by Ben Hale
“The queen of the dark elves just told me she could hear us kissing from across the camp.”
Lira chuckled, and then stifled the sound when one of the rock trolls glared at her. They all fell silent as they reached the base of the cliff. Bint and Bellin took the lead, and pulled footsteps out of the stone, forming a makeshift ladder up the steep incline.
For the next hour they climbed the outside of the volcano in near silence. Water vacillated between worry of discovery, and worry of failure. They stopped occasionally to rest, and Bellin pulled a ledge out of the mountainside so they could sit. Water’s legs burned from the climb, but it was better than fighting their way through the gates on the road.
Minutes turned to hours as they climbed, one painstaking step at a time. All grew tired, especially the dwarves. Their armor darkened with sweat, and Rynda wisely called for another rest.
Water looked out over the valley. Pinpricks of light rose from campfires, light orbs, and torches, and even with the distance, he could hear a scattering of hammers on steel. It would have been almost beautiful if it’s purpose had been different.
They slowed as they approached the top of the volcano. Just around the curve of the mountain, Water could hear the soldiers manning the final gate, the outer entrance to Xshaltheria. Their voices were muted and tense, and from their height, the whole of the valley stretched below them.
A fifty foot wall extended from the top of the volcano, the wall circling the summit. A handful of guard towers extended even higher, and occasionally soldiers patrolled the top wall. The two dwarves had taken the last few hundred feet of the ascent into a crevasse, allowing the darkness to hide their approach. Still, they probably would have been discovered if the fortress had a full garrison. Most of the forces had been placed further down the road at the smaller gates.
Water clung to the handholds the two dwarves had provided, wishing the wind was not tugging his cloak. He glanced backward and regretted the action. The ground seemed miles away, and if he fell, he would bounce his way down the slope for long enough to consider a multitude of regrets.
The two dwarves led the group to the base of the dwarven-made wall, where their magic could take them no further. Xshaltheria had been one of the first dwarven structures in Lumineia, and even then they had been overly paranoid about their city defenses. The fortifications of the citadel had been enchanted so stone magic could not manipulate the rock.
From near the front of the group, Erisay whispered into Lira’s ear, and she worked her way up the handholds to the front. Then she cast her magic, shaping the air into more handholds. Alone, she climbed the remaining distance and disappeared over the edge. Water watched the battlements, his heart constricting for each passing second until she reappeared and dropped a rope. One by one the others ascended to the battlements of Xshaltheria.
Water slipped over the edge, his eyes scanning the top of the fortress. Heated air washed across him, rising from the depths of the volcano, but the tension had already made him sweat. If someone spotted them they would sound the alarm, and Serak and Draeken would be the ones to come. Water shuddered at the prospect of them alone, especially after what had happened in Blackwell Keep.
“A handful of guards on patrol,” Lira whispered as the last of the group joined them. “I eliminated one. The next should be passing in a few moments.”
All turned when the faint humming of an approaching guard came through from the guard tower, and light bobbed on the torch. Erisay flicked her hand and an orange dagger appeared in her grip. She threw it at the open doorway, the dagger banking to the side and out of sight. The humming stopped and the torch dropped, extinguishing on the stones. No sound came from the impact.
Rynda pointed to the guard house. “Helliot,” she ordered one of the rock trolls, “deal with the bodies. Then wait for the remaining guards. The rest of you, line up to follow Lira.”
Water took his place next to Lira as she shaped her magic. The outer wall of the fortress had battlements on both sides. On the inside, Water peered onto the top of the hanging fortress, his eyes drawn to the two dragons.
Gorewrathian was perched on the outer wall just a few hundred feet to their right, above the main entrance. Serak’s mount had claimed a spot on one of the three giant chains that held Xshaltheria aloft.
“There it is,” Mox whispered, pointing to the top of the fortress.
As Rynda had described, the top of Xshaltheria was mostly flat, with a staircase descending into the interior. At the center of the circular platform, a hole extended through the structure, and smoke rose from the opening, suggesting it vented heat from the magma.
Adjacent to the vent, a large archway had been erected. The dark material seemed luminescent, and a quartet of guards stood watch. The four were obviously focused on the impending conflict, and spoke in low tones.
“Once we’re inside,” Rynda said, “we’ll be visible by the dragons and everyone else. We need to act quickly and escape. Remember, if we fail to break the Gate, Erisay has a plan to destroy it that will take more time. We’ll have to give it to her.”
“Ready?” Lira turned away from where she’d been casting her magic. “You can’t see it, but there’s a slide of solid air that will take you to the inside.”
Rynda reached out, her hand coming to rest on the invisible plank of solid air. She nodded to Lira, her jaw set as she lifted herself onto the battlement and knelt on the slide. She drew her sword and nodded to Lira.
“I’m ready.”
“Wait,” Erisay hissed. “Get down.”
Rynda dropped from the battlement just as two figures appeared on the stairs in the middle of the fortress. Water scowled when he recognized them as Serak and Draeken, the pair advancing towards the Dark Gate.
“They’re arguing,” Mox said. “I want to hear what they are saying.”
Erisay inclined her head and orange light sparked in her fingers, stretching into threads that extended to the ears of everyone in the group. As the light faded, Draeken’s voice came into focus . . .
Chapter 19: The Fourth General
“I’m not waiting any longer,” Draeken said.
“This plan is dangerous,” Serak said. “We do not yet have the last general. You might not be able to stand against the Dark.”
Draeken rounded on Serak. “Are you questioning my power?”
“No,” Serak said hastily. “But I have planned every contingency for this moment. My servants will bring the final general by dawn, and then the Gate can open.”
“Your servants?”
Serak lowered his gaze. “My apologies, master.”
Draeken smiled at Serak’s humbling and gave a dismissive wave. “I cannot fault you for your habits. After all, they were your servants prior to my arrival.”
“Your mercy is admirable.”
Draeken’s voice hardened. “But I can fault you for your doubt. I know my former fragments. They will not wait until dawn, not when they know the alliance was a trap. Bring the two candidates.”
Serak hesitated, but ultimately he nodded and called to a nearby guard. “Bring them.”
Two captives were led to the top of Xshaltheria, both bound at the wrists. Lady Dentis was in the lead, her red hair in shambles, dirt on her gown. They failed to obscure the seething haughtiness to her gaze, her expression matching that of the second woman.
Princess Melora, second daughter to Queen Erisay, still wore her prisoner greys. Captivity, even for a few weeks, had not been kind to her, and several wounds and bruises were on her face and arms.
“What is the meaning of this?” Melora demanded.
“Nobles,” Draeken said with smile. “You are most welcome in my fortress.”
“Why are we here?” the Raven asked.
“To witness the dawn of a new kingdom.” Draeken swept his hand to the Dark Gate. “When the portal is opened, a vast army will be released, an army leashed to my will, and the will of my generals.”
The Raven scowle
d. “You mean Gendor and Bartoth.”
“The same,” Draeken said, pleased by their knowledge. That would make it so much easier. “But I have two remaining cloaks.”
“For us?”
Draeken chuckled at Melora’s response, and the trace of greed. Serak had indeed chosen wisely in the two, and he wondered which it would be. He held out a hand to Serak and the Father of Guardians placed a cloak into his hands. It rippled like liquid, but unlike the others, it was brown rather than black.
“Both of you possess an insatiable ambition,” Draeken said. “A hunger for power and prestige, a craving for greatness. This is the moment that one of you will attain such a position.”
The truth settled in and the women exchanged a look. One cloak. Two candidates. The Raven bared her teeth in a snarl, while Melora smiled at the Raven, the expression one of dark anticipation. Both had served Serak in the Order of Ancients, and both had used their positions to expand their influence.
“And to the victor?” Melora asked.
“More power than you can imagine,” he said. “Each cloak is imbued with a unique magic, and touched by the Dark, the shadow on the other side of the portal. You will be my servant, but your power will be greater than you can imagine. The people will fear you, and flee from the mere whisper of your presence.”
Both women eyed the cloak, their eyes bright. Draeken ordered their bonds cut and a blade given to each. There was no need to explain the request, and as the swords were placed in their hands, Melora snarled at her sudden foe.
“This will be a pleasure.”
“You never did know how to recognize a superior,” the Raven said coldly.
As the two circled, Serak lowered his voice to Draeken. “I do not understand the need for this.”
“You said yourself,” Draeken replied. “You do not know which is better suited for the cloak. What better way than to let them decide for themselves?”
Serak fell silent, and Draeken spared him a glance. For all his preparation for Draeken’s arrival, he’d begun to express frequent doubts, and Draeken was irritated at his constant hesitation. For the first time, Draeken considered the possibility that he did not want Serak as his servant.
The Raven lunged, her blade striking low and to the side, a feint. Melora flicked her sword out, long enough to deflect the sword and giving her time to strike from above. The blade came within an inch of the Raven’s throat, slicing several red hairs as it whipped over her shoulder.
The Raven rotated, her sword slicing a shallow line across Melora’s waist, turning her smirk into a pained scowl. The duel quickly intensified, and Draeken watched with interest. He would have preferred a more ceremonial duel, but the circumstances did not permit such a display.
More blood spilled, and both women fought for dominance. Draeken didn’t care who was the victor, only that they were stronger. The Raven was obviously more skilled, but she was human, and Melora had lived for hundreds of years. To Melora’s discredit, she did not fight as one who had spent lifetimes in training.
Blades locked as the two combatants fought, and the Raven showed her skill and patience, leaving Melora bloodied, her grey prison uniform cut into tatters. Doubt flickered on Melora’s expression, and in that moment Draeken knew.
“Stop toying with her,” he commanded the Raven. “End it.”
“With pleasure,” the Raven said.
She unleashed a furious barrage of strikes, driving the woman towards the vent at the center of the platform. Melora struggled to defend, fear rising in her eyes as she was driven back to the edge, where a column of heated air rose from the hole. The Raven twisted and struck for Melora’s throat. She threw her sword up, but the Raven dropped her swing, striking the sword from her grip. The blade tumbled into the hole with a clang.
“Please,” Melora said, falling to her knees and raising a hand. “I’ve always lived to serve.”
“You serve yourself,” Draeken said. “You always have.”
“I am loyal to you,” she quivered as the Raven placed her sword on her throat.
“You betrayed your home and family,” Draeken said. “Your mother and sister. I admire your ambition, but not even they would save your life.”
“I would.”
All four turned to face the small figure striding to them. She held two orange daggers in her hands, her cloak thrown back to reveal her dark elf features, and the small silver circle about her head.
“Queen Erisay,” Draeken said, delighted by the sudden arrival. “I must say, you arrived just in time to witness the death of your daughter.”
Serak hissed orders to the soldiers and they rushed about, searching for other intruders. Draeken ignored them, his gaze fixed on the approaching dark elf. Erisay’s features were set in a hard line, and Melora looked to her with hope, tears in her eyes.
“I have no wish to see my daughter perish,” Erisay said.
“I admit I am surprised,” Draeken said. “After all she has done to you and your people, I would think her death would bring you peace.”
“The death of a child never brings peace,” Erisay said. “Even an errant one.”
“Mother,” Melora pleaded. “I’m sorry.”
“Free my daughter,” Erisay said. “Or you’ll deal with me.”
Draeken burst into a laugh as Gorewrathian landed behind Erisay. His jaws opened and flames trickled between his teeth, but Draeken raised a finger, holding the dragon at bay. He cocked his head to the side.
“And what threat do you pose to me?” he asked.
“Not to you,” she said, “but I can still do you harm.”
Draeken winced as a dull thrumming filled his ears, the sound rising and crashing over him. He reached to his ears to block the sound but it vibrated into his bones and blood, crashing through his skull. He grimaced as it continued to mount. Thirty feet away, the Gate was trembling.
“The Gate!” Serak screamed.
Draeken reached for the cloak and darted to the Raven, throwing it about her shoulders. Startled, she retreated, and then her eyes widened. She screamed as the magic sank into her flesh, empowering her hunger, her flesh turning weak and thin, hanging on her bones. Melora scrambled to Erisay, who caught her hand and bolted, sprinting away from the dragon’s charge.
A bellowed roar echoed, and two rock trolls appeared behind the dragon. Rynda dropped on the creature’s back and drove her greatsword into his flank. The dragon reared back, flames bursting from its maw at the sudden strike. But Mox came from behind, and brought his hammer down on the embedded blade like a hammer on a nail, driving the greatsword deep into the dragon’s back.
The dragon bellowed in pain and thrashed about, nearly crushing everyone as it sought to dislodge the buried blade. Draeken ducked as the tail snapped above his head, but a wing caught Serak, knocking him skidding away.
And still the thrumming from the Dark Gate mounted.
Heedless of the battle, Serak raised the stone around the Gate like a shield, but the thrumming did not diminish. The stone cracked and crumbled, even as cracks appeared in the Gate arch. Serak shouted to Draeken, his voice tinged with fear.
“The Gate is imbued with anti-magic,” he shouted. “It should be stopping her magic.”
“She isn’t using her magic to strike directly,” Draeken said, watching the Raven transform into Famine. “She’s using a rising shriek curse to break the very stone.”
Draeken turned away from the writhing figure and the dragon battle. Even as more rock trolls dropped into view and struck the wounded dragon, he stepped to the side of the Gate, where the runes lay hidden.
“Draeken!”
His hand on the activation rune to Kelindor, Draeken looked back, and found Fire and Water rushing towards him. He smiled, pleased that they would be here for this. After all they had done to him, the very least they could do was witness his victory.
“You don’t have to do this!” Water shouted.
“Ah, the one piece of me that remains ap
art,” Draeken said. “Don’t worry, I’ll tear it from your corpse in time.”
Fire gathered flames in his hands and struck the two human guards rushing his flank. “Opening that thing could destroy everything.”
“I know,” Draeken said.
“Then why would you do this?” Water demanded, fending off a trio of Order soldiers.
More appeared behind him, and two more dark elves engaged them. A pair of dwarves joined the battle, blocking the stairs leading below, where soldiers rushed to join the conflict from the barracks.
“I am the fragment of Power,” Draeken snarled, rage abruptly spilling into his blood. “And I deserve to rule, to command the lesser races, to be lord over kingdoms and races. In the face of my power, even dragons kneel.”
Gorewrathian had caught Rynda’s sword and yanked it out. It tumbled away but Lira raced into view and caught the enormous blade. She heaved it across the expanding battlefield and Rynda caught the hilt just as the dragon’s tail snapped, catching her on the chest, the spikes digging into her hardened flesh and knocking her sideways. The giant dragon dropped its jaws but Rynda rolled to the side and slashed across the dragon’s teeth.
The sound from the Gate continued to grow, deep and resonant.
“Please don’t do this,” Water pleaded, extending his hand. “You were part of our family once. You can be again.”
Draeken’s features hardened. “I don’t need your broken family.”
He pressed the rune, and silver light took shape inside the arch. The liquid rippled with the rising shriek, and the Gate gained a dull whine, but the material of the arch did not crumble. Cracks formed and expanded. As the shrieking curse wailed, the Gate vibrated, and dragons roared, the first fiend stepped into view . . .
Chapter 20: Sacrifice
The Dark seeped through the opening like smoke, passing around the armored fiend, only to wither in the air. The Dark crumbled to dust and the cloud tried again, pressing outward, reaching for Draeken, coiling about his arms, its words piercing Draeken’s consciousness.
