The Runes of Destiny

by Megg Jensen

  Alyna’s heart ripped in two. She wanted to die. To be with him. But her body wouldn’t let her. It fought back, refusing to give in.

  A strange warmth overcame her, and her eyes flickered open. A figure was standing over her body, lips parted, singing a strange song, and… extracting her soul from the ghost. The figure’s form was hazy, but recognizable. Frensia. That odd umgar that Ademar had brought with him from the Library of Filamir.

  Alyna felt her soul being ripped away from Vron’s. She screamed.

  And before she could make sense of any of it, she jerked back to physical awareness. She was fully able to feel the pain in her weakened body. She screamed again.

  The ghost that had been Vron was pulled into the mound, his presence wiped from her existence.

  “Save him,” she pleaded. “Do to him what you did to me.”

  “I can’t,” said Frensia. “It’s too late for him. Vron is gone. Your soul was struggling, and it was not your time.” They knelt next to Alyna and gently brushed her hair from her face.

  Alyna felt tears streaming down her cheeks, the salt stinging on her lips. “I don’t want this.”

  “You may change your mind later. Someone is here to see you, and I think she can do a much better job of healing you than I can.” Frensia stood and backed away.

  A shining light momentarily blinded Alyna. A light she knew very well.

  “Syra,” she said, not surprised the unicorn had returned. They shared a bond unlike any other two living beings.

  The unicorn bent over and touched her horn to Alyna’s forehead. Its healing magic spread through her body, mending the wounds she’d taken from the ghost. But as her physical pain lessened, her spiritual pain only grew stronger. The pain of losing Vron all over again.

  At least this time she’d been given the chance to tell him how she felt. He knew how much she loved him. He knew. She remembered his words.

  I always knew.

  Chapter 48

  Ylantri’s feet took her from the ruined castle of Agitar to the prairie, where a ferocious battle raged. The carnage was worse than any she’d seen thus far, but she continued on her path toward Drothu—though not of her own volition.

  The souls she’d spent years collecting had taken over her body, overriding her free will. Her soul was trapped just as much as theirs had been all those years. Her body was no longer hers; it was merely a vehicle for them.

  And yet she did not resist. She was one with the souls she had collected. There was no longer any separation between them. Because her goal was the same as theirs: destroy Drothu and end his reign of terror over orc souls.

  As Shadari, Ylantri had been taught three basic tenets. Souls did not belong to the body. Souls needed to be rescued before they retreated somewhere dangerous after death. Souls lived forever.

  It was that final tenet that Ylantri was about to test. Drothu’s soul had wreaked enough havoc. The god had influenced far too many, destroying their lives. Hugh, for one. He had touched Drothu’s soul, and it had changed him. Ademar’s sparse story was convincing enough, particularly after Damor confessed that his own power came from Drothu’s soul.

  And then there were the orcs. Drothu’s sheep. He’d manipulated them into killing each other for centuries, with the promise of a place of glory after death. Like those ghostly spirits retreating into the burial mound. They were but pawns of a so-called god who played with the living—and the dead—as if they were mere toys.

  Hatred burned deep within her. Though other elves feared her kind, she knew the Shadari were saving souls from manipulation after death. And now she would attack the source.

  The great god ignored her as she approached. She was no more than a tiny insect in his ear. But soon he would feel the sting of the orc souls she’d rescued at the moment of their death. The bravery of the elf souls who’d joined with her over her lifespan. Together, united, they would call upon Drothu and force him to pay for his misdeeds.

  She thrust her arms wide, her chest filling with the power of every soul contained in her body. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. She’d lost count at the tender age of five. Now she was two hundred thirty years of age, and the number no longer mattered. Only the act of salvation.

  Her body began to vibrate, intensifying as thousands of souls joined together to speak with one voice.

  “Drothu!”

  Their voices boomed over the prairie, shaking the very ground under her feet.

  The giant flaming god glanced down at Ylantri… and chuckled.

  He reached down with a fiery hand and swiped at her, as if brushing away an annoying pest.

  His hand swept through her body as if she weren’t even there.

  Now it was Ylantri’s turn to laugh. A thousand different voices joined in, the sound reverberating across the prairie. She might be small compared to Drothu, but she had the might of a thousand souls.

  Drothu’s lips parted, and a stream of fire burst forth.

  Ylantri closed her eyes, standing still even as the fire burned her skin to a crisp. It crumbled to the ground in an ashen heap, no longer a host.

  He had baptized her. She was born anew. And her soul was free.

  It merged with the other souls she’d collected, all coming together to form one spectral being, as wide and as tall as Drothu. Not just the souls of elves, but of orcs, and humans, and more. All working as one, using the wisdom of thousands of years of knowledge.

  A cacophony of shrieks sounded in the distance. The elf ghost turned toward the noise, only to see a vast flight of dragons dashing through the sky toward the orc souls. In their lead was one very small dragon.

  At the cry of the dragons, the orc souls swimming within the great spectral being broke free. No… they were released. For they had a greater purpose on this battlefield, and somehow, all the souls sensed it.

  Fly free, the great specter whispered to its orc brethren.

  The orc souls burst skyward, wispy scintillations, soaring in circles above Drothu, their light dizzyingly beautiful in the darkness of night, and then shot toward the approaching dragons. One by one, each orc soul joined itself with one of the great winged beasts. And at the moment of unification, the eyes of each dragon lit up with fire and purpose.

  Ylantri recalled Damor’s final words about the dragons of the Nether. The dragons were connected to orc souls in some way. She noted that none of the elven, nor human, souls felt the pull to join. The truth was suddenly crystal clear. The dragons had been kept separate from their other half—the souls of dead orcs. Together, they created a new being.

  One capable of destroying Drothu.

  With renewed vigor, the elven souls committed themselves to assisting the dragons in destroying the so-called god who’d separated them centuries ago. It was time for the orcs and dragons to reclaim their combined heritage.

  The elven ghost, with Ylantri within it, turned to Drothu, seeing him with new eyes.

  He was no longer invincible.

  The slump of his shoulders showed that he knew it, too.

  The elven ghost reared back and launched itself at Drothu. It passed through Drothu’s flames, unharmed, as it forced itself into Drothu’s very essence. Ylantri guided it toward Drothu’s soul. She’d seen it when Ademar had unknowingly unleashed the soul upon the prairie. The stone. By now it would be deep inside Drothu, but she would seek it out, find it…

  … and destroy it.

  Ylantri felt the pulsing life somewhere ahead. Targeting the source, she and her souls worked together to infiltrate deeper into Drothu. He squirmed and writhed, but could not eject them.

  And then… there it was. His soul, throbbing in fear. Ylantri reached out with ethereal tendrils, brushing the stone deep within Drothu’s corporeal form. The other souls followed Ylantri’s lead, blanketing Drothu’s soul with cold precision.

  But that was all they could do.

  They had no weapons. No magic. No power.

  All they could do was slowly suffocate his soul until
someone else could deal the final blow.

  They would wait.

  Ylantri was determined his soul would not survive the night.

  Chapter 49

  From his perch on Tace’s back, Ademar saw everything. He gazed on in wonder as the impossible happened, again and again.

  First Ylantri’s body had given birth to a specter that quickly grew to the same size as Drothu. Then, after a shriek sounded on the horizon, thousands of tiny sparks separated from the specter and burst into the night sky, lighting up the prairie for the briefest of moments.

  And now…

  Dragons.

  A pulsating mass of them was flying in from the north, illuminated by starlight, hundreds of pairs of wings beating the air. And leading the charge was tiny Raseri.

  The dragons somehow merged with the sparks, and it… invigorated them. The dragons roared, flames bursting from their jaws. Having now witnessed it more than once, Ademar’s eyes were now opened as he recognized the truth: the souls of the orcs had merged with dragons.

  According to Tace, Drothu had been holding orc souls captive in the Nether for centuries, keeping them separated from their true afterlife: communion with the dragons. Two beings becoming one.

  Ademar could only hope that together they were powerful enough to defeat a god.

  He held on tight as Tace swooped away from Drothu, toward the incoming dragons. Wind raked through his hair, and tendrils from misty clouds dampened his clothing. Tace flew over the dragons, then darted down into the middle of them, gliding over and above and around them.

  He almost thought he saw them nodding heads and winking—perhaps communicating with her in ways he couldn’t begin to understand. But whatever she was doing, and however she was speaking with them, it was working. The dragons quickly fell into formation, creating an inverted ‘V’ with Tace in the lead.

  The dragons’ wings beat in unison as they careened toward the orc god.

  Ademar raised his sword, though he knew it mattered little, if at all. He was only along for the ride.

  And what a ride it was.

  As Drothu looked up in fear at the incoming dragon army, his flaming hands ran over his body as if there were something inside he was desperate to eject. The elven specter was gone; it had vanished while he and Tace were gathering the dragons. Had it been defeated?

  Ademar squinted hard and realized the ghost hadn’t vanished at all. It was now inside Drothu, a pulsing mass attacking him internally.

  For the first time since he’d dropped the stone and unleashed this horror, Ademar felt hope. Between the ghost and the dragons, maybe, just maybe, they stood a chance at felling this god.

  His stomach slammed into his throat as Tace dove toward the ground, leading the dragons away from Drothu.

  “No!” Ademar yelled. “What are you doing? We can take him!”

  Tace didn’t acknowledge his words, but then, this was Tace: she would do as she saw fit. She had her own plans, and he would have to sit back and trust her—as always.

  The dragons landed on the ground near what was left of the orc army. The orcs had been reduced to mere spectators, uncertain how to assist in this battle against the supernatural.

  Tace landed directly next to Vitagut, who sat on a horse with Maysant in front of him. She nudged Ademar’s leg with her shoulder.

  “Tell your orcs to get on the backs of the dragons,” Ademar shouted.

  Vitagut looked up at Ademar. “You speak for the dragons?”

  Ademar pointed down. “This is Tace, reborn, and the other dragons contain the souls of orcs, too. Did you not see the souls burst into the sky?” He said it as if this were obvious, even though, truthfully, he had assumed quite a bit. But he felt sure. And if he was wrong, Tace would let him know somehow. Of that he had no doubt.

  Vitagut laughed. “You make it all sound so simple. But if this is truly what the dragons want, and if this will allow us to fight Drothu, who am I to say no?”

  “Can I ride one, too?” Maysant said. “I’m sure I can shoot my bow from the back of a dragon!” She sounded excited, as if she’d waited her entire life for this day.

  Perhaps they all had. Maybe all the choices they had made had been inevitably leading toward this moment.

  “I can’t see a problem with that,” Vitagut said. “If a dragon allows a lowly human to ride on its back, I see no issue with a strong warrior princess like yourself.”

  Ademar saw the way Vitagut looked at Maysant. Saw it and recognized it. The honor, the respect, the admiration that led directly to devoting one’s very life to another. He had looked at Tace the same way, many times.

  Vitagut helped Maysant onto the back of a persimmon dragon, then ran to another dragon and leapt on as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

  Ademar was glad no one had seen how Tace had had to bend down to allow him to clamber onto her.

  Vitagut called out to his followers. “Take the back of a dragon! They are your brethren! Respect them as equals, not as beasts of burden, and together we will defeat this monster that dared to enslave our souls!” He thrust his sword into the air, and was met with an approving roar.

  One by one the dragons, now bearing orc riders, took to the sky.

  Ademar looked around him, amazed. Even in his wildest dreams, he could never have conceived of such a scene. It was entirely beyond his understanding of how the world worked. And it had all become possible only because Hugh had taken him to Agitar to study the orcs.

  Hugh. Hugh had been the key to all of it. The spark. After he touched the stone—the soul of Drothu—he focused his entire life on the orc religion. Then he took his own life before Tace could assassinate him, throwing Tace and Ademar into this adventure.

  It was almost as if he knew…

  But Ademar would never be able to ask him. The only way to give closure to his actions was to finish what Hugh had started. Drothu would be defeated tonight, in the darkness, his flames forever doused.

  Once all the dragons had armed mounts, Tace leapt into the sky to join them. They came together high above Drothu, once again forming a wedge. All the dragons waited for Tace to lead the charge.

  Under his thighs, Ademar felt her shoulders tense up. Then with a burst of strength, she dove toward Drothu. Ademar held tight to her scales with one hand, and with the other hand he held up his sword. A battle cry escaped his lips.

  Tace swept past Drothu, and Ademar stabbed with all his might, hitting Drothu on the arm. Flames burst forth, then vanished. Ademar looked back. That spot on Drothu’s arm… had darkened. It was no longer lit with flame like the rest of him. It was only a tiny spot, but…

  “Did you see that?” Ademar yelled to Vitagut.

  With a fierce smile, Vitiguat leaned to one side, directing his dragon to fly close to the same spot. He swiped at Drothu—with the same result.

  The orc god cried out in pain. And perhaps fear.

  The dragons flew in sorties, dodging Drothu’s erratic swipes. Like annoying mosquitoes, they buzzed his head, ears, and limbs until Drothu didn’t know where the next attack would come from. He stumbled on the prairie, flailing his arms at the dragons.

  But they were faster. Smarter. The dragons had the upper hand and they knew it.

  While some of the mighty winged creatures distracted Drothu, others flew close with their orcs, stabbing Drothu any place they could reach. Only one dragon remained at a distance, and that one bore an elven rider who lobbed arrow after arrow at the orc god, every steel arrowhead hitting its target.

  Drothu’s flames dimmed; he was clearly weakening. And then he stumbled again, and this time he fell, hard, onto his back. The earth shook with the impact, taking down Agitar’s remaining battlements, adding to the destruction of the once-powerful city.

  The dragons flew above Drothu like birds of prey.

  Ademar squinted, looking for Ylantri’s ghost. He could just barely see it pulsing underneath Drothu’s charred, naked skin.

  And within
it was the stone soul.

  He knew what had to be done.

  He placed a hand on Tace’s neck. “Take me closer!” he yelled, hoping she would understand.

  Tace broke away from the other dragons, swooping low, right above Drothu’s chest.

  Ademar leaned down and kissed Tace’s scales lightly. Then he leapt from her back, his sword pointed at Drothu’s abdomen. The orc god raised a hand, ready to squash Ademar before he could complete his task, but Tace swept in, flaming the god’s face with fire.

  As Drothu screamed in pain, his chest rose.

  It was perfect.

  Ademar’s sword sliced right through Drothu’s skin.

  He expected his fall to be stopped by organs, but beneath the skin, Drothu was empty, hollow. There was nothing there but his stone soul, surrounded by a misty elven ghost.

  Ademar fell through the hole he had cut into the orc god. Tumbling, he reached out toward the stone… and folded his fingers around it.

  He had it!

  The soul that had caused all of these problems was now his.

  A feeling of power swept over him—power like he’d never felt before. It coursed through his veins. Was this what Hugh had felt the day he’d touched it? Was this why he changed the trajectory of his life?

  Ademar landed in a roll, sliced an exit through the side of Drothu’s body, and stepped out onto the prairie. He let his sword clatter to the ground. He didn’t need it anymore. He had everything he’d ever need in the stone.

  The orc god’s body began slowly disintegrating into ash. Without its soul, it was nothing.

  Dragons landed around Ademar in a half circle, their riders eyeing him warily. An amethyst dragon bent low, her head resting not far from his feet.

  Ademar’s hand trembled. For the first time in his life, he felt powerful. Instead of the follower, he could be the leader.

  Tace snuffled, her warm breath washing over him.

  He knew what she wanted.

  The stone.

  Everyone wanted the stone.

  But they couldn’t have it. The stone was his now.