War of the Raven Queen: The Goddess Prophecies Fantasy Series Book 6

by Araya Evermore

  ‘My Great Lord.’ He sidled into the chamber, eyes darting to the flickering iron ring—the ring that watched all that occurred on this hateful planet, and through which the beautiful power of the Dark Rift flowed.

  It was dark for the braziers had all been blown out in the magical maelstrom, but he could see well in this light. His eyes settled on a blacker form beside the ring, and the two even darker patches that were his Lord’s eyes.

  ‘West Venosia can be taken again. It’s a nothing place,’ the dark dwarf placated.

  He had watched their defeat through the Dromoorai Shadow Stones. That and the loss of the Orb of Earth so nearly in their grasp. Kilkarn didn’t dare mention the loss of the Raven Queen too, and had never mentioned losing the Sword of Binding to the last Dragon Lord.

  That the last of the Ancient’s had also seemingly vanished was a separate issue entirely, one not needed to vex his Lord further. Whilst he had grown in power, the people of this cursed planet still evaded and usurped his rule. Still denied his might.

  ‘I need more power,’ Baelthrom whispered, a sound that vibrated the iron ring.

  ‘And you shall have it, Great One,’ Kilkarn nodded.

  All things his Lord desired would be his and they would help him get it all. It was his Lord’s sudden silence that unnerved Kilkarn, for a long time he just stood there in the dark unmoving.

  The braziers burst into life. Baelthrom stalked towards the iron ring, his wings spread wide, his tail swinging. A gauntleted hand reached forwards and the ring flared into a swirling mass of grey.

  ‘Hameka,’ Baelthrom commanded, his voice booming in the chamber.

  After a moment, the pale, gaunt face of a man appeared. His slate grey hair was smoothed back, accentuating deep widow’s peaks. His eyes were hard, and though this man was several hundred years old, he only looked to be in his sixties, courtesy of imbibing minute amounts of the Elixir of Immortality. Since Baelthrom’s second in command was not willing to succumb to the black drink yet, he still aged, but slowly. A semi-immortal.

  ‘You will know that Venosia has been attacked,’ said Baelthrom. Not waiting for a reply, he stormed on. ‘Forget the Uncharted Lands, your job is done there. Leave a single garrison and return now. Attack Frayon immediately, in full force. They are spread thinly.’

  The man was about to speak but then pursed his lips and inclined his head. ‘Right this moment, my Lord,’

  His face faded into the swirling grey.

  ‘Cirosa,’ Baelthrom commanded.

  The striking, cold face of his High Priestess appeared. Her blood red lips and ice-blue eyes were sharply accentuated by her snow-white skin. The immortal woman had once been High Priestess of the Temple to the Great Goddess and second in line to the Oracle. Now she too held the power of a demi-god, power given to her by the One True God.

  ‘My Lord,’ she inclined her head and dropped her gaze.

  ‘Take Vornus and attack Lans Himay,’ Baelthrom commanded. ‘Forget hunting for the heir of Drax, the dragons have awoken.’

  Cirosa’s face paled, making her seem translucent. Her eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll kill him,’ she rasped.

  ‘Get Vornus. Invade Lans Himay,’ Baelthrom repeated. ‘Slay the Draxian refugees wherever you find them. They will rally to his call. Go now.’

  Baelthrom swiped his hand and her image disappeared.

  ‘Dereever,’ he spoke the name of the harpy queen.

  In moments, the smooth, tanned face of a black-eyed bird woman appeared. Her dark hair framed her high cheekbones accentuated by the thick, ceremonial scars on her cheeks. A single, shining onyx dangled on her forehead, marking her as Queen. She smiled, revealing a mouth of black fangs. ‘Lord Baelthrom.’

  ‘Take your brood and scout the enemy attacking north-west Venosia. Watch the Raven Queen. Report back to me what you find.’

  ‘Yes, my Lord,’ Dereever smiled indulgently.

  Silence descended upon the chamber as the harpy queen’s face faded. Baelthrom’s eyes turned from green to orange and back again as he thought. He strode to the pedestal holding three orbs and picked up the brown wooden wizard’s staff resting against it.

  The staff was filled with the Flow and Kilkarn hated to look at it. It had belonged to the Master Wizard who held the black Orb of Death—the orb that Baelthrom desired more than any other. The staff had been dropped by the wizard when he’d fled from his Lord.

  Now, Baelthrom held it in his hands and studied it for a long time. He turned towards the iron ring and, slowly, as if struggling with the name, he breathed, ‘Lona.’

  The swirling grey became impenetrable black. Time passed. Then, pressing out of the blackness and out of the ring pushed an alien face. Huge, all-black eyes opened and looked at Baelthrom. Even Kilkarn’s dark heart beat faster in fear, an emotion he was not used to having.

  ‘Speak to me again of this…deal you mentioned,’ said Baelthrom, holding before him the wooden staff.

  A smile formed upon Lona’s face as she looked from the staff to Baelthrom, her eyes gleaming hungrily.

  11

  Illendri

  Issa stood with Asaph, Velonorian, Haelgon, Cusap’anth and Rhul’ynth before the lookout tower on top of the cliffs straddling the two coves.

  Ehka preened himself on her shoulder. It was night, or at least a darker shade of overcast red. To the East, the firelight of the enemy blazed. There were two spots of light on the horizon, one bigger and closer, the other far away.

  ‘The furthest one is a city. I’ve seen it,’ said Issa.

  ‘Within a week, we’ll launch our attack on it, and one by one they’ll fall.’ Rhul’ynth’s eyes gleamed.

  ‘We won’t have the element of surprise this time,’ said Asaph. ‘They know we’re coming. They’ll have reinforcements. The battles are only going to get tougher.’

  ‘And we shall only get stronger,’ said Cusap’anth.

  Every day more reinforcements arrived from one country or another. News of their success, and the hope that sprang with it, had spread rapidly amongst the Free Peoples, and now they hungered for their beloved Maioria to be free. Now they had the strength and will to fight.

  ‘Somewhere out there is Marakon and our knights,’ said Issa. ‘I can’t reach him in the demon tunnels, not even the raven talisman can reach Velistor down there, but I know he’s somewhere close.’

  ‘He may have emerged behind enemy lines.’ Cusap’anth nodded to the enemy in the distance. ‘When we fought the dark dwarves, we found their tunnels intersecting demon tunnels at many points. It was through their tunnels so many of us managed to reach Davono.

  ‘During the war, many of our boats were burnt. It was safer to fight a demon or dark dwarf than it was to sail the Venosian Straights, but few dared venture into the darkness. The goddess only knows how many got lost in that maze beneath our feet.’

  ‘There are dark dwarf tunnels from here all the way to Davono?’ Issa had trouble imagining digging that far, and the horror of wandering alone in the darkness until death, or worse, claimed you. ‘But no one knows that. I mean, no human knows. So, the dark dwarves could attack us at any moment.’

  Rhul’ynth shifted her hooves and Cusap’anth gave her a peculiar look, serious, angry and sorrowful all at the same time. ‘We did not tell the humans, for why should we? You were mostly our enemies back then, hunting us for sport, never once helping our plight.

  ‘We all hoped that one day the dark dwarves or the demons would arise from their tunnels and attack you, laying waste your lands as you and they had laid waste ours. Besides, we knew of no human friends to tell at the time.’ He looked away.

  Issa swallowed, ashamed of the past and the suffering that had occurred between even the good people of Maioria. ‘I hope, one day when our terrible enemies have gone, that peace between the indigenous people of Maioria will be found.’

  ‘Once, there was peace, between all peoples, between all species, between all things, a long, long time ago,’ said Hael
gon, his blue eyes sparkling in the dull light. ‘Even before the Ancient’s ancestors came. We have it written in our sacred books hidden in the desert. But that was before death came, and before the animals and humans ate each other. It was such a long time ago, maybe it was only ever a myth.’

  ‘All myths have their basis in truth,’ said Issa.

  ‘One day when this is over, I’ll spend time searching the Recollection. Surely the dragons have some memory,’ said Asaph. ‘Why don’t we head back? I can smell dinner even from here.’

  ‘You’re always hungry!’ Issa laughed. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and save me a seat? I just want to see if there is any life in the earth with the orb. I think I need to be alone to feel it clearly. Don’t worry, I’ll be all right. Look, there are five sentries up there watching. I’ll be just here.’

  This seemed to ease Asaph’s worries. ‘All right, all right,’ he said, and followed the others.

  Issa scanned the barren land. There was nothing but the sentries on the lookout above, and the wind and dust. She slipped out the orbs and closed her eyes. Tuning into the orbs, she began to walk slowly. In the Flow, she could see the ground quite clearly. The orbs began speaking to each in their language of energy and her brain subconsciously joined that conversation.

  She let the Flow drip from her hands through the orbs onto the earth as she walked. As it hit the ground it sparkled briefly before turning dull. The soil is dry, but not so much dead as in stasis.

  She walked in a wide circle and stopped. For the briefest moment the breeze blew fresh and pure, and carried the smell of trees and flowers as if she stood in the forests of Myrn. Then it disappeared and was replaced by the stale, heavy wind of fallen Venosia.

  Ehka croaked. She opened her eyes and stared at the ground. Where she had walked and dripped the Flow, a sparse ring of tiny indigo flowers bloomed.

  ‘Great Goddess, ehkas! Look Ehka, the flowers after which you’re named. Do you remember?’ The raven cawed.

  Tears filled her eyes and she sank down onto her knees, reaching out a hand to gently stroke the flowers. Only on Little Kammy had she seen the vast blooms of ehkas that came out at night on a full moon. Sometimes the fields were so thick with them, they were like an ocean swaying in the breeze.

  There was only a small circle where she had walked and used the Flow, but it was something, it was hope. Ehka nestled against her leg and she wiped the tears away. Carefully, she picked a tiny flower and ran down the hill.

  Back at the encampment, she burst into the food hall, and stopped abruptly before her friends’ table. ‘There are flowers growing here on Venosia, I have seen them! They can grow!’ she panted.

  The Karalanths, wizards and Asaph stared at her, mouths’ agape. She held up the tiny indigo ehka and everyone clustered around to look. She passed it to Asaph, and one by one they all inspected it.

  ‘Then it shall be called Ehka Hill,’ Rhul’ynth laughed, holding the flower high.

  ‘Life blooms again in our homeland. There is hope,’ said Cusap’anth, his eyes glistening.

  ‘You know you cannot come with me to the Wizards’ Circle, just as I could not go with Coronos that time,’ said Issa.

  Asaph wasn’t having any of it. ‘You’re not going alone.’

  They stood on the grey sand before the dark ocean. The last thing she wanted to do was go alone without Asaph. It was a dangerous journey, especially with two orbs, across the astral plains. She carried on. ‘I wish you could come but you’re not keyed to it.’

  Asaph’s frown deepened with worry. ‘I know that but…’ he sighed and his shoulders slumped, finally giving in. ‘You must go and it must be done, I understand that. I just hope Yisufalni has the power to protect your journey and when you are there.’

  ‘The journey part, both there and back, is the most dangerous. Once I’m there, our combined power in one of the most powerful and protected places on Maioria will be no match even for Baelthrom. Besides, she is an Ancient.’

  Asaph sighed. Nothing she could say would allay his fears.

  ‘I’ll wait for you here, don’t be gone long. Remember, the flame ring binds us.’ He held up her hand, the one she wore his mother’s ring upon, and kissed it.

  Issa had mentioned her plans to Freydel last night, suggesting he accompany her and combine his orb too. His sudden anger had taken her by surprise. “Preposterous!” He had shouted over and again, igniting her own anger. Both had stormed off and neither had seen the other since.

  Never had she seen her former tutor and friend so furious. For the first time she wished Domenon had been there and was here now to offer his thoughts. Domenon the dragon, she thought bitterly. No one is as they seem and few can be trusted.

  Asaph watched the oval white light grow. Issa walked into it with Ehka perched on her shoulder. She turned once to smile at him, and then disappeared along with the light. He let go of his breath slowly, his stomach in knots, then walked the rough path through the destroyed barracks to what had come to be called the Beer Tent.

  He stepped inside and the laughing chatter hushed. Soldiers of all factions—from Atalanph to the Feylint Halanoi to Draxians loyal to one of the many warlords of Lans Himay—looked his way, some bowing awkwardly or nodding to him respectfully as he passed. It wasn’t just because rumour had spread like wild fire that the heir of Drax was amongst them. He had proved his prowess on the battlefield, both as a dragon in the skies and as a warrior amongst them helping them clear the tunnels of dark dwarves.

  He kept his eyes forward, nodding briefly, wishing his cheeks wouldn’t burn so, and headed towards a number of Draxians stood to one side, tankards in hand. Beer helped everyone relax, which wasn’t easy when they stood on enemy lands. Our lands now, he reminded himself.

  ‘Asaph?’ Someone called out his name, making him pause. Freydel hurried his way over, his purple robes dusty but his crystal staff shining and freshly polished.

  ‘Freydel, is everything all right?’ Asaph asked.

  ‘Yes, as well as things can be in times of war. Let’s hope we can keep our foothold here. I’ve just been scrying with King Navarr, and more reinforcements will be arriving in the next few weeks. This cursed land has no sun, but at least the worst of the winter now descending on Frayon has also been kept at bay.’

  ‘I’d rather face snow and blizzards than exist under this torched sky,’ said Asaph. ‘But for our purposes, perhaps you are right. Although the weather, or lack of it, isn’t hindering our enemy either. They’ve been too quiet these past couple of days and I don’t like it. Anyway, how can I help you?’

  ‘I can’t find Issa and thought she might be with you,’ Freydel said.

  ‘Oh, she has gone to the Wizard’s Circle. Yisufalni is—are you all right?’ The wizard had paled dramatically.

  ‘No,’ Freydel spluttered. ‘I knew Yisufalni was there but…’

  ‘She’s gone to see what can be done about the orbs—’ Asaph continued then stopped.

  Freydel had about-turned and was virtually running out of the tent. Asaph watched him go, confused. Issa had mentioned a disagreement with her former tutor and his reluctance to combine the orbs, but he hadn’t given it much thought, not as much thought as it clearly deserved.

  Moments later, the light faded and Issa felt herself solidify—it was the only way she could describe it.

  She didn’t feel Translocation Sickness and she didn’t feel dizzy. Yisufalni’s magic ensured the translocation spell was completely seamless.

  The Ancient’s beautiful face appeared. High cheekbones, slanted oval eyes, slightly elongated head and delicate ears longer than an elf’s. Despite her simple, grey cloak and attire, her regale grace reminded Issa so much of her Aralan ancestors, although she looked far less alien.

  Issa took her out-stretched, six-fingered hands—again reminding her of the Aralans—and looked up into the woman’s eyes. A lot passed between them; sorrow for all the pain and hardship suffered, and a shared feeling of uncertainty as to
what the future would bring them.

  ‘You stayed by our side all this time as the little girl Arla,’ said Issa, humbled. This woman, denied a physical presence on Maioria by Baelthrom’s curse, had fought and found a way to return in the frail, tiny body of a child. Banished forever to the Ethereal Planes and torn apart from the one she loved—the only other living Ancient, cursed and banished too.

  Tears glistened in Yisufalni’s eyes. ‘I had no choice. I could not die and leave Murlonius. I did only what one could. I watched over the races of Maioria for millennia, helping where and when I could—but it was such pitiful help…’

  Issa held up her raven talisman, an object of power that Yisufalni had recovered for her. ‘Without this, I would not be here. I would not have the power to stand against Baelthrom’s horde, and I would not be able to enter the Realm of the Dead.’

  Yisufalni wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and together they walked between the stone chairs to where a circle of six smooth holes indented the stone floor. The place where the orbs were placed.

  Issa paused a moment to take in the stunning view. Evergreen trees mingled amongst deciduous ones whose leaves were now all amber and sprinkling the ground. Clear rivers wound through the valley into the sparkling lake and beyond to the sea. The sky was a rich blue above and the low afternoon sun caressed her face with a little warmth.

  She closed her eyes and breathed, feeling the uncorrupted beauty and freedom of the place. ‘It’s been weeks since I saw blue sky. The torched sky I’ve been living under lets nothing through and the air is stale. But, Yisufalni,’ She opened her eyes, remembering, ‘there are flowers growing on Venosia, I have seen them!’

  The Ancient’s eyes grew wide.

  ‘Look.’ Issa pulled out a piece of tissue from her pocket and unfolded it. Although withered and drying, the tiny ehka still held vivid indigo in its petals.

  ‘Oh my goddess,’ breathed Yisufalni touching the flower. ‘It is true. All things can be healed. Life will return to even the most ravished places.’