A warm southern city like Del’Oradon was preferable to the cold northern cities, and with the recent wars leaving so many children parentless, the city’s alleys, parks, and sewers were full of orphans scraping to get by. Thieving guilds run by kids had become an increasing problem in Del’Oradon, and even as governor, Dirk could only smile, feeling a bit proud.
Dirk walked easily through the dark alleys, his hood drawn against the dripping rain. It pooled in the low-lying areas, where the cobblestone had either been broken and pulled up by meddling kids or worn away by time and the pressure of the large garbage bins. The stink of the bins tangled with the sweet smell of the rain, creating a strange, faintly aromatic scent. To Dirk, the smell brought with it nostalgia, as did the broken liquor bottles and the half-dead bums sleeping in the refuse. In the alleys they traversed, the only homeless man who had shoes was a gray-haired man with a similarly colored dog. The dog yapped repeatedly at Dirk and Krentz.
“Good pup,” said Dirk as they passed.
The children of the alleys had taken notice of the well-dressed pair, and Dirk could see through his enchanted cloak that the nimbler of the kids were following them by rooftop. Shadows rushed by in the backdoors and windows of buildings, which in this part of town were either pubs, whorehouses, opium lounges, or pawn shops.
“We’ve got company,” said Krentz.
They stopped when a group of three older boys stepped into the alley in front of them. On cue, five more blocked the alley behind Dirk and Krentz.
“You two look lost,” said the young man in the center of the three. The goon to the left and his counterpart to the right each held a crude club in their meaty fist, and no doubt held many more concealed weapons.
“Mickey?” said Dirk. “What the hells are you still doing running a little street crew?”
“Gov’na?” Mickey squinted to see them clearly in the gray alley. Recognition lit his hawkish features, and he waved off his boys and swaggered over to the pair like a conquering pirate king.
Mickey was no older than fifteen, but he had the dark stubbly beard of a man ten years his senior. He was as smart as they came, and just as impulsive. A little too quick to use the sharp end of the blade, Mickey nonetheless had good leadership skills, which was why Dirk had been thinking about making him an unofficial captain.
“Lady Krentz,” said Mickey, his beady eyes alight with romance as he laid a kiss on the back of her hand.
“Don’t get too fresh, kid,” said Dirk playfully.
Mickey sniffed and hooked his thumbs beneath his belt. “Shyte, Gov’na, don’t be a cock blocker. And I ain’t running a ‘little street crew’; I’ve got over fifty in my employ. Who you think’s been keeping the streets clean?”
“Keeping the streets clean? You mean the pockets of lords and the purses of ladies, don’t you?”
Mickey shrugged before winking at Krentz.
“We’ll make this quick, sweetheart,” said Krentz. “We’re looking for the one they call the Healer of Larkin Street.”
Mickey glanced around at the rooftops, the boarded-up and cracked windows, and raised his right hand, talking against the back of it.
“I thought you might be looking for her. There’s been some strange folks come asking about her. Come on, let’s get somewhere the walls don’t have ears.”
He led them silently through the alleys, and after a few short minutes, they came to an old abandoned theater house with boarded-up windows and a series of runes painted above the door that looked faintly elvish. Dirk felt the eyes of hidden lookouts on him as he followed Mickey inside. There was a bored-looking young woman guarding the door, and a half dozen young kids playing cards at a small table beside the ticket booth, which looked to have been converted to a bar. They shot to attention when they saw their boss, and Dirk chuckled to himself when they saluted Mickey.
“Why are you here and not on the streets?” Mickey asked.
“Just came back for lunch, boss,” said a freckle-faced lad.
“I assume that lunch is over?”
They all nodded.
“Then get your asses back to work! It’s noon, for queen’s sake, and the markets are filling up fast.”
The kids scrambled out of the safe house, and Mickey rolled his eyes.
“This way,” he said, moving to a staircase that led up to the manager’s office.
He closed the door behind them, leaving his goons outside. The office was clean, no doubt thanks to Mickey’s young stoolies. He sat behind the oak desk, which made him look even smaller as he propped up his feet and laced his fingers behind his head. Directly across from Mickey was a large glass window that looked out over the theater and stage below.
“You done posturing?” said Dirk, sitting on the corner of the desk and pushing Mickey’s feet off.
“You wanted to talk about the Healer,” said Mickey as he sat up. “So, let’s talk.”
“Do you know where she is?” Krentz asked.
“I know everything that happens in the city streets, but information isn’t free.”
Dirk had to smile. He reached in his pocket and tossed Mickey a small sack of gold coins.
“The clock’s ticking, Mickey.”
Mickey tested the weight of the sack before dropping it into a desk drawer.
“She in some kind of trouble?”
“She’s a human with elf magic,” said Dirk. “What do you think?”
Mickey conceded the point with a slow nod. “I can tell you that she’s safe.”
“She won’t be safe until we find her,” said Krentz.
“Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”
“Listen, Mickey,” said Dirk, leaning over the desk on white knuckles. “This isn’t a game. I’m sure you’ve been making good money using her talents, but the gravy train is over. We need to find that girl, and we need to find her now. If your crew is guarding her, they are all going to die—very, very soon.”
The kid wasn’t shaken easily, and his expression told Dirk that Mickey thought he was bluffing.
“And what’s in it for me if I hand her over to you?”
Krentz suddenly stabbed a dagger into the table between Mickey’s spread fingers.
“This dagger is enchanted to syphon the life force of your victim into yourself, which comes in handy when you’ve been injured. It’s priceless, and it’s yours. Now give us the girl before you start pissing me off.”
Mickey smiled at her wryly, glancing at her exposed cleavage in the shadow of her unbuttoned leather jerkin.
“I sent for her before we arrived. Thanks for the dagger.” He pulled on it, but it didn’t budge. He tried with two hands, and still it didn’t move.
Krentz offered him a grin of her own.
“Boss? She’s here,” said one of the meat heads guarding the door.
“Let her in,” said Mickey, abandoning the deeply embedded dagger and sauntering to the door.
A waif of a girl appeared in the threshold. Dirk thought that she couldn’t have been more than sixteen, and she looked to weigh less than a hundred pounds. There wasn’t much to see of her face under the low drawn hood, aside from a meek expression and a shock of white hair.
“Fern, these are my friends, Dirk and Krentz,” said Mickey in a voice that Dirk had never heard, one reserved for scared children.
Fern glanced up fleetingly, scanning over Dirk and Krentz in a heartbeat.
“You’re pregnant,” she said.
“Fern, is it?” Krentz asked with a kind smile.
The girl nodded and stepped into the room, angling over toward Mickey.
“Are you here to arrest me?”
“Of course not,” said Krentz. “No, you have nothing to fear from us. But because of your power, there are people looking for you…bad people.”
“We want to help,” said Dirk.
Fern looked to Mickey for confirmation. He nodded.
“This power…” Fern looked to her open hands as though she didn’t recog
nize them. “I don’t want it.” She stepped forward suddenly, offering her hands to Krentz. “You’re an elf, take it away.”
“I’m sorry, Fern. I can’t do that,” said Krentz. “But I can help you to understand your power. I can teach you how to control it.”
“Can you make the shadow man quit coming to me in my dreams?”
“Shadow man?” said Dirk.
“He’s wreathed in shadows that dance like flames,” Fern told him, and her body shuddered. “He beckons, tells me that he’s coming. Is he…is he real?”
Dirk and Krentz shared a glance, and that was all Fern needed to see. Tears welled in her eyes and her head drooped. Krentz walked over to her and took a knee. She held the girl’s trembling hands.
“I swear,” she said, tears appearing in her eyes as well. “I will do everything in my power to protect you.”
“We have been sent by Whillhelm Warcrown, Fern. He will protect you as well.”
Her eyes widened with hope and amazement.
“Whill of Agora?” she said dreamily. “He knows about me?”
“He does, and he knows that you are special. But we must leave now. Every minute you spend here puts your friends in danger.”
“Can you come with me, Mickey?”
He smiled kindly at her but shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Fern. I’m not special like you. But I’ll see you again, I promise you that.”
She hugged him fiercely, and Dirk and Krentz moved to the door to give them a moment. When Fern finally joined them, she was still sniffling, but she looked determined to be strong.
“You take care of her, Gov’na,” said Mickey as he watched Krentz and Fern leaving.
“You’ve got my word, Mickey.”
Chapter 29
Whill stepped through the portal and set foot on black stone. The portal had brought him to the threshold of Lunara’s prison and, as expected, he saw Eldarian and one of his human minions standing before the crackling wall of godly energy.
“It is beautiful, is it not?” Eldarian said without turning around.
Whill walked into the chamber. He looked past Eldarian at the throne set at the back of the prison, and his heart ached when he saw Lunara sitting upon it. Her eyes glowed smoky green, and the same jade fog snaked through the prison like mist. She stared straight ahead, seemingly unable to see Whill. A shiver crept up his spine as he beheld the elf who had given herself for him. She who had loved him, despite his inability to return such affection.
Soon you will be free.
Whill could have tried to stop Eldarian, and he knew that he would be victorious. But he also knew that the destruction of the prison and the freeing of the power of the mantle was inevitable. He had tried to appease the gods, but they had once again sent a harbinger of death.
It was time to take the fight to the heavenly halls.
“Finally, you see that your fight is in vain,” Eldarian noted as he stared at Whill.
“Yes,” said Whill. “I have come to witness the destruction of the prison. I have come to see you take up the mantle once more.”
Eldarian regarded him with suspicion, but then he laughed.
“Very well,” he said with a grin and then turned to the human beside him.
The young man glanced down at Godsbane as it hummed and pulsed in his right hand. He lifted the blade over his head, paused, and then struck the humming wall of energy with the mystical blade.
Godsbane, forged by the Lord of Light, ripped through the godly incantation, tearing a hole in it like a sword through a sail. The energy shield burst with crackling energy and green lightning before suddenly exploding into a million green sparks.
On the throne, Lunara shrieked like a vengeful ghost.
Eldarian spread his arms wide as he stood before the mantle of darkness.
“Yes, come to me,” he bade Lunara. “Return to me the power of the mantle, free yourself of this curse!”
Lunara stood from the throne and slowly walked down the many steps. Her glowing green gown trailed behind her as she strode across the prison and stopped before Eldarian. She glanced at Whill before slowly raising her hand.
Eldarian shuddered like a man being blessed by a god when Lunara’s hand came to rest on the top of his head, but then his reverie turned to terror.
Whill burst into action then, flying across the chamber with his sword cocked back. The startled human who held Godsbane turned at the last moment and brought the blade to bear, but Whill’s sword moved in a blur of motion and took off the man’s head.
As the body fell to the floor, Whill reached out and pulled Godsbane toward him. The sword flew into his hand, and the power of the Lord of Light coursed through Whill’s body. He turned and watched as Eldarian was bathed in writhing shadow that pulsed from Lunara’s hand into his body, ripping apart his very soul.
Eldarian tried to fight it. He tried to absorb the power, but Lunara had not meant to give it to him. She meant to destroy him. The dark elf howled as his body began to disintegrate, and soon he was nothing but a pile of ash at Lunara’s feet.
She looked down at the remains with glowing green eyes before turning her gaze toward Whill. He took a step toward her, and then another. But she didn’t attack; instead, she gazed into his eyes curiously.
“Lunara, it’s me,” said Whill as he came to stand before her.
She cocked her head to the side. Her eyes dimmed, and her natural color returned.
“Whill?”
“You’re free now,” he said as he reached out his hand. “You need not carry this burden any longer. Give it to me, and once again you shall know peace.”
Tears formed in her eyes, and she slowly extended her hand. But then she yanked it back, and her eyes burst with jade light. She howled in a voice not her own, and dark energy washed over Whill. He countered it with a burst of love and light, then extended his hand and pulled the power of the mantle into himself.
Darkness and shadow poured from Lunara and into Whill, but rather than be overwhelmed by the dark energy, Whill countered it with the power of the Lord of Light and absorbed it into his being. The combatting energy churned within him, and he felt the need to release it all, to be free of the terrible power and unleash it upon the world.
“Whill…”
He opened his eyes and beheld Lunara. Her gown was now as silver as her hair, and her eyes sparkled with tears that reflected the blinding light emanating from Whill’s own eyes.
“Now you are free,” he said as he touched her face lovingly.
“But…the mantle,” she said worriedly. “You cannot do this.”
“It is the only way,” he said. “I’m sorry that you had to endure the mantle for so long.”
“I did it for you,” she said as she began to cry. “I did it because I love you.”
“I know. I love you as well, Lunara. If I don’t come back—”
“Do not say such things,” she demanded.
“If I don’t come back, tell Avriel that I love her as well.”
She nodded and tried to hug him, but her arms went through his body as though he were comprised entirely of shadow. Whill could feel a change happening within him. He was being pulled out of this world.
To where, he did not know.
Chapter 30
Roakore stood before the army of ten thousand dwarves and raised his tankard. He wobbled and hiccupped and tossed back the last of it. A hearty burp escaped him, and he smashed the tankard against the door to the mountain.
“Me dwarves, raise yer tankards high and take up yer shields, yer axes, swords, and war hammers. For today we rout the albino scourge. Today we take back Velk’Har!”
The dwarves happily complied, guzzling down their ale and cheering their king.
Roakore turned and raised his axe. On his left and right stood Helzendar and Du’Krell, and they too raised their weapons. The three kings gave a boisterous war cry and started the charge into the mountain.
But then a b
uzzing began beyond the threshold. The sound was so strange that the dwarves gave pause, taken aback.
“What the hells that be?” Du’Krell asked, staring into the gloom of the mountain.
The buzzing intensified until it was shaking the stone and causing Roakore’s teeth to rattle in his skull.
“Whatever the hells it be, there be a lot o’ them!” yelled Roakore. “Shield walls!”
Every dwarf pulled their shields from their backs and fell into horizontal lines four dwarves deep. Their shields locked into place, glimmering rose-gold in the light of the setting sun. Roakore, Philo, Helzendar, Du’Krell, and Raene fell back into a shield wall and joined the blessed dwarves who were ready with thousands of iron ball bearings floating above them.
“Hatchets at the ready!” Roakore commanded, and the razor-sharp weapons were cocked back by strong dwarven arms.
“Hold!” He had to bellow over the buzzing sound. It was growing steadily and beginning to make Roakore envision a monstrous behemoth or devil from the deep, rising from the burning pits of hell.
What came through the door surprised Roakore, and at first his mind failed to recognize what the creatures were. They were so large and so black that at first he thought they were dragons. But the lightning-blue, semi-translucent wings, the bulbous abdomens, and the hooked stingers gave them away.
“They be giant godsdamned hornets!” said Philo, itching his eyes and blinking as though he suspected that he might be hallucinating.
“Hatchets away!” Roakore commanded as the giant bees flew straight at them.
A thousand hatchets sped through the air above his head, tearing the lead hornets into pieces and continuing, propelled by the mental might of the blessed, into the swarm and momentarily stopping it dead.
“Balls away!” said Roakore as the dead and broken hornets began to rain down on them in pieces.
A thousand iron balls the size of apples ripped through the air, decimating the swarm as it tried to break out of the antechamber. The blessed dwarves controlling the spinning weapons pushed them hard through the corridor before mentally yanking them back out the door. The heads, wings, abdomens, and thoraxes of the bees sprayed out of the mountain door in destroyed bits.
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