Dragon Child
Page 50
Something within Keriya snapped. Necrovar had crossed a line. He’d rekindled the fire within her. With a shuddering growl, she shot up and ripped her sword from its sheath.
“Thorion’s death was not my fault,” she spat. “It was yours!”
“It wasn’t my fault you selfishly summoned him to save you in the Galantrian Village,” he countered.
“You ordered Tanthflame to make that darksalm, you ordered him to set off that bomb!”
“To make a point that the Allentrian government does not have the best interests of its people at heart. Given where your government ended up—attacking one of its own kingdoms—I think it was a valid point to make.”
“The government would never have launched an attack against the Fironem if not for you! Tanthflame laid siege to Indrath Nazrith on your orders.”
“He’s simply quelling a rebellion before it takes root,” Necrovar rejoined.
“You won’t get away with this. When the Allentrians realize what’s happening, they’re going to come fight you.”
He chuckled in the face of her wrath. “Of course they’re going to come; I practically invited them. Once I have the magic necessary to balance my soul, I will finally be able to step through the Rift. And I couldn’t have much of a grand return if none of my people were there to witness it.”
Keriya swayed on the spot, limp and winded. “It’s your fault, this war. You know it’s your fault, and you don’t have a shred of remorse or guilt.”
Necrovar gave her a disinterested half-shrug. “Remorse is for mistakes, and guilt is for wrongdoers. There’s nothing wrong with exposing a flaw in the system if you intend to implement a better one. I know you refuse to believe me, but I am trying to save the world. You’ve been making that job more difficult than it ought to be . . . but soon it will be over.”
His flickering pupils moved to her sword, flaring with hunger. A fresh wave of fear surged through Keriya and she clung to the blade more tightly. It had protected her before; she must have faith in it now, for it was all she had left.
“Oh, how I pity you,” he continued in a low hiss, gliding closer. “You’ve been deceived and betrayed. I know how that feels. You fought your fate, and you fought valiantly. There were times when I thought you’d manage to ruin the plans I had so carefully put in place, but both you and that sword are here by my design. That weapon of evil—”
“It’s not evil, you’re evil!”
“Be silent,” he bellowed. “You know nothing of evil. I will show you evil.”
Necrovar bent and stirred the mists with one ghastly hand, drawing wispy strands into the air. He drew a shape with the foggy contrails, twirling his arm until the mist coalesced into a solid hovering oval. He waved a hand over the oval and it came to life, pulsing with the same horrible orange light of his eyes. He glanced at Keriya to make sure she was paying attention, then snapped his clawed fingers.
An image phased into focus on the oval in much the same way images had floated on the surface of Shivnath’s scrying spring. This vision was sharper than the ones Keriya had seen in the pool, and decidedly more sickening: it was the burning village of Sairal.
She gasped, shrinking away from the image and the memories it brought. The punch of guilt in her stomach was enough to make her nauseous.
With a snap of Necrovar’s fingers, Sairal faded and was replaced by an image of Effrax shooting the bogspectre through the eye. Keriya winced as the arrow pierced the monster’s head and black blood spurted down its face.
Necrovar snapped once more and Keriya’s fight with the Border Patrol floated before her. Snap: Effrax again, tilting a small vial of liquid down the throat of an older man as he slept. Snap: a group of Imperials rounding up terrified people by the shore of a shimmering lake, herding them toward a prison-like building. Snap: a charred corpse nailed to a wooden post.
Snap. Snap. Snap. Image after image flashed before her, some so horrific it was all Keriya could do to keep herself from crying.
Then . . . snap. An image ripped directly from her memory. A mob of angry men chased Keriya, Fletcher, and Roxanne into Shivnath’s Mountains. That image broke her.
“Stop.” She bent over, drawing deep breaths through her nose, struggling to hang onto her sanity.
Necrovar drew near and raised her chin with one of his long fingers. It was as cold as a glacier. Her insides writhed in a frenzied attempt to escape his touch.
“I am fighting the evil,” he whispered. “What gives them the right to kill one another, to hurt the ones they love? What gives them the right to drive a poor, innocent child from her home?”
Keriya squeezed her eyes shut, wishing his awful face wasn’t so close. Purple fire seared her vision, rebounding off her lids.
“Evil is defined by what society views as detrimental to its core values. You’ve been deluded into believing you are on the side of goodness by an inherently corrupt system filled with deceitful, selfish, cruel creatures. None of you have any concept of what a truly good world would look like.”
“You’re a liar,” she said, willing herself to believe it.
“Oh? Do I lie?” His thin tongue flicked against her cheek as he spoke. “You tell me, have I shown you anything untrue? Every image I produced for you was a real event. Do you deny those people are evil?”
“Effrax isn’t evil,” she declared, though her innards shriveled again as she remembered accusing him of being exactly that. She had been cruel to him. She had allowed her pain and anger to get the better of her. Would that be the last conversation they ever had?
Necrovar growled and images flashed before her closed eyes, drenched in purple light: Effrax shooting fire at a trio of men on a rocky hillside; Effrax abandoning Roxanne in the dungeons of Indrath Nazrith; Effrax creeping into a darkened room in the dead of night, crying over the lifeless body of a boy who shared his broad, handsome features; Effrax hurling flames at Imperial Guards.
“So, Effrax Nameless isn’t evil? I’ve proven you wrong. Would you like me to show you how corrupt the rest of your friends are? We could start with Roxanne, she’s a wicked girl. Or maybe Fletcher—he’s not nearly as innocent as you’d think. Or perhaps your beloved Max. You cannot imagine the terrible things Maxton Windharte has done.”
“They had excuses,” Keriya wailed, opening her eyes in the hope that she might escape whatever appalling visions the Shadow had in store for her next.
“Excuses for inflicting pain on other living beings? For lying and stealing? Or cheating? Or killing?”
“Everyone does some of those things. Do you think every single human is evil?” she challenged him. “Would you kill them all? Would you become a hypocrite to sanctify Allentria?”
“Would you?” he shot back venomously. “You want to save them from the evil you perceive in me, and what do you do? You sow violence and discord, you inspire them to fight and kill.”
She was falling again. Her head was reeling from what she’d seen and her ears were ringing with Necrovar’s words. She had to resist him, had to build arguments against him. As was always the case, she thought of Shivnath to give herself strength.
“If it comes to a choice between your evil and mine,” she said, remembering what the dragon god had told her so long ago, “let’s have the lesser of the two.”
“Mine, then,” he said. “The one wherein I prevent them from war and murder, the one wherein I hold evildoers accountable for their actions and punish the wicked. When I rule, they will no longer be able to hurt each other. Doesn’t that sound like a better world?”
“No,” Keriya said stubbornly, refusing to even consider the idea. He’d gotten into her head the last time they’d fought, and he’d nearly destroyed her. She could not listen to his gilded lies.
The skin of his brow cracked as he frowned. “Are you willing to sacrifice peace and balance so mortals can have the illusion
of freedom? Are you willing to buy it with the blood of those you love?”
Necrovar snapped at the misty oval again, and a battlefield swam into view. Keriya recognized Indrath Nazrith—though it was battered and broken—and saw the craggy shape of Mount Arax in the distance. A gruesome scarlet haze illuminated the mountaintop and she could make out glowing tendrils of lava on its slope.
This image wasn’t a memory. It was a direct link to what was happening on Selaras.
“No . . . no, I don’t want to see this,” she whispered, backing away. It looked like a full-scale battle had broken out between the Imperials and the Fironians. Shadowbeasts were fighting, thousands of them swarming across the field. Some were wielding necromagic, some were sewing devastation with fangs, claws, and weapons.
The point of focus within the oval shifted and the image changed. Effrax appeared, running from the main city gates at the head of a line of warriors. Keriya’s heart fluttered with an odd mixture of emotions.
He’s alive!
“Push back their left flank,” Effrax screamed. “Make sure they don’t breach the wall!”
The Fironians surged forward at his words, plunging into battle. Out of the frenzied fray, three figures joined the king. A strangled cry escaped Keriya as she spotted Max. The second figure was a tall woman, whom she recognized as Taeleia Alenciae—both from Fletcher’s descriptions, and from the fact that she’d met the elven lumina in Noryk almost a year ago. That meant the muscular elf garbed in black was her advisor, Danisan.
Max and Taeleia joined Effrax, and together they fought. Max conjured an air spell and scattered a line of shadowbeasts. Taeleia felled demons with a silver saber, moving with preternatural speed. Effrax led the charge, carving his way toward a tangle of mounted Imperials.
“Watch out,” Keriya shrieked, before she remembered that she was in another world and her friends couldn’t hear. A volley of flaming arrows flew at them—fortunately, Max wielded in time to deflect the projectiles.
Keriya was so engrossed in watching the prince that she didn’t notice when the shadowbeasts grew still. Only when the unnatural calm crept across the entire battlefield did she realize something was amiss. Effrax called to his men and the Fironian soldiers retreated, forming protective ranks around their king.
“What’s happening?” he demanded. “Why’d the Imperials pull back?”
No one answered.
Then a bone-chilling roar shattered the silence. It echoed in the hollow of Keriya’s chest and her body went numb.
In the oval, Taeleia raised one long, clawed finger to point at something. The image in the misty shape shifted again, and Tanthflame’s troops became visible. A shadowbeast rose into the air behind the gray-clad soldiers.
Part of Keriya had known this was coming, too, but she was just as unprepared for it as she’d been for seeing Necrovar.
Rising behind the Imperials, borne on pitch-black wings, was Thorion.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
“The most tragic truths you can e’er behold are stories unfinished, and stories untold.”
~ Elven Funeral Rites
“Please Shivnath,” Keriya breathed, “don’t let this happen.”
Thorion tore through the sky, a streak of black lightning, and the fight was back on. A brutal cry rose from the Imperials as they pressed forward. The demons on the ground churned into motion, following the shadowdragon into the fray.
The Fironian militia fell back, losing ground against the onslaught. Slowly, the waves of blackened creatures forced the humans to retreat. Effrax held his position, watching Thorion with a vacant expression. Max, Taeleia, and Danisan stood at his side. Together, they gazed in sorrow at the creature who had once been destined to save them.
Thorion rose in dark glory, then folded his wings and dropped onto a group of fleeing Fironians. They broke formation, scattering in mindless terror. It was slaughter. The ones who weren’t killed by shadowbeasts or Imperials were trampled by Thorion.
“No,” Keriya moaned, hugging her arms around her stomach, which was heaving with sickness and grief. “No, no.”
The dragon grabbed one soldier in his mouth. With a vicious wrench, he broke the man’s neck. Spitting out the man’s remnants, he puffed himself up and emitted a fiery blast of necromagic from between his fangs. His spell sliced across the battlefield, ripping through demons and mortals alike.
“How is he wielding fire?” said Effrax, gaping in dismay at the dragon. Thorion conjured a tide of water, drowning his enemies in pitch-black liquid. “And water, too?”
“He is not the one wielding,” said Taeleia, her silver gaze filled with sorrow. “That is not truly Thorion, nor is it Thorion’s magic—it is Necrovar‘s. Necrovar feeds him power and controls him, just as he controls every other shadowbeast.”
As if to emphasize Taeleia’s point, Thorion wielded earthmagic next. But it wasn’t true earthmagic—it was necromagic, foul, dark threads tainted by the Shadow’s touch. The dragon leapt up, curving in a sinuous arc over the metal points of his enemies’ weapons, and landed heavily on the ground. Waves of rippling, poisoned black stone shot out from his point of impact, unsettling ranks of approaching warriors and battering them against one another. The soldiers fell as the battlefield heaved beneath them.
Thorion charged into the wriggling mass without hesitation or mercy. His obsidian talons ripped at flesh, his sable fangs snarled and snapped. Rivers of ruby human blood scalloped across his lightless scales, giving him a gruesome shine. No one in the near vicinity could wield against him—they were all bleeding too much to offer magical defense.
On the battlefield, Thorion gave no indication that he had heard her telepathic entreaty. He kept his wings folded tight to his sides to protect their membranes and used his lean, muscled tail to bowl over soldiers who were trying to stand. His hind legs clawed and kicked at the men on the ground.
More Fironians pushed toward him, seeking to meet him with weapons and fire alike, but the dragon was an unstoppable force. A blast of necromagical air, marked by an unearthly darkening of the atmosphere, radiated outwards from Thorion. It countered the fiery attacks aimed at him and knocked humans flat.
Thorion opened his jaws wide. His armored sides trembled as he let loose a terrible roar. Tongues of black fire followed in its wake, and those who did not flee before his might were charred to husks.
The image in Necrovar’s oval shifted and narrowed, focusing on Effrax. As he watched Thorion decimate his forces, red-gold fires filled with life and energy burst to life around his fists. He raised them in the air like twin beacons.
“Fironians, to me,” he bellowed. “Hold the line!”
Nearby soldiers rallied to his cry. Men stopped running and pivoted, regrouping around their king.
“Danisan,” Taeleia said solemnly, “we must take down the shadowdragon.”
A universe away, Keriya’s stomach gave a painful lurch.
Thorion, who was wreaking havoc on the far side of the battlefield, raised his head. Despite the tumultuous chaos, Keriya was sure his sensitive ears had somehow heard the elf’s words. He roared and smashed past a line of halberdiers who’d exited Fyrxav through a crumbling section of its wall. Though they fell beneath his mighty paws, their weapons ripped at him, tearing the membranes of his wings as he pumped them to fly.
Pain ripped through Keriya as if she were the one being torn apart. She didn’t know who to root for. Thorion was a demon, an agent of the Shadow—the most deadly agent there was.
Yet when she looked at him, all she could see was her little drackling.
He flapped his injured wings and gained altitude. On the ground, Effrax strung his bow. Many of the surrounding Fironians followed his lead, watching the unh
oly sight above them.
“Archers, loose on my command,” said Effrax. The men drew arrows and sighted on their target. High above, Thorion screeched and dove.
“Volley,” screamed Effrax, his voice breaking.
A dozen arrows flew. Effrax wielded, igniting them as they sped to meet Thorion. The dragon dodged a few, but several pierced his wings, damaging the delicate membranes further, and one punctured the soft skin at the joint between his foreleg and chest. He hissed and dropped another few heights in the air, flying in a lopsided manner.
“Ready your bows,” Effrax called. The archers drew more arrows and prepared a second strike. Thorion countered before they had the chance to shoot. He banked sharply and spat a stream of necromagic at his attackers.
It hit half the group, including Taeleia. Though dark spell only grazed her right arm, that was enough. Her skin bubbled where the necromagic touched her and she dropped her weaponry with a cry.
Danisan was at her side in a heartbeat, catching her as she swayed on the spot. Taeleia’s arm looked like it was melting—her scales were peeling off and a dark rash was spreading across her opalescent flesh. The male elf hefted her up effortlessly and turned to Effrax. “She needs healing,” he grunted.
“Bring her to the city,” said Effrax, pointing somewhere Keriya couldn’t see, out of the scope of the image in the oval.
“No healing will help,” Taeleia wheezed, her eyelids fluttering. “Thorion holds the threads of the active spell . . .”
Though Effrax looked confused by her words, Max nodded and broke from the group.
“The only way to counter this spell is to destroy its wielder, but its wielder is a foe beyond all reckoning,” said the prince. “You need war machines to take the dragon down. Order your men to retreat into the walls.”
“What bloody good will that do, now they’ve broken our shields?” Effrax growled. “If you fight, we all fight. Danisan, get Taeleia to safety. We’ll hold the line.” Danisan offered a curt nod and dashed away with the expiring lumina.