple eyes,” screamed the man. He pulled an arrow from his quiver and raised his bow. “You three are coming with us.”
Crack! The rocky ground split apart and a slab of porous stone thrust itself upwards, creating a wall between the Aerians and the Fironians. Roxanne shoved Keriya, while with her free hand she prepared another spell.
“I’ll be right behind you,” she promised.
Keriya might have kept arguing, but furious flames curled around the edges of the wall. She stumbled backward from the blast. Fletcher used her movement to pull her away from the fight.
“Don’t worry. Roxanne is more than a match for those two,” Fletcher said as he dragged her along.
That was probably true under normal circumstances, but how long could Roxanne keep wielding, dehydrated and drained as she was? Keriya wanted to argue, but she didn’t have the breath for it. The scabby terrain forced her to watch where she was putting her feet, but she heard the sounds of a raging battle behind her. The heat of the fire licked at her heels.
With another resounding crack, the ground shook. One of the Fironians screamed in pain. Keriya and Fletcher broke apart as they tried to steady themselves. Loose pieces of rock crumbled off the slope and toppled downhill.
“Keep going,” Fletcher panted.
They only managed to take a few more steps before the earth convulsed again. Roxanne’s wielding had destabilized the mountain, causing a fracture to open beneath Keriya’s feet. She flung herself forward and rolled behind a boulder to avoid being scalded by the steam that whistled through the widening crack.
“Fletcher?” she called, scrambling upright.
“I’m okay.” His voice sounded distorted. Keriya stumbled into the open again and was met with a terrible sight: a deep split in the rock yawned between her and Fletcher, and a whirlwind of earth and fire raged beyond him.
“Jump,” she cried, inching toward the edge of the newly formed crevice and stretching out her hand. A blast of boiling steam flared from the fissure, blistering her skin. Cursing, she yanked her hand out of the burning vapor, clutching it to her chest.
Fletcher shook his head. “I can’t make it.” The crack wasn’t overly wide, but he would have to jump uphill—and through scalding steam emissions. “You keep going!”
“But—”
“Keriya, this isn’t the time to be stubborn,” he snapped. “I’ll help Roxanne. As soon as we’re done with the fire wielders, we’ll follow you. If you want to save us, go save the world.”
His words punctured the haze of fear that had settled on her, burrowing straight to her heart. Water brimmed in her eyes as she stared down at Fletcher. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she couldn’t find the words to articulate her thoughts.
Fletcher seemed to know what she was thinking. He gave her a tremulous smile. “Shivnath believes in you, and so do I. Now go.”
With that, he wheeled around and charged into the fray. A wild tongue of fire blazed toward him. He barely dodged it.
“Fletcher!” Keriya yelled, but he didn’t look back.
She was about to leap over the fissure to join her friends, but another hissing emission of steam stopped her. She gazed at their wavering forms through the shimmer of the heat and gathered her wits. It wouldn’t do any good if she returned to fight with them. If she wanted to help, she would have to keep going.
So, feeling that her heart was splitting just as the mountainside had, Keriya continued alone.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
“Power is having the ability to change things. Wisdom is knowing when to do so.”
~ Sahira Mistflare, Seventh Age
Fletcher raced toward the battle. He suspected Roxanne had injured one of the fire wielders—maybe he’d be able to fight that man while she concentrated on the other.
He was forced into an awkward dive to avoid a blast of fire. The unpleasant scent of burnt hair reached his nose as he rolled over and over downhill to extinguish the flames that had caught on his shirt.
“What are you doing?” cried Roxanne, running toward him as she wielded two boulders at the remaining Fironian. “Where’s Keriya?”
“We got separated,” he panted, rising to a crouch and squinting around. The second man lay bleeding from a gash on his temple. He was still moving, but Roxanne had given him a good wallop.
“Helkryvt’s blood,” Roxanne groaned. She hurled the boulders, but the Fironian blocked them with an intense stream of concentrated fire. Next she tried to unsteady him by wielding the ground beneath his feet, but he propelled himself into the air with an explosive blast and shot a searing counterattack at her.
Roxanne dropped both boulders and redirected her energy into raising another wall of stone to act as a shield. Fletcher huddled behind it with her. She was impressive when she wielded—like a force of nature herself—but her magic further destabilized the slope. A baleful rumble reverberated beneath the crackle of the fire, and the mountain trembled again.
“I have a plan,” said Fletcher, his eyes fixed on the fallen man. “You keep your enemy occupied.”
“What do you think I’m trying to do?!”
Fletcher darted out from behind the protection of the rock shield, sprinting toward the man on the ground. The quiver and bow lay beside him. If Fletcher could get the weapon, he could help.
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