20
Necropolis III
Thamias leaned against poles, beams, anything that could help him stand. The wound on his side hurt more than he could grasp. He gasped for air, clenching his fists, his nails digging into his skin. He wanted to check the wound but could only see darkness. He had no energy left to heal himself.
He searched for Ahna. She had been right in the path of the crumbled building. Fear spread through his veins as he imagined what had happened to her. Sadness and panic rose in his blood, a feeling he despised from deep within his gut. He blamed Ahna for it. That she had come to find him in the first place. That she had brought him here to fight. That she had given him a reason to fight.
That she had made him face his father.
He should have heard the screams and seen the flames before him, but Thamias only saw his father’s glare. That was all he could see in his clouded vision. That was all he would remember.
Until a light flashed him awake. Among the ruins and flames stood a crystalline figure radiating and burning bright. The darkness was conquered by this beacon of pure white light that moved like a slow hurricane. A peaceful storm whirled around the figure that glided toward the castle. It was Ahna. It had to be. Whatever that magic was, it inspired a feeling of power Thamias could absorb. The more he looked at it, the more he felt his energy return. His chest heaved, and he looked to the ground, focusing on his wound, healing it with a golden spark from his palm. He winced, clenching his jaw this time, concentrating on what he had to do. The vision of his father was gone. Now, Thamias only saw a city in darkness about to be destroyed. A city that had once welcomed him. Maybe Ahna was right, and Bravoure could change, become the home he had once known. He would be content enough to live in this place.
The golden wave spread from his hand and engulfed him all so he could change again. This time, it did not feel forced or conjured. It was not a curse or a transformation into a beast of war. It was the revelation of his true self. And it felt good. Thamias closed his eyes, letting this divine fervor turn him into who he was meant to be.
* * *
Cayne had regained enough courage to walk again, staggering, leaning on Jules for support. Her men rammed the castle gates open, letting her in, closing the doors behind her. She could catch her breath and take care of this damned wound that was bleeding too much. It felt cold, yet the blood was as hot as flames. She was already feeling lightheaded when the point of a blade greeted her. A flash of steel gleamed in the corner of her eyes. Jules swung the Royal Claymore in its direction, clashing swords with William Corax. He did not look angered or enraged. He looked scared.
Jules did not hesitate. He bashed Corax by simply charging into him, making the general lose his balance and fall to the ground. Corax cowered back, pushing himself with frantic movements, as hard as he could because his shoulder still hurt like a knife. Berius and Jules stood above him and scowled. They scooped him off the floor and dragged him out of the antechamber toward the throne room. Cayne followed them, swallowing the pain she felt for one moment of retribution. Right now, the only thing in their minds was to scold William Corax for the stupid idea that had caused a lich to invade the city with an army of undead. Oh, they were angry. So were the others. They threw him down on the marble stone of the throne room, locking eyes with Bravan soldiers and not caring at all. These were too scared to fight anyway. After all, there was a pyromancer with them, and what could twenty-something mere naturals, magicless beings, do against a fire tornado?
Berius and Luthan stood watch while Cayne lashed her anger out at William.
“I had...no...idea,” he stuttered, screaming or whining. “I swear! I was fooled!”
Cayne kicked him in the leg. She had no care for whether he was already on the ground. She did not have the luxury of mercy anymore. It was time to finish the conversation they had started on the battlefield. Something gave her strength, rage, perhaps, but it was already fading. She had limited time.
She leaned forward and gripped him by the gorget. “You knew the cultists dealt in evil magic. Whatever was going on at the ruins, you knew about it!” Luthan wanted to correct Cayne and say it was not magic, but he abstained because it was not the point. “So what? You feign a declaration of war so you can kill us with an army of undead?”
Corax breathed in and out fast in panic. “I had no idea it would come to this...I swear...please!”
“Please what?” she yelled. Her blood was boiling. It was getting to her head. “There’s a monster outside that’s burning the city down! Your friend Phorus is dead, by the way, and I mean dead dead. Give me one reason not to do the same to you.”
Corax’s eye blackened upon the news of the lich’s death. Maybe it was relief, or maybe it was the idea that his fate would be next to go. It was not clear what the general felt from the dazed look in his eyes. He was obviously in shock that he had let it go this far. However he had expected this to go was nothing compared to the reality that the city was in ruins because of a foolish alliance that had cost thousands of lives.
“I’m unarmed,” Corax stammered in a low voice. He looked to his side, at his steel sword on the ground. He saw the way his soldiers were looking at him, appalled and dismayed. “And I’m on the ground.” He paused and let his words fill the room. “If you kill me, you’re no better than me.”
Cayne hated to admit that he was partially right. While it would not make her as bad as him, it equally would not make it just. There was no honor to killing a man who had surrendered. She was not capable of harming a man on the ground. She grunted loud and released him.
“You’ll be judged for your crimes,” she spat. “Once this is over.”
She spoke like she knew they would find a way to solve this, but it was more a sense of false hope speaking for her. Cayne was well aware of that. For one, Phorus was dead, but they had a dragon to face. A child of the gods. A dead dragon impossible to kill. Ahna said she had a way, but Ahna was nowhere to be found now, was she? Luthan must have come to the same realization because he hurried back to the antechamber.
“Where are you going?” Berius asked him, running after him.
Luthan did not turn around. “Meriel’s not here,” he said as though that answered his son’s question. How had he realized only now that she had not followed? He had to go back out and find her. He could not afford not to.
Cayne watched him go. She knew she would not be able to dissuade him from returning to the battlefield. She checked her wound for a brief moment; the bleeding had not stopped. She was impressed that she was even still standing and spontaneously wanted to both laugh her lungs out and scream at the same time. Everything seemed so unreal. Where was that cleric Jules had called for?
Her gaze landed back on Corax and turned into a glare.
“You talk like you can beat this,” he said before she could speak. “That creature is a god!”
“I have to!” Cayne screamed, her voice breaking with her words. “Otherwise, what do we have left? You brought this upon us, and now we have to fix your mess.” She went on in a tirade that erupted from her heart. “It’s always like this! You in your high towers decide our fates and bring us to dust, then we have to pick up the scraps and make a living out of it! We have to pull ourselves out of the sinking sands you made. That’s what it means to survive, and you have no idea what it’s like.”
Corax was still on the ground, but he stared at her with malice in his eyes, seeing her pain, both mental and physical, watching it grow. “It was never about your fate, Falco, how can you not understand that?” She did not reply. “It was about luring your band of terrorists out and destroying you so Bravoure could shine again.”
Cayne scoffed. “Well, Phorus had other plans now, didn’t he? Now, we have an undead dragon above our heads.”
She knew what he was doing, on the ground, spewing words to spite her anger. He wanted her to make the kill so she would condemn herself. But she would resist. She would not succumb to the tempta
tion of ending this man’s life. Hers was on the line already.
“Even if you succeed,” Corax began, his tone more sinister than before. “You’ll never rule this land. It will crumble before you know it. Azera is weak, and so many other vultures want power—”
He did not finish his sentence, interrupted by Jules, who came to kneel behind him. He peered over his shoulder, unsure of what this man wanted from him. Jules simply smiled, then he gripped his hair and pulled his head back. Corax yelped as the man slit his throat slowly, the smile still stuck to his face.
Cayne shouted a loud, no, but Jules ignored it. Once he was done, he let the general’s body drop to the floor and wipe the blade clean on the dead man’s face. Cayne still looked at him with mouth agape and shock in her eyes when he rose to his feet again. Why had he just done that?
Jules breathed in and eventually looked back at her. He shrugged as though he had little care for his deed. “He talked too much,” he said, like it was normal.
Nothing about this was normal, but Corax was dead, and it did not affect Cayne as much as the sight of Jules nonchalantly sheathing his dagger did. “Why?” she asked, even though he had actually just given her the subtle answer. She shook her head. “What the Hell?” That was better. That was better than questioning Jules in her last moments.
Because Cayne knew her time was now. She collapsed to her knees, having lost too much blood to stand. It was Jules’s turn to shout, to yell, to scold her for not standing. He rushed to her, took her in his arms and pressed on her wound. The little strength she had been given to face her enemy was gone.
“It’s alright, Jules,” Cayne murmured. “I’m okay with this.”
Jules had tears clouding his vision. “No, don’t go dark on me, Falco. Not when we’re this close to—”
“To winning?”
Jules shook his head. “To the final battle.”
Cayne chuckled, but it felt like muted whispers. “You’re going to win, Jules. You’re going to save Bravoure.”
Those were her last words. Cayne could not speak anymore, voices invading her mind like a tidal wave of fog. They were the words from men and women scattered across the throne room—some, Wolves with broken hearts; others, Bravan soldiers who had simply spent their time staring, not protecting their general, not coming to his rescue. Now, they were positioned around Cayne and Jules, looking at them, respecting them. Cayne closed her eyes smiling, hope the only expression printed on her face. All these people around her watching her die—it made this scene look like the final act of a Sud tragedy.
“Cayne!” Jules called to her, but it was distant and stale.
She felt warm drawing her last breath. Her heart was filled with love. They were going to win.
Jules sat there, by her side, holding her. He cried, then stopped crying abruptly, halting his breath. “We’re going to win,” he declared, and he let Cayne go. This was more than a promise. Her dying vow, and he had just signed it.
“Let’s go outside,” he said as he stood up again. “We have a dark elf to assist.”
Even if he could not see her, he knew Ahna was still alive, somewhere out there. He knew she needed his help, now more than ever. Jules had killed Corax because Cayne could not. He did not want her to bear the burden of this man’s death—she already held herself responsible for so much. Now, she had stepped into the Domain of Stars without sin, without his blood on her hands. He would have liked to see her as the next Great General, he had dreamed of it. He had seen it in her copper eyes and her Falco allure. He had admired her for it like had admired Captain Kairen Aquil and Commander David Falco, her ancestors. His friends he would never see again. She was with them now, he knew, and that brought some comfort to his heart. He would grieve when the time came, after this battle, after he fulfilled his vow. This was war, after all, and casualties were part of it.
Jules looked around him at the startled soldiers who dared not move. He was still looking at them when he slipped into the antechamber. The gates were open, and Luthan stood in the darkness of the courtyard in ruins staring at what unfolded in the sky, Berius next to him. It was as if they had been staring for a long time.
“Where is Cayne?” they both asked at the same time.
“She’s gone,” Jules replied.
* * *
Lo and behold, the battle of titans had recommenced once again. The golden dragon had soared into the sky, tackling the beast with full force. A divine firestorm erupted from his maw, clashing against the scaleless dragon, sending it down to the ground. Luthan was just in time to notice. He caught Berius’s arm and pulled him back. They ran together away from the void dragon’s path, the fiend that crashed in the courtyard and slid many yards further.
Acid ooze dripped to the floor from its skin and sizzled, smoke surging from the earth. Thamias landed claws first on top of it, this time entirely in control. This time stronger than before. He spread his wings wide to stay balanced while his claws pierced through the creature’s flesh, pinning it down. He envisioned his victory and relished the idea. He was about to gather his flames in his gut when the ground began to quake.
Thamias halted, raising his neck to see what was coming. Because he could hear tremors coming from all sides. And they drew closer. Wild screeches invaded the air, followed by a tidal wave of undead charging him. They surged out of the streets, out of the castle, out of the Bastion, toward him. They had one goal: protect the void dragon that had sired them from the golden beast.
The undead ran faster than anyone had witnessed before. They passed Ahna without caring for her presence, but she noticed something. They flowed around her as if they were repelled by her. Ahna checked her hands briefly, noticing how they glowed. And she noticed something else—she could see everything as though she stood in broad daylight. But the light came from her. She was shining like Sol.
She retrieved the soul sigil. The Caged Wings were almost wide open. She clutched it in her hand and ran.
The undead drenched the courtyard in their putrid presence and crawled on top of the golden dragon. They stacked upon each other, forming a ladder so the next ones could reach him. They were crazed, obsessed by their one target. They just raged to consume him.
Thamias, overwhelmed by claws and teeth that pierced through his scales, beat his wings to release himself from their grasp. But there were too many. Some had climbed on top of him and gnawed on his wings. He could not raise them anymore. Thamias toppled over, pushed by the fiend underneath him that had regained its strength. There was nothing fair about this fight. Thamias frantically slithered back to his talons, spewing fire like it was his last resort. Some were burned to ashes, but the others still managed to latch onto his scales. He saw his life flash before his eyes when the pain of their bites became too much to bear. He heard his father’s voice laugh at him. He faced his brother’s smile, his sister’s tears, and his mother’s caress.
The void dragon rose back to its feet and faced Thamias who was pinned to the ground. It marched toward him slowly and growled. It did not seem to have the desire to kill, just to rid itself of the mild annoyance that the golden dragon was.
* * *
Luthan had erected a wall of flames to protect him and his son. The battle of titans ahead was becoming too dangerous, but they had no escape. An impulse shouted at him that he had to do something, but he was running out of energy. He felt dizzy; the world spun on its axis. He could not do anything to stop this. Thamias was losing to a sea of undead and a void dragon Luthan could do nothing about.
Jules and Berius ran to him, dodging erratic flames. They managed to take cover underneath an archway that still stood among the courtyard in ruins, but it would not be long before this one would also crumble. Everything seemed lost, especially that now, Thamias was on the ground, about to meet his end.
If he could do something, it was now or never. Luthan’s eyes, red from the flames, became blue. He was preparing for one last eruption of his inner fire, one that could cos
t him all the energy he had left. And if it would give Ahna enough time to reach the void dragon so she could end this, it was worth it. An explosion of flames hotter than Sol spread from his entire body, setting the entire place on fire, casting undead into an arcane firestorm they could not escape.
Ahna saw everything from where she stood, a blue pillar of flames reaching the sky. She could hear the screams of the undead being burned. This was not Thamias’s fire, it was too hot, burning bright and blue. This was magic.
Luthan. He was there, and he had just eradicated an entire undead horde. The creatures left within his reach were launched into the sky and out of the dome, instantly destroyed by the light of Sol.
Ahna ran toward the courtyard as fast she could, screaming for her brother who still fought the void dragon.
“Stop!” she yelled, wishing to catch the fiend’s attention.
She ran more, crossing the drawbridge, passing the outer gates. She was about to reach them when the void dragon’s gut lit with purplish fire. Ahna foresaw everything that would happen next. The undead dragon would gush out its flames and kill Thamias. She could not bear to let that happen. Not Thamias. Not her brother, the last family she had left. She would not survive this, not after all she had gone through. The fiend was on the ground, just in reach. She just needed to get close. She could not let it take flight again. She had to get close before it would strike and take away her brother too. She had lost enough.
It was too much to bear. The dread was too much. Spasms ran down her arms and legs and consumed her. Tremors of fear. But there was something more robust than fear growing inside her. It birthed in her heart and spread wild. Ahna felt it, and she embraced it. It was the power of devotion. Resolve. Stopping the void dragon from delivering the killing blow. Rescuing her brother, the capital, and releasing Cedric’s soul. Saving Bravoure was her resolve. Ahna hastened. The light that glowed burst and erupted into a mighty radiance that consumed the darkness around her.
Tempest of Bravoure Page 28
