“I will go back,” it rasped.
So it turned away from any hope of finding its treasure and began its arduous journey north.
EPILOGUE
Second Age, Year 942
“I own your soul now.”
Necrovar’s words rang in Valerion’s ears and echoed in the gaping wound that had left no mark, but had maimed him nonetheless.
He was empty. He was nothing. He wasn’t sure how he was still alive. In fact, death would be a welcome alternative to this.
“You have no more magic,” the Shadow Lord continued. “You cannot fight me.” He grinned, splitting the too-tight skin that stretched across his skull.
“I don’t need to fight. This war is over.” Valerion turned his back on Necrovar and left the obsidian throne room, its walls glittering with dark secrets.
Be careful. You still need to escape, he reminded himself. Speaking hadn’t been wise. If Necrovar tried to wield Valerion’s magic now, he would discover he’d been cheated.
Valerion passed the demon manticore on his way out. Their gazes met briefly before he was in the maze of corridors again. He drew Sethildras—now his only defense—from its scabbard, and felt a stirring within it. The other half of his soul yearned to return to its rightful place.
But that could never be.
His actions tonight could never be undone. Valerion had given Necrovar the portion of his magic that wasn’t hidden safely in the blade; in exchange, Necrovar had agreed to Valerion’s single demand.
When you die, I shall resurrect you—not as a demon, but as your own true self. That was what the Shadow had promised him. He would die tonight, but he would return. And per their agreement, he would be resurrected not as a shadowbeast, but as Valerion Nameless of the Unknown Lands, happy and whole.
Not whole, whispered a tiny, nagging voice in the back of his head. He tightened his grip on the sword as he hurried through the torchlit warren of corridors.
It took every ounce of Valerion’s skill to avoid the patrols roaming the halls. Luck was with him, and he found his way to a smaller exit that opened onto the eastern slope of Mount Arax. Outside, he tried reaching Exandrya telepathically—but he couldn’t, because he had no more magic.
Cursing under his breath and berating himself for his perennial inability to think things through, he threw caution to the winds and shouted aloud, “Exandrya! It is done.”
A cry reached him, echoing toward him from far away: “Valerion, take cover!”
Alarm thrummed in Valerion and he scanned the skies, bracing for a fight. The heavens were clear—he guessed Exandrya had been busy destroying the air patrol units while he’d been inside. Then, high overhead, two shapes careened into sight, hurtling from behind the cliffs of the volcano.
Exandrya was locked in an aerial battle with a necrocrelai queen. Valerion recognized the born-demon as Ashétyn, second highest of the Severed Six. The dragon had gotten her wish: Necrovar had sent one of his most dangerous servants to fight her.
Valerion stared helplessly at the battling behemoths. Exandrya blasted light every which way while Ashétyn cackled and dodged. The necrocrelai lashed out, sending a bolt of shadowy magic at the dragon. Exandrya took the full brunt of the lethal spell, but as she did so she whipped around, smacking Ashétyn into the wall of the citadel with her powerful tail.
At the force of the impact, Ashétyn went limp and fell, tumbling to lie dazed on the ramparts. Exandrya dove toward Valerion.
“Leave,” he cried, waving her away. She might recover if she fled now, if she used all her power to heal herself. But she did not leave. In her eyes he saw her grief and sorrow, her rage and bloodlust, her desire to kill the demon queen who had taken the lives of so many—including Exandrya’s bondmate.
Exandrya wielded a spell around him. With a flash, Valerion found himself elsewhere for the third time that night. She’d sent him to the vast plain on the northern side of Shivnath’s Mountains. This was the home of the Chardons, the gods with whom he’d made his pact.
He sank to his knees. “No more,” Valerion vowed, choking on sobs, punching his fist into the parched desert ground. Even a seasoned fighter like Exandrya was no match for Ashétyn. “No more blood on my hands. This ends tonight!”
“Valerion of the Unknown Lands,” said a voice beside him. With a start, he turned to see the youngest Chardon, a slender nymph whose eyes were empty purple orbs. Her skin was stormcloud-gray, and her hair spilled out of her flesh like swirls of weightless white mist.
During their first meeting, when he’d come begging for help in ending the Shadow War, she had worn no clothes, for all gods were secure in their perfection. Now a plain toga covered her willowy form—an oddly human affectation.
“You came,” she said, sounding surprised.
“I gave my word that I would,” he growled. “I will see my plan through.”
In another human gesture, the goddess stooped and offered her hand. Still in shock, he took it. She was cold to the touch and her flesh was strangely soft and malleable, as if she were a mass of fog that had grown solid. She drew him to his feet and led him north.
Together they approached the Chardons’ home, a mountain whose three spiny peaks jutted from the endless desert. Valerion was sure he was the only mortal who knew where the guardians of changemagic lived, for no one in their right mind strayed this far into the wastes.
The moon watched intently as the god ushered Valerion into a grotto at the base of her mountain. There, lush plants thrived in a state of perpetual bloom, and butterflies with sparkling wings drifted in lazy circles, never landing.
She settled Valerion on a mossy rock next to a patch of large toadstools. The other two Chardons joined her, appearing soundlessly out of thin air. Valerion started again at their sudden appearance.
“I did not think you would return,” said the eldest Chardon. Both she and the middle sister were naked. Her skin was silver and her head was bald, smooth like a polished stone. Though her features and the shape of her purple eyes were like her youngest sister’s, the two could not have seemed more different to Valerion. Her gaze was hard and unforgiving—there was nothing remotely human about her.
“He gave his word that he would,” said the youngest Chardon, echoing Valerion’s explanation.
“The last time you were here, we told you we needed something to balance the power we would exert to help you end the war,” said the eldest, focusing her attention on Valerion.
“What will you offer us?” said the middle sister, her watery purple eyes narrowing on him.
This was it. It had to be done so that Arisse would be safe; so that neither Exandrya’s death nor the countless others were in vain; so that Selaras would be free of the Shadow.
So that I can be free of the Shadow, too.
Valerion stood. Even now, empty and crippled, it was hard to say. “To balance the power you will wield against Necrovar, I offer you . . . my soul.”
“So, this is what you planned.” The youngest Chardon’s voice was soft and unreadable, unlike her sisters’ harsh tones. “May I ask what drove you to this decision?”
“My motives are my own,” he said. “What does it matter if I die, so long as I save the world?”
“There are some in that world who believe it matters greatly.” The Chardon changed. First she was a tree with dying leaves, then she was a massive serpent, and the next moment she was a goddess again, calm and cool and perfectly in control.
The eldest Chardon glanced at her siblings. Valerion got the sense that they were communicating telepathically.
“It has been decided,” she said at length. “We accept your offering.”
The four of them were suddenly standing outside. The change was so abrupt as to be disorienting, and Valerion nearly lost his footing as he turned. A sense of awe stole through him. Surrounding him on the deser
t plain were the gods of the world. Even he, who had stood before chieftains and dragons and the Shadow Lord himself, was struck dumb by the sight.
A hundred pairs of purple eyes gazed upon him and he felt small, insignificant, and sorely afraid. He recognized some of the creatures from legends and lore: there was Ra, the wyvern-god of the Jidaelni Territory, and there was Kraken, the guardian of pure Watermagic.
“Let it be known from this day forth,” said a sonorous voice, “that this mortal came to us of his own free will and beseeched us for help in ending the war; that we act not of our own volition, but on behalf of the world we guard and serve; that we wield not our own magic, but the magic of Valerion Equilumos, who has offered his soul to balance the power we must exert against Necrovar.”
Valerion knew that voice, and he sought to find its owner. She wasn’t hard to spot—she lurked at the back of the crowd, partially hidden by her brethren, but the gravity of her sable eyes drew his gaze like two black holes drawing and devouring light.
Shivnath was a god amongst gods. Even set beside the most powerful creatures in the world she stood out, fearsome and beautiful.
“Equilumos?” he whispered, frowning at Shivnath. He was sure she heard him, for some hidden emotion flickered on her noble face, but beyond that, she made no response.
For as long as he could remember, he had just been Valerion. His full title was Valerion Nameless of the Unknown Lands, since he couldn’t recall his origins and he had no family. Some called him Commander Valerion, because of his work in leading the mortal races of Selaras against the Shadow. His beloved Arisse affectionately called him her ‘soul-star.’ But he’d never had a tribal surname. Shivnath must have made a mistake.
“That’s not my name,” he said more loudly. Then, feeling a pinch of uncertainty—or perhaps familiarity—he added, “Is it?”
His cry went unheeded, for the Chardons began to wield. A fierce wind picked up, drowning Valerion’s words. The sisters morphed together, their bodies distorting and melding into one massive entity. The wind sharpened, seizing the sand and tossing it upward in such a thick cloud that it blotted out the light of the moon.
“Valerion, are you ready?” the Chardon-creature asked. A rumble shook the earth. Clouds formed above the pillar of swirling sand and air. Lightning struck at Valerion’s feet and fire sprang to life.
“Yes,” he said, drawing his sword one final time. He and his soul were yet entangled, connected by some inexplicable quantum-magical power. While he lived, so did his light—and vice versa.
So, he wondered with a detached curiosity, what happens next?
Spectral, immaterial talons brushed his body, looking for a suitable place to begin unraveling him. Valerion felt them pierce his chest without breaking his skin, digging toward his heart.
He gritted his teeth against the agony as the talons pulled a life-thread from him. That thread left grudgingly, but once it had gone, others followed more freely. The Chardons tugged threads from his flesh and dragged strands of light from his sword. The metal burned against his skin, but that was nothing, nothing compared to the searing, ripping pain that ravaged his body as he was torn apart.
With a resounding CRACK, a shockwave burst from him. It fractured the desert and the ground crumbled, leaving a crater beneath his feet. Valerion didn’t fall—the power of the gods’ spell held him aloft. High above, the shockwave sliced through the heavens, colliding with the moon, shattering it.
That was the last thing he saw before the spell unraveled his eyes. He didn’t bleed, because the blood was sucked out of him. Eventually he stopped screaming, because the threads of his throat, mouth, and tongue came undone. Shortly thereafter he stopped thinking, because his brain disintegrated.
Then everything was nothing.
It was gone. He was gone.
Yet, he wasn’t. Not really.
What was he, if he was not alive and if he had no soul? He supposed Necrovar’s power had taken over and was preventing him from simply ceasing to exist.
He felt threads returning to him from the ends of the universe, wrapping themselves around the tiny mass of necromagic which now constituted his entire being. They wove into a strange shape: a body that was unfamiliar, yet which somehow seemed . . . right.
Threads knit together to reform the brain that had been destroyed to save Selaras—but they were not his original life-threads, so they held none of his memories.
Then there was a spark. A heartbeat. A flutter of eyelids. Blood began to flow through his veins. He became aware that he was lying on something soft. Some primal sense told him that he was his own, true self. A smile touched his reconstructed lips and he opened his eyes.
The world was beautiful. The sky was clear and blue, the grass beneath his paws was fresh and green. The wind sang a lullaby, bearing the scent of pine and a hint of the sea.
And there, waiting for him, was Arisse.
He blinked. How had he known that? He had no memories, but something within him recognized her and called her name.
“Arisse?” he said shakily. He was unaccustomed to speaking with this strange new tongue.
Her eyes brimmed with tears as he pushed himself up on four scaly limbs. “Yes, my darling soul-star. I’m here.”
“Where are we?” He twisted his long, serpentine neck around, experimentally stretching the muscled wings that sprouted from his shoulders.
“We are together, and you are home,” she told him.
“How did I get here?”
“A miracle beyond comprehension. I do not know how, but you promised you would return to me and you have finally done it.”
“Arisse . . . ?”
“Yes?”
“Who am I?” he asked, shocked that he did not know.
She smiled sadly. “You are Valerion Equilumos. You are the hero of Selaras, the bravest of dragons, the love of my life . . . and the father of our child.”
END OF BOOK II
BOOK III AVAILABLE NOW!
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Keriya Soulstar awakens on the other side of the world, far from
Allentria, far from the dragon god Shivnath, far from everyone she’s ever known and loved. She can’t remember what happened during her final battle with Necrovar, and she doesn’t want to. Besides, she’s comfortable in Jidaeln, a country where no one wields magic. She fits in.
But Keriya knows she can’t hide forever. With her sword—the only reminder of her troubled past—she ventures to a school where she can train with military masters to learn the arts of battle. Under the tutelage of Ansai Viran, the leader of the academy, she takes her first step in becoming a warrior who can finally defeat the Shadow.
She will return to Allentria and finish what she started...or she’ll die trying.
GLOSSARY & PRONUNCIATIONS
Aeria (AIR-ee-uh):
A country on the north side of Shivnath’s Mountains, and childhood home to Keriya, Fletcher and Roxanne. Believed by Allentrians to be nothing more than a myth.
Aldelphia (all-DELL-fee-uh) Alderwood:
Empress of Allentria, a position considered to be the most powerful in the world. She also holds titles including Premier of the Union of the States and Head of the Council of Nine, among others.
Alderevas (al-DARE-eh-vas):
A magical stimulant derived from a plant bearing the same name. It greatly increases a wielder’s power for a short period of time.
Allentria (uh-LEN-tree-uh):
A large continent surrounded by water, divided into four different kingdoms that operate together under common imperial law.
Argos Moor:
The tallest mountain in Allentria, and home to Shivnath. Part of the mountain r
ange that separates Aeria from Allentria.
Bogspectre:
An infamous monster who can possess people, absorb their souls, and rot their bodies away from the inside.
Brother Azrin:
A monk of the Valaani Order who helps Roxanne and Effrax cross the Fironem.
Cezon (SEZ-on) Skyriver:
The first Allentrian that Keriya, Fletcher, and Roxanne ever met. Now an agent of the Erastatian Border Patrol.
Chardons (SHAR-dons), the:
The guardians of pure Changemagic; a trio of gods who Valerion Equilumos beseeched to end the Great War.
Council of Nine, the:
An advisory body representing the nine wielding races of the Allentrian Empire and headed up by Empress Aldelphia.
Danisan (DAN-ih-san) Carvaziae (car-VAH-zee-aye):
Bodyguard, advisor, and loyal servant to Taeleia Alenciae.
Darksalm:
A deadly substance comprised of dragon blood and necromagic. It can burrow into the magicsource of any mortal creature it touches, killing them slowly and sealing their soul to Necrovar after they die.
Derlei (DARE-lay):
The basic monetary unit of Allentria.
Drachvold:
A dangerous predator that uses its stomach acid to melt prey before ingesting its meals.
Drackling:
A generic term for a young dragon, one who has not yet reached magical maturity.
Effrax (EFF-racks) Nameless:
A Fironian who joins Keriya on her quest to find the last dragon.
Elvinthrane:
The sole fully-elven settlement in the Allentrian Empire. Home to the elven palace and the Diamond Throne, ruling seat of the lumina.
Endred (EN-dread) Faerburn:
One of Cezon Skyriver’s steadfast companions who oftentimes acts as his moral compass.
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