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

by Araya Evermore

  Harpies attacked Marakon from behind. Issa leapt forward, and they were locked in battle again. She forced her mind to magic whilst she swung her sword and slipped into the Flow. Her free hand found Illendri.

  ‘White Fire,’ she commanded.

  Magic moved.

  The harpies nearest burst into white fire. They fled screaming into the air, beating their wings and tumbling trying to put out the flames. Again, Issa commanded the fire, forcing more bird-women into the air.

  ‘Shield us!’ she shouted. A shield rose immediately above her and Marakon, giving them time to breath. She closed her eyes and focused on strengthening and lengthening the shield. Soldiers bunched together under it.

  ‘I can’t hold this and fight them at the same time. They’ll find a way through eventually,’ said Issa.

  Harpy magic struck and vibrated off her shield, weakening it.

  ‘We have to run,’ said Marakon.

  Issa scanned the scorched terrain. There was nowhere to hide, not even a rock to sit on. ‘I’ll bet there are dark dwarf tunnels right under our feet but hidden by magic.’

  ‘Aye, the Missy is right.’ A dwarf with fierce eyes and a thick black beard knotted with silver rune beads pushed towards them. ‘There’ll be those bastards’ tunnels aplenty.’

  ‘How can we find them?’ asked Marakon.

  The dwarf set down his axe, reached into his pocket and took out a palm-sized, oblong wooden box. He flipped open the lid and inside were two small compasses. One dial was red with black runic lettering and a black hand. Issa’s skin crawled just looking at it. The other dial gleamed copper and had dwarven runes etched into it.

  ‘The black hand points always to the Mountains of Maphrax,’ said the dwarf. ‘Don’t look too closely at its runes. The other points true north. It is the black hand that will lead us to a dark dwarf tunnel. When we pass their filthy magic it will glow red like the fires of Maphrax.’

  A harpy breached the shield with a screech. Magic flared. Soldiers leapt and struck her down.

  Issa turned her attention back to the Flow. She tried to strengthen her shield, but it had weakened in too many places. ‘I can’t hold it,’ she gasped.

  Marakon grabbed her arm and ran. She stumbled along after Eiretonne who held his strange compass before him.

  ‘There, maybe five hundred yards ahead,’ shouted the dwarf, pointing.

  Issa squinted into the distance but could see nothing of interest. The harpies began dive-bombing the soldiers.

  ‘We’re not going to make it,’ Marakon panted, echoing her very same thoughts.

  ‘White Fire. Wave,’ Issa commanded. A sheet of fire blasted over their heads. Harpies screamed but she didn’t pause to look. Harpies in their hundreds swept overhead, moving in a huge cloud.

  Staring up, Issa slowed. Her sweaty palms made gripping her sword difficult. The bird-women screeched as one, a sound so deafening, all sense was driven from her mind. She was aware of dropping to her knees, her sword clattering on the ground and her hands clasping over her ears. The noise drove deeper into her skull. She couldn’t even think to cast a spell.

  The harpies closed in. Issa tried to take her hand from her ears to pick up her sword, but her whole body was frozen by harpy magic.

  Something whizzed over her head and speared a harpy knocking her from the sky. Another spear followed the first, moving too fast to see clearly but it looked colourful. A spear with green feathers on the end, Issa realised.

  Scores of spears exploded into the air, casting a shadow beneath them. Harpies screeched and fell as each spear found its target with deadly precision. The flock panicked and scattered.

  The magic that had bound Issa vanished. She grabbed her sword and stood, only to flinch as hundreds of Saurians bounded past her. They pulled their spears from the downed and writhing bird women and aimed them once more.

  A light-skinned Saurian paused to regard her, she thought it was Ata, then he bounded along with the others.

  The flock of harpies drew back, lifting out of range of the spears, and many fled. One harpy screamed orders, circling high above them and out of reach, but she was unable to form any control over the panicked flock.

  Issa stared at her. Was that a blood stone amulet on her chest? Was she the Queen, Dereever?

  Perhaps the harpy could hear her thoughts and stopped her screeching. For a moment Issa was certain she locked eyes onto her. In her mind she pictured herself from above and saw herself staring up, pale-faced and dressed in shining black armour. A spear hurtled upwards, but it bounced off the harpy’s shield. With a howling cry, the harpy lifted higher and left.

  ‘They’ll be back,’ said Marakon, wiping the blood off his sword with earth. ‘The vengeful witches will probably return with their entire race.’

  ‘The Queen must be killed to stop them. She follows Baelthrom’s orders,’ said Issa, wiping the sweat from her brow. She turned her gaze from the sky to the approaching Saurians. At least fifty warriors trotted towards her, all armed with spears and knives decorated with red and green battle feathers.

  Marakon raised his sword, and his soldiers readied their weapons.

  Issa grabbed his arm. ‘It’s all right.’

  The commander scrutinised her then lowered his sword. ‘Stand down!’ he shouted to his soldiers.

  Issa stepped towards the Saurians. ‘Ekem? Ata?’ she asked the two closest as they slowed.

  They nodded once, their long red tongues flicking in and out.

  ‘We’re indebted to you.’ She bowed. She wanted to reach out and shake their hands but was unsure of Saurian manners.

  ‘Yes, we’re indebted to you,’ Marakon echoed her, uncertainty in his voice. Nobody here had ever dealt with the lizard-folk, or probably even seen a Saurian, she was the only one with some experience. The Saurian warriors were bunched together, and though their weapons were lowered and their faces completely unreadable, she sensed extreme wariness. Humans and Saurians weren’t friends, so she would have to take on the responsibility of being the intermediator.

  ‘How did you find us and get here so quickly? Asaph and I, we flew for hundreds of miles.’ She tried to fathom how many leagues they might have flown and gave up.

  ‘We do not give up our secrets easily,’ said Ata. ‘Let us say only that the veils between realms are thin in our lands, and Saurians may pass where the fae tread.’

  Issa was intrigued. They had passed through the veil to their sacred graveyard, perhaps it was like that? She wanted to know more but felt it would be rude to press them.

  ‘War is coming,’ said Ekem.

  ‘And we’re ready,’ said Ata. ‘When we saw the harpies fly in great numbers, we knew the end times had begun. Our most hated enemy will leave their nests in the final days.’

  ‘It is as our prophecy has foretold,’ said Ekem. He bowed his head reverently. ‘Our Great Oracle sent us to follow them. We are the First Warriors and we’re proud of this honour. If we don’t return to Hallanstaryx, more warriors will come. The Second Warriors, then a Third and a Fourth until none of us remain. It is a great honour.’

  ‘You will fight and die until none remain?’ Issa raised her brow.

  ‘It is as the prophecy has foretold. If we do not, there will be nothing left to live for,’ said Ata simply.

  ‘Well, we’re not all going to die right here and now,’ huffed Eiretonne. The dwarf had been fidgeting throughout the whole exchange. He winked at Issa. ‘Right there by that pile of rocks is a tunnel. I say we get in there before those winged witches—or worse—deliver our end times before the battle’s even begun.’

  Asaph sped towards the Dromoorai.

  There were three flying side by side, he could see their raised claymores and gleaming red Shadow Stones. Was Issa safe? He glanced behind and a strange sight greeted him. Streaming out of an invisible vertical wall were dozens of Saurians armed with knives and spears. The wall rippled like water as they leapt through it and hurled their spear with shocking
power and accuracy at the harpies.

  A Dread Dragon roared, the noise sweeping a chill through his body. He forgot about the others and turned left sharply. The Dromoorai followed, all three of them, they weren’t interested in Issa below. Perhaps Baelthrom hadn’t spotted her through their Shadow Stones yet. Instead, he had their deadly, undivided attention. He had to lead them away.

  The Under Flow moved, he saw it as a shimmering black net in the Flow. He banked right and blasted the net with magic and fire, disintegrating it. Already the Dromoorai were creating another.

  ‘The last will soon be one of us.’ A Dromoorai spoke in a voice low and howling like the wind. Its eyes shone blood red, its face forever hidden behind black metal.

  Asaph tried to imagine what they might look like without armour and shivered. He turned due west away and flew fast. The Dromoorai pursued.

  Now then, my brethren, how would you like to go for a long, fast flight? Asaph grinned, bared his fangs, and roared long. He filled himself with the Flow, beat his wings hard, and watched the ground and sky become a blur of browns and reds.

  The dark dwarf tunnel turned even darker when Shelley closed the entrance.

  The initial feeling of safety from aerial attack was soon replaced with fear of the all-enveloping darkness. Issa gripped her talisman and Ehka huddled closer to her neck.

  ‘Light,’ she commanded. Soft indigo light lit up the tunnel ahead.

  Shelley created a ball of golden light above her. The tunnel was rough-hewn but high enough to stand up in. And wide enough for Maphraxies to walk two abreast, thought Issa, grimacing. Now she was inside all she wanted to do was get out. The place, the energy, crawled across her skin, and breathed damp and foul upon her neck.

  The soldiers and knights stood there for a long time, all expecting hordes of dark dwarves, Maphraxies and death hounds to attack. Nothing emerged from the darkness except the darkness itself.

  ‘With our armies approaching, the enemy will be preparing above ground,’ said Marakon, inching forwards, sword raised. ‘One can hope, at least. Let’s rest a short time. There are some rations and a little water left, but not much.’

  Issa looked at his bloodied face and nodded. At least the blood had dried.

  The Saurians, fresh to battle and keen for more, lit their strange thin braziers and scouted the tunnel whilst the soldiers took rations from their packs and sat down on the hard ground. Those not eating tended each other’s wounds. Issa dampened a cloth with a water flagon and set about cleaning Marakon’s wounds.

  ‘It’s not deep, but harpy talons leave infections and all sorts of awful magic,’ said Issa inspecting the bloody gash on his head. Using the Flow, she cleansed the wound.

  He touched her arm when she was done. ‘Thank you, and by the goddess, am I glad to see you.’

  Issa grinned. ‘What took you so long? We thought you’d died in the demon tunnels.’

  ‘The demon tunnels…’ Marakon sighed. ‘Don’t even ask.’ He removed Velistor from its sheathe on his back and slumped against the wall. Bokaard, sitting to his left, passed the commander a small flask. Marakon took a swig. From the grimace on his face Issa decided it wasn’t water.

  ‘Dwarven spirits,’ said Marakon approvingly and passed it to her.

  She hesitantly took a drink. Burning sweet and sour liquid filled her mouth and warmed her throat as Marakon spoke.

  ‘The spear led us as close as it could. Perhaps there are other tunnels, but we couldn’t find them. We ran into trouble when we crossed a dark dwarven tunnel and what appeared to be a Karalanth passage.’ She listened as he told her everything that had happened since he’d first entered the demon tunnels.

  ‘There must be other tunnels, one that exits on West Venosia,’ said Issa, thinking. She wished she had a better understanding of how Velistor worked.

  Marakon shrugged. ‘Perhaps they are closed or no longer working. I followed the spear with clear intention. If I were a Karalanth fleeing, I’d close every damn tunnel behind me, so nothing could follow. Anyway, how long has it been? What has happened?’

  Issa’s eyes shone. ‘We’ve taken West Venosia.’

  She told him about their successful invasion and watched his face light up. The other soldiers came closer as she spoke, pain and anger dancing across their faces when she told them about the lost orb and destroyed Wizards’ Circle.

  ‘The army is marching to Diredrull this very moment. It’s massive, Marakon. Feylint Halanoi, Karalanths, Elves—hundreds of companies, warriors and mercenaries from all over the Known World. It has begun. Diredrull will fall and become again Tarvalastone.’

  Marakon smoothed back his hair and took a breath, letting it all sink in. ‘Lans Himay invaded, Domenon a dragon, Drumblodd and an orb gone, all nations drawing together to take back what is ours. I want to be there this moment, not in another underground hellhole. I’ll be thankful if I never go in another tunnel again.’

  Issa nodded, feeling the same.

  ‘Wait a moment, Commander,’ said Eiretonne. ‘There’s something on our side few will realise. These tunnels go right into the belly of Diredrull. It’s too dangerous to join them overland, harpies and Dromoorai will attack us. But we can attack from within whilst our armies attack from without. Weakening it from the centre, perhaps?’ The dwarf chuckled.

  Marakon’s eye gleamed. ‘By the goddess, you’re right. Let’s hope we can reach the heart before our rations run out, we must move quickly. But what about Yisufalni, what about Murlonius?’

  Issa dropped her gaze, worry for her friend knotting her stomach. She opened her mouth to speak, but an inhuman roar and clash of metal tore through the air. Soldiers grabbed their weapons, and a group of Saurians bounded towards them, their powerful thighs rippling and claws scraping on the stone.

  ‘We’ve found battle,’ hissed one, struggling with the human language. ‘Dark dwarves, necromancers—scores of them.’

  Issa couldn’t be sure, but it looked like glee in his bright yellow eyes. She glanced at Marakon, but the high commander was already pushing forwards, a keen, deadly look in his eye.

  Issa ran after him and the Saurians, with Eiretonne and Bokaard hot on her heels. The sound of metal clanging against metal and the screams of battle grew louder.

  Asaph lost the Dromoorai quickly.

  Arcing high, he shot into the thin layers of the atmosphere, then curved downward. He did not intend to avoid fighting the Dromoorai for long. Everything was a blur of red clouds, even this high up. It wasn’t natural, even the wind felt muggy and clung to his scales.

  He slowed. The land came into focus. Ahead, the lone mountain stood, with Diredrull clinging to it like a predator trying to down a proud and mighty beast. Before it marched tiny specks in perfectly ordered columns, the armies of the Free Peoples.

  He panned around, hunting for his pursuers but they weren’t there, which was more worrying. They must still be hunting him in the clouds, so he circled back and scouted the area where Issa had been. There was no sign of her, Marakon’s knights or the Saurians or harpies. There were no bodies, so they must have escaped. She would be safe with Marakon and the Saurians, he convinced himself.

  He turned, almost lazily, and headed back towards the armies. Circling above them, he kept up his cloaking magic to avoid spreading dragon fear unduly. He could smell their anxiety and excitement, it was infectious. Not long now before they reached the city.

  The dark walls of Diredrull stood impossibly tall and impenetrable. Along its ramparts and ugly tower blocks, Asaph’s keen sight made out thousands of Maphraxies and dark dwarves jostling. Their black armour gleamed in the dull red light, iron blades raised and shaking defiantly above them.

  He swallowed a lump. Never had he seen so many of the bastards in one place. He realised how little he knew of armies and of warfare, of sieges and scaling great walls, of fighting in close quarters as the screams of a thousand friends and enemies assaulted the senses.

  There would be necromancers
, hidden. He would seek out and destroy them first, like he had at Avernayis. There would be death hounds too, and the Dromoorai would soon catch up with him.

  He swallowed again. With a glance at the people below, he looked for hope. Look at them, their shining armour. These are seasoned soldiers, warriors and fighters—Maioria’s strongest and finest. They know what they’re doing.

  He wondered for the third time if he should fly north and rally the dragons. But it was far too late, and once again a strong feeling told him this was not their fight. This is our fight, for dwarves, Elves, Karalanths and humans. The dragons are waiting for Drax. They need their strength.

  He spied a tight pack of Karalanths on the southernmost flank of the marching companies. There were at least a thousand warriors. He dipped lower and spotted Cusap’anth in the lead with Rhul’ynth and Grast’anth.

  ‘Greetings, friend,’ he spoke with his mind to the Karalanth leader.

  Cusap’anth paused and looked up. ‘Asaph?’

  ‘Yes. There are Dread Dragons coming. I’ll focus on them and the necromancers.’

  ‘Where is the Raven Queen?’

  ‘She’s safe with Marakon and the Saurians. As safe as can be.’

  ‘Saurians? Is that possible? Incredible.’

  A mighty horn rang out. The armies slowed and halted before the black walls of Diredrull. All turned still and silent. The bright pennants of each company billowed proudly in the wind. Horses, nervous with excitement, flicked their heads and stamped their hooves. The Free Peoples stood before their foe, eyeing up the enemy. Even the enemy stopped their guttural hollering.

  Asaph scanned the walls, looking for weakness and finding none. He glimpsed the flash of a pale white hand and a face half concealed by a hood in one of the foremost turrets, then it was gone. He looked into the Flow. There, concealed by magic, stood five necromancers. They pushed back their hoods and lifted their hands. Powerful black magic washed into the Flow.