Reign of Magic

by K.N. Lee

  “There are guests this evening,” she said. “They’ve come to witness the ceremony.”

  After a night of adventure and flying with Kylan, she still hadn’t figured out how they would escape. She bit her bottom lip, anxiety filling her belly.

  Once ready, they were escorted to the inner gardens. Amalia looked with amazement at the maze of exotic flowers set in the center of the temple she had come to call a tomb.

  In the midst of fragrant flowers and walls of glass that looked out to two canals of silver water, there was a table set for them, with food spread out in platters. At the table were two other gentlemen and a woman dressed in fine clothes—not monks.

  Her lips parted with surprise when she realized that those at the table were fairies. Their wings were closed and tucked behind them, but the glow still radiated from them and on their ivory skin.

  Amalia’s forehead creased as they were seated across from one another with the strangers. They watched her, with curious eyes. The two men were strikingly attracted with pointed ears and perfectly sculpted faces. While one had long white hair and ice-blue eyes, the other had short green hair and eyes that matched.

  The woman watched her with pensive violet eyes, her pink hair braided into a knot at the top of her head, and laced with sparkling jewels.

  She sat there, her palms sweaty, unsure of what to do or how to do it.

  She wasn’t a lady, with manners for a fine table such as this. Her eyes stared at the array of dishes and glasses of wine. Her stomach dropped when Father Marduk entered the room and sat at the head of the table.

  Everyone turned their attention to him. He wore his customary blue robes and those orbs that she’d first seen in Skal hovered around his head.

  Why did he need those for dinner, she wondered.

  He took his time before having the first drink of wine. Once he did so, the rest of the guests were free to partake.

  Servants ladled food onto their clean, porcelain plates, and made sure their glasses of wine stayed full.

  “Allow me to introduce to you,” Father Marduk began, holding up his glass of wine. “Our very own Shi’Syn Cleric, and the Empress of Erani.”

  The collective gasp that came from the fairies made Amalia’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. They looked at her with new eyes, filled with wonder and surprise.

  “Is she truly the Empress of Erani?”

  “Yes, King Krone,” he said. “She is.”

  The fairies clapped.

  “A toast, to Kjos,” he said, and everyone lifted their glasses and drank. Everyone except Amalia.

  She glared at Father Marduk from her spot at the table to his right.

  “Why are we toasting Kjos?” Amalia asked.

  He gave her a sharp look, his jaw clenched. “Because I mean to return to it, and release my creation. Zuka will set the world right again.”

  The fairies laughed, drinking their wine.

  Her jaw dropped. Zuka—the white dragon from her dream. Her blood curdled at the thought of that monster flying across the realms, killing thousands of innocents.

  She stood. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  With a flick of his wrist, she was slammed back down into her seat by her collar. She cried out as it burned her flesh.

  Her eyes widened as the gold continued to tighten and burn around her throat, to the point where she couldn’t speak or breathe. Her lungs were on fire as she struggled to catch her breath. Her hands fought to release the collar from her neck, to no avail. She’d felt this agony before, when she almost drowned in the Maiden Mermaid’s river. It was something she would never forget.

  Father Marduk took his time in answering, while the others watched her suffer and nearly suffocate.

  Eiko squirmed in her chair, her eyes filling with tears, but she didn’t move from her seat. She knew better than to interfere, and Amalia didn’t blame her. Still, she wouldn’t have sat idle if it were her being tortured.

  He began eating, tearing the bread with his teeth. He cut his roast with a sharp knife, took a bite, and pointed it at her.

  “There is a war brewing, Empress,” he said. “And, we will be equipped to protect ourselves when it begins.”

  He stood, and her lungs were dangerously low on oxygen. He walked around the table and placed a hand on Eiko’s shoulder.

  “Why can’t you be well behaved like our Cleric, Empress?” Father Marduk asked, his brows knitting into one.

  Then, to Amalia’s absolute shock and horror, he ran the sharp knife across Eiko’s throat, spurting blood across the table and onto Amalia’s face.

  She couldn’t scream. She could barely see. Her vision was blurred, and the warm blood that dripped into her eyes only made it worse. But, her heart crushed into a ball and sank into her stomach.

  “There,” he said, wiping the knife on the table cloth before sitting back down to his meal. “Even she dies like a good girl. Too bad she won’t be coming back this time.”

  With that, he released the magic over Amalia and she gasped out a ragged breath. Once she gather enough air within her lungs, she screamed it back out. Sorrow shredded her insides until there was nothing left but grief.

  The blood of her friend was spilled all over the table like a sheep that had been slaughtered. Her screams continued to get louder the more blood pooled onto the table.

  Her heart wretched and sorrow closed up her throat.

  “You monster!” Her yell boomed throughout the temple, but Father Marduk didn’t so much as wince.

  She slammed her hands on the table in a rage and glared at him. “You deserved everything that befell you. I understand with perfect clarity why your very own brother and sister killed you!”

  She stood, pushed the table over and ran. Her cheeks were reddened and her lungs still burned. Pain ripped at her chest and she simply couldn’t bare one more minute in that horrid place.

  “Eiko,” she cried. “I’m sorry.” The tears burned her eyes and poured, but she didn’t care. She let them fall. They weren’t signs of weakness. Anyone who thought that had no idea what love was, or compassion. Anyone afraid to cry was just as much of a heartless monster as the monk who killed her friend.

  “Where is she going?” King Krone asked, standing. The servants began to clean up the mess without a word, and poor Eiko’s body was left there as if she meant nothing.

  “Nowhere,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  Father Marduk didn’t stand or chase her, he continued to eat and talk to his guests while the table was replaced and reset with fresh food.

  She ran, away from the gardens, through the temple, every beat of her heart as loud as a drum. She cried out like a wounded animal, mad with sorrow.

  Monks stood by, stepping away as she ran past them, watching her with dumbfounded looks. She didn’t care. Kylan was close. She could feel him. If only she could find him. Together, they would burn this place down.

  The door wasn’t far. She could reach it if she could run faster. No one moved to stop her, and she no longer cared about the collar. It would come off somehow.

  As she ran down through the archways of the long corridor, freedom was so close that she could taste its sweetness. She pumped her arms, giving it all of her energy, and skidded to a stop once she reached the large, dark wood double doors that stretched hundreds of feet toward the ceiling. She tried to push them open, but they were heavy, too heavy for her.

  That didn’t stop her. She grunted, using all of her weight and strength to push, and when it began to move, her heart soared with hope.

  That hope was quickly dashed as her body was ripped away from the door and sent flying forcefully backward. Her arms outstretched before her, toward the door, tears burning her eyes as her hair whipped around her face as she flew.

  When she stopped, she landed in the arms of someone strong.

  She looked over her shoulder to a dark-skinned monk with cruel eyes. He grinned.

  “Going somewhere, Empress?”

 
; She roared with rage, and kneed him in the groin. When he doubled over, she slammed his face into her knee and licked him with the full force of the sole of her foot. He recovered quickly—faster than she’d expected.

  With a speed she’d never encountered, he wiped the blood from his mouth and darted into her, grabbing her by her already sore throat.

  She fought, and kicked, and it meant nothing. The monk pushed open the doors and took her outside.

  “Look,” he said. “Look into the eyes of your ally. Tell me if he regrets his betrayal. Tell me if you were worth his death.”

  She expected to see Kylan and her lips started to tremble. That would break her, she knew it.

  Amalia went limp, her eyes widening in absolute horror as she looked up to see Brother Dagan’s body hanging from a spike outside the door.

  23

  That evening, a warm breeze lifted Amalia’s black hair as she awaited her fate. The events of the day had left her drained.

  Brother Dagan was dead.

  Eiko was dead.

  Kylan was nowhere to be found.

  All hope was lost.

  The sun began to set and she knew that in just moments her door would open and a team of cloaked monks would enter and take her to the altar where she would be sacrificed.

  Numb, she looked out from the balcony at desert that covered miles upon miles of land and met the foot of the Tir Mountains. An array or pinks, oranges, and reds blended with the purples of a sunset. Just across the Sea of Dreams was Wolf territory.

  Though they were the natural born enemy of her people—and home of the man who had betrayed her—she would rather be there than in the Temple of the Sky Brotherhood. The ghosts of her friends haunted her. She could still hear Eiko’s laugh, and Brother Dagan’s reassuring voice that reminded her of her father’s.

  A tear slipped from her eyes as she thought of them. Her eyes were red, raw, and there was nothing left of her voice.

  For once, she was ready for whatever came next. Be it death, or worse.

  If only she could fly, she’d stretch her arms and let the wind take her far away from that wretched place. If only Kylan would return to her.

  Sorrow washed over her as she realized that she would never see the rolling evergreen hills and poppy-filled meadows of Skal again. Nor would she look into her mother’s eyes or feel her father’s warm embrace.

  That’s all she wanted, was her old life, none of this prophecy business. One would think being named an Empress would have been a great turn of fortune.

  To Amalia, it was a dark curse.

  The door’s lock turned. She tensed her shoulders, gently closing her eyes with one last attempt at changing her fate.

  “I’ll do anything. Please. Just let me and Kylan be free,” she whispered into the wind.

  Eris and Enit didn’t respond. They never did when it mattered.

  The door was opened, and in walked four monks in black cloaks. Purple sashes were draped over their shoulders and each wore a long gold chain with a sun charm hanging at the bottom.

  She lifted a brow, wondering why their cloaks were different on this day.

  Father Marduk led the way. The sight of him made her stomach churn. His dark eyes looked down on her like a hard-won prize. Nothing she could say or do would convince them that she deserved to be set free.

  “Rise, my child. Today is your death day,” Father Marduk said. He touched her chin with his cold, hard hands.

  She looked down at them, blinking away tears.

  “Death day?” Amalia asked, calmly.

  “That’s correct.”

  She lifted her gaze to him. “Like Eiko?” She couldn’t picture herself being constantly raised from the dead like a plaything for the monks.

  “No, dear, not like a Shi’Syn Cleric. No, I have different plans for you.”

  She frowned at him. Her heart was pounding.

  “Fine,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “Nothing I say or do will stop you.”

  He grinned. “That’s right. I’m glad you finally see that.”

  She didn’t resist as they carried her from the room and out the door which opened to the massive domed altar room. She watched the vapors fill the room, like white fog spiced with incense.

  “Right you are, my child. Change,” Father Marduk proclaimed, holding up a finger and nodding. “Change is coming.”

  She wanted to say more, but was gagged with a silk cloth and tied to a stake set high above the congregation. Her arms were bound behind her back and around the stake. She gazed down at the men who watched her from below, feeling pity for them. They were on their knees with their hands folded on their thighs and heads bent low in reverence.

  “Pray with me, brothers,” Father Marduk said in his booming voice which echoed off the stone walls of the altar room. “Today we drink the blood of the last demi-god, and say goodbye to the plague that has spread through our world. With the death of the last Erani, we welcome a new era. A new beginning.”

  Amalia wanted to scream at them. Instead, she closed her eyes as Father Marduk pulled a sharp dagger from his cloak, and she was sure she’d faint before her even touched her with it. She wished she would. At least she wouldn’t be faced with the pain.

  Thunder cracked above, and all eyes went to the open archways that looked out to the sky.

  A tiny sliver of hope sparked in her heart.

  Were the gods finally listening?

  As if to answer her question, the glass ceiling broke, sending thousands of pieces of glass down on them like rain. She lowered her head, ducking away from the glass as it fell onto her. A few shards slit her face, but that mattered not as she looked above to see dragons of all shapes, sizes, and colors swoop down into the ceremony room and spray it with red flames.

  The heat of their flames warmed her face, but they weren’t there for her. From the looks of it, this was a battle between dragons and monks, and she was just the unfortunate soul strapped to a stake in the center of it all.

  The doors at the far end of the room burst open, and while some monks chose to run, others stayed and began a battle with dragons, and the armed men who raced inside with battle cries that sent chills through Amalia’s entire body.

  24

  Amalia watched in awe and dark elves poured in behind the men. They came in, hissing and crying out in foreign tongues, their armor shining in the torch and candlelight of the ceremony hall.

  The vapors spread around them, making an eerie scene for the carnage that ensued.

  The dark elves were merciless, using their enchanted, glowing swords to cut through monks. The blades were encased in light that ranged in color from yellow, to red, to blue, and each elf wielded them with expert skill.

  It was odd to see such a fighting style. She’d learned from the Wolves.

  Aggression. Strength. Sheer determination.

  But with the dark elves, it was as though the monks were practically defenseless against the dark skinned creatures. Their movements were fluid and effortless, agile like black panthers taking down their pray in the jungle. Not one fell as they made their way through the Mages.

  One elf—as big as a bear, sliced through four men by swinging a sharp, enchanted pole around in a circle. They were all cut in two, and left in pieces once he stepped over their twitching limbs. With one glowing eyes, and the other covered with a patch, he sought out his next unfortunate prey.

  Father Marduk stood before her, his eyes widened with surprise. He ran his hands through his hair, mouth ajar, cheeks pale.

  She prayed that one of the dragons would spray flames onto his head, melting him to a pool of blood and guts while she watched.

  Instead, he used his dagger to cut through the ropes that bound her to the stake and lifted her, tossing her over her shoulder.

  “There,” one of the men shouted, directing his men to Father Marduk. “Kill the bastard.”

  The following roars awakened her joy.

  She gasped, her spirits rekind
led. She knew that accent.

  Wregardians.

  Her heart soared with hope, but those hopes were dashed as Father Marduk ran with her back into the inner hallways of the temple and away from the battle.

  It didn’t matter. The battle followed him, and she cheered those men on, praying they caught up and cut him down.

  She kicked and fought, and bit at his neck to get him to drop her. All attempts were fruitless. He held tight and ignored her fighting, racing through the corridors to the staircase that led down into the lower halls of the temple.

  She knew where they were going.

  The Oasis.

  25

  Kylan stood at the bars of his stall, waiting. The sounds of chaos wafted through the night air and to the outposts. The sweet sound of battle made him close his eyes and tilt his head to hear it better.

  The Wregardians were here, finally. And with them, their dark elf allies.

  Kylan had been waiting patiently for days, hoping Amalia could keep her wits about herself and trust in his plan.

  Vidar’s voice echoed in his head through their mental link. He could feel Vidar’s presence, smell him and the others. All would be well once they arrived—once they freed him from this prison.

  He has her—the Empress, Vidar said.

  Kylan let out a sigh of anguish. Who?

  The Father monk.

  He slammed his fist into the bars.

  Send the others to follow him so he doesn’t get away. But, come to me, now, Kylan said. Free me so I can kill him myself.

  On it, Chief.

  It was odd to hear his best, childhood friend call him chief, but that’s the way it was now that Kylan was the leader of the clan.

  He waited, his blood boiling, his face hot with rage. If he hurt one hair on Amalia’s head, the entire desert would be leveled by his fury.

  Before long, Vidar flew through the night and landed in the center of the outpost courtyard. The corners of Kylan’s mouth lifted into an amused grin once he saw Sassa riding Vidar’s back. She leaped off and ran to his stall, a glowing stone in her hand.