The Runes of Destiny

by Megg Jensen

  “Give it to me,” she said. “Don’t make me do this.”

  The words echoed in the air around him.

  He felt lightheaded.

  And then he crumpled to the ground. He had no control over his limbs. Over anything. He wanted to call out to Frensia, but his lips were slack and unmovable.

  Why wasn’t the umgar helping? Didn’t they see what she was doing to him?

  “Tell me I can have it,” the elf whispered, “and I’ll let you live.”

  Live? Was he dying? Was this how dying felt? A slow peeling away of his senses as his body failed?

  An image of Tace flashed in his mind. The orcs. The dragon. The tattoo. He had to live. He couldn’t give up now.

  He would give this elf the stone.

  Yes.

  Ylantri stepped away and Ademar felt his senses return, as if it had all been no more than a bad dream he was just waking up from. His head throbbed, but otherwise he felt fine.

  He sat up. “What did you do to me?”

  Ylantri held out her hand. “You agreed to give me the stone.”

  “What? I couldn’t even talk.” He turned to Frensia. “Why didn’t you do anything?”

  The umgar threw their hands in the air. “I was fascinated. I’ve never seen a Shadari at work before.”

  Ylantri spun toward Frensia. “How—how did you know?”

  “I’ve known since the moment we met you,” Frensia replied. “I can see right through your glamour. Oh, it’s good as far as the lesser races are considered, but I am far more evolved. I see you exactly for who you are.”

  “What is a Shadari?” Ademar asked.

  Ylantri ignored the question. “Now, human. Give it to me.” She reached for his pack, her hands grasping at the straps.

  Ademar turned away, keeping himself between her and the pack. Her nails scratched his shoulder. “What did you do to me?”

  “She was stealing your soul,” Frensia said casually. “I’ve only read about their skills. I wasn’t aware there were any Shadari practicing on this continent.”

  “Stealing my soul?” Ademar’s voice went up an octave.

  “You don’t understand what you have. I need it. Give it to me before you make matters worse,” Ylantri hissed.

  Ademar took the pack off his back and set it on the ground. He pulled out the box, handling it carefully lest it open and the stone fall out. “I brought this here to heal the ghosts and save Agitar. What would you use it for?” he asked.

  “It is not ours to use,” she said. “Besides, I doubt it will do what you desire.”

  “What can it do, then?” Ademar asked. “Maybe we can both get what we need from it.”

  “It belongs to another. I was not asked to use it, only to retrieve it.” Ylantri didn’t take her eyes from the box in Ademar’s hands. “Now hand it over. You promised it to me. I read it in your soul.”

  Ademar’s eyes snapped up. “What else did you read in my soul?”

  “Everything. I know how much you love her. That all of this is for her. But I promise you, this stone will not reunite you with your love.” She held out her hand again, as if she expected him to simply put it in her palm.

  Ylantri had seen right through him. Or right into him. Ademar did believe, deep down, that if he healed Agitar, it would somehow bring Tace back to him again. Though he had no idea how. He didn’t even know why she’d left or where she’d gone. He just… he just wanted to make it safe for her to come home again.

  He clutched the box tightly in his shaking hand. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  And before Ylantri could answer—or try to steal his soul again—he sprinted away, crashing through the branches, the thin strips of wood lashing his face. This was his only chance, and he had to take it. The Shadari could kill him afterward, if she chose, but he wouldn’t die without first proving himself to the orcs. To Tace.

  It was time for Ademar to take on the mantle of an orc, one who met death with open arms.

  He burst onto the field, the stench of the dead filling his nose. He leapt over body after body, sprinting toward the mound where the ghosts had been unleashed. He heard the footsteps behind him; she was following. But he didn’t fear her. All his fear was reserved for the ghosts, who had seen his approach and were watching, waiting.

  His heart pounded as he pushed himself even harder than before. He ran right up to the base of the mound, opened the box, and pointed it toward the approaching ghosts. He hoped with everything he had that it would cleanse this abomination, that it would fix all of the evil that had been unleashed on Agitar.

  From behind him came a high-pitched scream, likely from the elf. But his eyes were focused only on the ghosts. This had to work. It had to. There was nothing else left.

  The box began to shake in his hand. He fumbled to maintain control, but the box tipped and the stone fell to the ground. It was glowing a strange orange.

  Ademar took a step back.

  The stone… grew. Rapidly. Soon it was standing ten times taller than Ademar and five times as wide. And it was no longer a stone. It was…

  A great chortle emanated from the glowing mass, shaking the ground.

  Ylantri stopped at Ademar’s side, Frensia hot on her heels.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “That’s—”

  “Drothu,” Frensia said, finishing her sentence.

  “How is that possible?” Ademar asked.

  But he couldn’t deny it. He’d studied the orc religion, and he’d seen many images drawn of Drothu. This… thing before him looked exactly like some of the older, cruder drawings he’d seen.

  Frensia was right.

  In Ademar’s haste to save the orcs, he’d somehow brought their god of death to their front door.

  Chapter 40

  The wind blew through Tace’s hair as she burst through the portal opened by Yaghra’s shamans, the orc army at her back. Raseri snuggled around her neck, the tiny dragon’s claws firmly attached to her new cloak.

  The orcs in Inab had been suspicious at first, but arriving on a dragon had lent her a certain air of legitimacy… if not outright awe. They’d brought her to Vitagut’s father, Rangar, who had heard of her and welcomed her. She was the reason he’d sent Vitagut to Agitar in the first place.

  After Vitagut and Maysant’s arrival, Rangar quickly assembled an army. All were in agreement: Agitar needed Inab. And Inab wouldn’t waste a moment in going to Agitar’s aid.

  Moonlight shone down, illuminating the prairie grass silver and blue. If only she could remain up here, in flight, where the horrors below couldn’t reach her. Soaring with the dragon felt… natural. Tace suspected that had something to do with the short time her soul was inside the dragon. Ever since she’d rejoined her own body, she’d felt wrong, somehow. Disjointed. Unsure. Incomplete. But atop this great beast, she felt right. She grasped the dragon’s scales only lightly, just to balance herself, not to brace herself. She had no fear of falling. Not off the dragon. Not anywhere. Life coursed through her in a way it never had before.

  She wondered what had happened to her in the underworld. Had it been a true death, or only a… momentary lapse in life? Nothing seemed final now that she knew there was life beyond death. Souls roamed the underworld, and apparently the living could exist there too. Or, at least the dragons could.

  The battlements of Agitar loomed in the distance. Despite all the destruction, these had held strong. If she squinted, the castle almost looked whole again, as it had in its glory days. But she knew that was just an illusion. She could already see the undulating forms of the ghosts patrolling the borders. That scourge still afflicted her adopted home, and she would have to figure out a way to defeat them. Vitagut’s army was a start, and she was certain Agitar could use their assistance. But ultimately this affliction had to be fought with magic—a talent she did not possess.

  The tattoos burned on her arm, as if contradicting her thoughts. They were gifts of magic. But that didn’t mean she could wield m
agic herself. Still, if the tattoos wanted to do something of their own accord… well, she wouldn’t stand in their way.

  An orange light flickered near the burial mound. She squinted, attempting to see it better. A bonfire, perhaps? But who in their right mind would build a fire in this forsaken place? It would only attract the attention of the spirits. Which, she saw, it had. The ghosts had begun to make their way toward it.

  “I wish we could move faster,” Tace muttered. If her soul was joined with the dragon, she would know whether it had the strength to fly harder. But it wasn’t, and she worried she’d pressed the dragon too hard already. They’d been flying for nearly a day straight with only the short break in Inab. She refused to ride the dragon to death.

  The dragon apparently felt otherwise. Her wings flapped harder, pushing them through a damp cloud with a dizzying speed. Tace’s thighs tightened, and she smiled. Somehow it had heard her thoughts.

  Or maybe the dragon was simply just as curious as she was about the strange glow. Dragons were highly intelligent beasts.

  As Agitar loomed closer, the orange mass began to take on a shape. Tace couldn’t believe her eyes.

  How?

  That was no bonfire.

  It was her god, Drothu, incarnate.

  Her stomach dropped as hard as if she’d fallen off the dragon to her death. Even after everything she’d seen recently—the xarlug, the tattoos, even meeting the minion of the human god, Solnar—this seemed… beyond possibility. But there was no mistaking it. That was Drothu. Tace had had his image imprinted on her mind and soul from the time she was a young orc.

  There was a time when she might have welcomed the sight. But now it was like a punch to the gut. She’d shed her fervent devotion to Drothu. Had stopped killing others in his name. Had chosen to move on to a place of peace.

  And here he stood, two wide legs like stumps on fire, planted firmly on the prairie. Sparks burst from him, setting the prairie grass aflame, burning anything that still lived. His very being threatened to kill anything that had somehow managed to survive the carnage that preceded his arrival.

  Anger burned in Tace, a fire she didn’t want to quench. She thought of everything that had led her to join the assassins’ guild. The loss of her father and mother and brother. All that had been taken from her in the name of this so-called god.

  “No more,” she snarled. “This ends now.”

  They closed in on Drothu, flying far above the ghosts, who appeared to have no interest in them. Tace’s hands went to her waist, to her daggers. They had served her long and well. But they had also been her weapons of servitude to Drothu.

  She pulled them from their sheaths, opened her palms, and released them. The daggers fell away, tumbling toward the earth, leaving her vulnerable.

  But she felt stronger than she ever had.

  The tattoos on her arm began to glow, burning as bright as Drothu. She took a deep breath and let their fire spread within her. The magic was coming to life. She was coming to life. She felt energized beyond anything she’d ever experienced. Her body pulsed with power, magic coursing through her veins.

  Raseri leapt off her shoulder and flew circles around her, squealing.

  As the elder dragon circled over Drothu’s head, the heat from the god’s body only stoked the flames deep inside Tace. She fed off him, filling herself with the essence of the underworld. His home. And once hers. Death was still inside her, lurking, as if she hadn’t truly come back.

  And maybe she hadn’t. Maybe it took death to fight death. Death was not an ending, only a gateway to a new existence.

  Without another thought, Tace leapt off the dragon’s back. She fell through the air, the wind lashing her face. The amethyst dragon flew away, with Raseri clinging to its back. Both knew that only Tace could face this trial.

  She would bring an end to this war. Drothu started it. She would end it.

  Her eyes wide open, Tace plummeted toward her god’s outstretched hand. He caught her, and the fire from his fingers added to the power she so craved. He swung his arm above his head, laughing, and flung Tace away with all his strength.

  Again she flew through the air, high above, then plummeting back down. This time, toward the hard ground. Her heart caught in her throat as she realized this was what she needed. To die again. It was the only way she could come to life.

  Her body struck the ground with a thud, her bones breaking all at once, poking through her bloody skin. Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw a blurry face hovering over hers.

  “Tace? No! Not again! I won’t lose you!”

  Ademar. He was here. She didn’t know how or why.

  And she didn’t have the strength to tell him this was exactly what she’d wanted. That this would lead her to rebirth.

  “This is all my fault,” he said. “I released this demon from the Nether. I’ll never forgive myself.” Tears streamed down his pale human face, so soft and ugly compared to an orc’s leathered skin. But Tace loved him. She always had. She always would.

  If what he was saying was true—if he had somehow unleashed Drothu—then he’d brought her the chance to save them all. He was a hero in her story.

  Ademar sobbed, unable to contain his anguish and fury, and cradled her against his body. She was comforted to be held in his arms as she took her final breaths. Peace came over her.

  And her soul was released once again.

  Finally.

  She was as she was meant to be. Free of her body. Free of the ties that bound her to orcs. Her soul looked to the sky, where she wasn’t surprised at all to see two dragons, one large and one tiny, circling above Drothu’s cackling form.

  Tace sped away from her broken body toward the dragon who’d hosted her once before. It willingly accepted her into its body.

  Together, they were whole.

  Together, they would end this.

  Chapter 41

  Ademar gazed in wonder through tear-filled eyes as a shimmering sphere escaped Tace’s body and raced toward the sky. No, toward the dragon.

  She wasn’t dead. Just as she wasn’t dead last time. Or perhaps she was dead… but she wasn’t gone.

  Somehow Tace was connected to the dragons in a way he’d never understand. It was only when the dragon breathed life onto her grave that she’d arisen. And now this…

  A trail of light streamed through the night sky, then exploded as it merged with the dragon.

  Ademar squinted. He couldn’t see the dragon well from here, but in the light flickering from Drothu’s bodily fire, the dragon appeared to be amethyst, just like the one who’d flown over Tace’s grave. And Raseri was flying along right behind it.

  His eyes snapped down to his hands as Ylantri swiped the box from the ground. She ran toward the ruined castle as fast as her legs could carry her.

  He didn’t follow; he didn’t care. Whatever she wanted, it wasn’t in that box. She could have it.

  What he’d wanted wasn’t in that box either. It had contained doom, not salvation. Yet perhaps hope still held a place here.

  He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, then unsheathed the sword on his waist.

  “Watch where you’re pointing that,” Frensia said, backing away.

  Ademar had forgotten the umgar was there. “Hide yourself,” he said. “This isn’t a place for you.”

  Frensia stood straight, their silver shoulders thrust back. “I will not run away like a coward.”

  “You’ve spent your whole life in a library, sorting books. You’ll die here.”

  Ademar glanced up into the sky, only to see Raseri’s body careening toward them, flames licking the end of her tail. The tiny dragon slammed hard into the ground.

  “No!” Ademar yelled. He fell to his knees next to the dragon Tace loved so much. The dragon’s belly was still, her eyes closed with finality.

  Frensia knelt next to Ademar and reached out to the dragon, taking the tiny body in their hands. Closing their eyes, the umgar sang a song, loud and bright
, with lyrics Ademar couldn’t understand.

  A moment later, Raseri was breathing again. She extended her neck, then looked at Frensia. With what Ademar could only call a grin, the dragon’s mouth parted, and her forked tongue snaked out to lick Frensia’s cheek.

  “How did you do that?” Ademar asked, stunned. “You… you can bring dead things back to life? Why didn’t you do that for Tace? Either time she died? And you do it now for a dragon?”

  “Calm yourself, human. I cannot bring anyone back to life. I can simply mend the connection between body and soul. It is a gift of the umgar race.” Frensia bowed to the dragon as Raseri leapt into the air. For a moment Raseri flew near the amethyst dragon once more, but then she broke away and headed to the north as fast her little wings could carry her.

  “But Tace…” Ademar began.

  “Tace’s soul doesn’t seem to like the body given to her at birth. Her soul roams.” They pointed upward.

  Ademar looked up at the battle raging overhead. The amethyst dragon was whirling in the air, blowing fire at the god, Drothu, while he swiped at her with massive burning hands. The ghosts floated aimlessly around the raging battle, watching intently, slowly closing in.

  Ademar felt helpless. His sword was in his hand, but what good would it do him? He was impotent. Sure, he could stab at Drothu’s fiery toes. The god probably wouldn’t even feel it.

  He opened his hand and let his sword fall to the ground.

  He looked down at Tace’s lifeless orc body, which lay still before him. Her limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, broken bones sticking out through punctured skin. She might return to her body… but her body wouldn’t be able to welcome her back. The scars on her neck had healed from her first death, but this… this was too much.

  “I should bury her,” he said, his heart heavy.

  “No.” Frensia placed a cold hand on his shoulder. “Leave the shell. Let Tace decide when the battle is done.”

  “If she lives,” Ademar said, a lump in his throat.

  “Have faith.” The corners of the umgar’s mouth turned up slightly, their sharp teeth barely visible.