‘Issa.’
The voice shook the air and she stumbled in mid-flight. The dark rift above filled her vision, a black tear in the darkening sky that the grey clouds could no longer hide. She beat her wings harder, lifting higher into the air, and looked to the horizon. In the distance, barely visible, flew a golden dragon and two black ones beyond it. There is hope!
‘Hameka!’ she screamed with her mind.
Where was the worm hiding? Issa ordered the weak and unwilling Flow forwards. It flickered over the ground below, hunting for the one she had named. It flared upon a cross-section of walkways connecting the ramparts to the castle. She darted towards it, the spell already forming on her lips ready for when she landed.
A long mournful caw echoed across the mountains, and white wings glanced across her inner version. But Velonorian is gone, so why do I still see the white raven? She had no time to ponder, Hameka appeared, just where he had been moments before, his hand already raised with his strange device, from which a strange clicking sound came. He must have cloaked himself! she thought as Ehka shot towards him. The man lowered his arm, not taking his eyes off her, had he decided not to shoot her?
She didn’t see this dart, perhaps her soul spared her. It ripped through her right shoulder, barely missing arteries, scraped several bones, then passed out the other side in a spray of black feathers. For a brief moment she felt relief, she would live through this, the wound was not mortal, and then she felt the trace of what had been on the dart just before the pain hit.
Not poison! Every cell in her body cried out and trembled, and her soul shrivelled. Her squawk turned into a cry as her raven form left her, forced from her through no will of her own. Icy cold radiated through her body and she tumbled out of the sky.
Not poison, something much worse. The white raven was always meant for me.
Issa hit the hard, snowy ground at the base of the castle well behind enemy lines. Her body convulsed. She had broken no bones in the fall, but her body would not respond, she was paralysed. It convulsed again. Hameka leant over the rampart to look down at her, the barest smile touching his emotionless face.
‘Issa,’ the voice whispered, so close, it sounded like it was right next to her. Beyond it she heard the sounds of the Dark Rift, the contorted howls, the twisting metal, the strange words that made sense only to a lost mind.
The Sirin Derenax forced its way into her veins, rapidly spreading throughout her body, carried by her traitorous blood into her heart, her lungs, her brain. It was a small amount, the dart could not carry much, but it was enough. Her body convulsed again, and the freezing pain spread. She arched her back, a strangled scream clawing up her throat and out of her mouth.
Maphraxies crowded over her view. She surprised herself, fury found her even then. Illendri tightened her grip around it, and through its will, she smashed it up into one of their ugly faces, and watched its head disappear in a spray of black goblets. The Maphraxie beside it roared, lifted a huge iron boot and stamped down onto her sword arm. Ely’s bracelet at first resisted the boot, then it shattered, followed by the bones of her wrist. More pain added to her agony and she screamed.
Illendri flared madly. Protect the orb! She was about to speak the spell but another Maphraxie pounded a fist into her face. Blood sprayed, this time her own.
The world shook and she felt a strange whooshing sensation. In the next instance she was looking down at her body from above. She saw herself utterly surrounded by Maphraxies with Hameka commanding them from above.
Her body was polluted, she could see blackness infecting every cell, pulsing in every vein. The wrist was broken, blood poured freely from it, and Ely’s bracelet was shattered around her bloodied hand—not that it could heal this curse within her.
She looked up. The mountains were beautiful, patches of orange sunset broke through the clouds and touched their snow-covered peaks and valleys. She could go now, she could leave and never live through whatever might become of her and all that they would do to her.
In the distance a golden dragon roared, reaching for her.
She glanced down at her body. A symbol snaked upon the ground beneath her, luminous green upon the snow. Smoke billowed from it.
She felt a strong pull and suddenly she was rushing back towards her body. She fell into it hard, only to find herself plummeting further. Darkness and green smoke engulfed everything, then she slammed into something solid and it was agony that made her consciousness leave.
36
Knights Falling
Asaph slowed enough to let the first Dread Dragon get close.
Its fire singed the tip of his tail and in response he dropped dangerously close to the ragged edge of the mountain where one twitch of his wings could catch the rocks and send him catapulting.
The Dread Dragon closed in, its fearlessness and skill impressive. Skill from when it was a Dragon Lord, he thought, and dead things don’t feel fear.
The next ridge loomed. He darted over it, the snout of the dragon behind him almost touching his tail. Asaph pretended to falter, clumsily losing his grip on the air. The Dread Dragon bore down on his rump, mouth open and roaring.
Asaph pulled in one wing, virtually closing it and turned violently right. The immense force on his open wing tore at his muscles, spraining them painfully. The wound in his shoulder ached and wind wailed around him.
There was a loud thump from behind and a crack that shook the mountain. Asaph glanced back to see the Dread Dragon sliding flaccidly down the mountain, its neck broken and its Dromoorai flailing on its back. The other Dread Dragon dropped back, watching its fallen comrade as it tumbled into the ravine.
One day, some explorer will find a Dromoorai encased in ice. Asaph found the thought amusing. He considered turning on the other dragon, he could take it on now the other was dead, but as he flew over the next ridge he faltered. On a wide snowy slope stood another Dromoorai beside its Dread Dragon and alongside them, a sight that sickened him. Laid out before them was the destroyed and gutted remains of a green dragon. Blood soaked the mountain for yards around the carcass and a blood river trickled over the edge.
Asaph roared. Dromoorai feed upon their own kind! But they were not his kind, he reminded himself. I’ll destroy every last one of them!
Fury blotted out all reason as a dragon’s rage was meant to do. He dropped out of the sky, intending to land upon the Dread Dragon’s back, but the well-rested and well-fed dragon was quick. It lifted its bloody maw, roared and moved with lightning speed to attack. The two dragons smashed into each other.
The dragon’s power and strength swiftly reminded Asaph he’d been fighting for more than a day. He hadn’t slept, and he hadn’t eaten. Quickly, his attacks turned into evasive manoeuvres, and all he could do was keep away from those massive snapping jaws. Its Dromoorai rider and the other Dread Dragon were closing in, too.
Blasting magic and fire, he drove it back and, rather than attack, he turned and leapt off the ridge. He dropped low and found a strong wind to lift him up. He sent his mind out, searching for other dragons to help him, but he found their minds far away and scattered. They did not respond, they were busy. How many had fallen like the green behind him? Was this to be the end of dragons? No, it must not be!
Asaph tried to use magic to fly faster, but it required an immense use of the Flow and he simply didn’t have the strength.
A cry cut through the ethers, not the cry of a dragon, but a human. It took him a moment to realise he’d heard it in his head, in the Flow, not with his ears.
Dear Feygriene, Issa!
He turned back towards Draxa, forgetting the Dromoorai. The Grey Lords loomed, their sides so steep even snow had trouble clinging to them, leaving them a patchwork cloak of white and grey. As they passed beneath him, Draxa loomed in the shards of an orange sunset.
A dark beam of energy flooded from the ether directly onto the castle. He looked into the Flow and saw the Under Flow pouring from the sky, streaming from th
e dark rift. Baelthrom, it had to be. Beneath that unholy beam, white light pushed back. Even from this distance he could feel the two energies straining against each other, a battle between magic.
As he neared, he saw the white light came from within the castle and focused on its signature. The magic was wholly female, and it had no particular elemental feel, meaning it used earth, fire, water, and air in equal measure. Seer magic, he recognised it now, but there was no ether, there was no prime force. Issa was not a part of that magic, so where was she?
‘Where are you? I can feel you!’ he sent his thoughts out, sparing a glance behind to see the tireless Dread Dragons had not given up. ‘Reach for me, Issa!’
He heard her scream in his mind, the flame ring she wore burst into fire in the Flow, calling to him. An explosion rocked the air and the Flow shuddered violently. Asaph struggled to see what was happening. The Under Flow built in pressure, but the seer magic increased to match it, and both flared as the Flow strained, it was exhausting just to observe it.
Green light flashed, and he felt strange dark magic move—not black like the Under Flow, this was different, natural but touched by evil and not of Maioria. Demon magic, his dragon memories told him, it rippled swiftly outwards from its centre and then vanished, along with the flame ring and Issa. Asaph paused in the air, blinking. Where had she gone?
‘Issa!’
Marakon hurtled after the fleeing priest, leaping up the stairs, uncaring if Eiretonne and Bokaard were right behind or if he had run ahead alone. Asaph had told him everything he needed to know about the New Order Priests. He didn’t care that they might still be human – any blood drinker or murderer of children deserved to die.
The closed door halted the priest momentarily as he fumbled for the handle. Marakon leapt upon him, seeing the terror in the man’s eyes as he brought his sword down. He shielded himself from empathy and remorse and ran the man through.
‘I gave you mercy with a quick death,’ he said between clenched teeth as the dead priest slid down the door. ‘It’s more than you deserve.’
He kicked the door open and paused. Bokaard slammed into his back then Eiretonne slammed into Bokaard. They all staggered into the room and stared.
The entire room was filled with a humming and thronging pillar of bright white light. The pillar rotated in both directions and figures stood within it, barely visible in the glare. The pillar extended up into the ceiling and seemingly beyond. Where it touched the ceiling, black light flared.
‘I’m no magic wielder, but I can see this,’ Marakon whispered, too awe-filled to break the silence.
‘An epic struggle ensues,’ said Eiretonne, gripping his axe before him and staring up at the black light.
The black and white light flared and crackled against each other. The black light grew, pushing the white light down, the white light flared and pushed it back. Again and again this happened.
‘It’s coming lower each time,’ Marakon noted of the black light.
‘Seer magic is strong, it will fight,’ said Bokaard.
‘The stories of old are true,’ said Eiretonne. ‘These are the end times.’
‘Get the wizards,’ commanded Marakon, stepping further into the room but keeping his distance from the pillar.
‘They’re exhausted, Marakon,’ Eiretonne replied, who was his friend more than his soldier. ‘Shelley can no longer stand and Haelgon sleeps whilst he’s being carried. Luren? He can’t stop shaking.’
‘Get the wizards!’ Marakon shouted, his eye locked onto that slowly descending black light.
All three wizards were brought into the room. Haelgon’s eyes flickered open and he stared at the pillar, then the others did the same. All the wizards’ eyes were luminous and otherworldly, and Marakon had trouble looking at them.
‘The Trinity!’ Haelgon gasped and got off his stretcher. The three wizards stood and stared at the pillar of light.
‘You must help them,’ said Marakon. ‘Look at the black light. The Under Flow will break us all.’
As he stood before the pillar of light, Marakon knew his use here was over so he shuffled out of the room. Now it was up to the wizards. He considered hunting for enemy to kill when the unmistakable roar of a bear rattled the broken window.
He ran to it, smashed through the remaining glass with his armoured fist and peered out, trying to make out who was who in the war that raged outside. The entire city was a battlefield, everything was levelled, and bodies littered every bare patch of ground. Given the utter destruction, he wondered if the place was worth saving. His eyes lingered on a fallen brown bear, a terrible wound gaping in its side. He quickly scanned the field. There were other bear riders, alive and dead, but none of them were Jarlain.
It was to the black lightning and shadows materialising out of the ether that his gaze locked on. He held his breath as the two Knights of Maphrax formed. Knights of Maphrax…My knights!
Soldiers fell writhing before them, their eyes rolling back in their heads and their faces turning ashen. The shadow horses, once shining white steeds, were now beasts made of horns and ugliness. Their riders, once noble knights, now lost forever to the oblivion from which they were made.
Hally, Drenden, Konnen…The pain in his chest was physical. He clutched the windowsill, the world rocking violently, the sting of unsurmountable sorrow. There was no warning, just a flaring arrow wobbling wildly as it streaked from the rubble towards the knights, followed by a flash of light, then an explosion that blasted him back against the wall. Stunned, he rolled and crawled his way back to the window.
The light faded and a Knight of Maphrax turned to crumbling, smoking rubble. The emboldened Feylint Halanoi rushed forward cheering and Maphraxies ran to meet them. One knight still stood; still powerful. It lifted a smoking hand and with a simple movement, soldiers fell to the ground screaming for the death hounds to leap upon.
Velistor hummed on his back, making its presence known, reminding him of his duty. Sheathing his sword he reached up and pulled the spear free.
In the hallway behind him echoed the howls of Maphraxies and the yelping of death hounds. They were coming. He caught Eiretonne’s gaze.
‘Do what you need to do, we’ll cover your back,’ the dwarf said, then turned and ran. ‘Bokaard! Maphraxies! Let’s go!’
Marakon gave a grim smile and looked back to the last knight of his cursed legion. The Knight of Maphrax raised its arms and swept its sword wide, the movement hurling soldiers high into the air.
Hefting Velistor onto his shoulder and stepping away from the window, Marakon prayed to Zanufey to make his aim straight. Bracing himself, he ran, a scream tearing from his lips. He reached the window and hurled the spear with all his weight. It was a long way between him and the Knight of Maphrax, impossibly far.
Staggering against the window frame he could barely watch the spear fly. It wobbled under the forces, shooting over the heads of Maphraxies, then straightened, keen on its target. Marakon stared, his mouth hanging open as it thudded straight into the last Knight of Maphrax.
There was a brief pause and then an explosion shook the world. Rock and shadow flew into the air, and Marakon squinted through the smoke. Cheering erupted from the Feylint Halanoi, and Marakon sagged against the wall, laughing. ‘It is done,’ he sighed.
‘The wizards are here, beloved Iyena,’ said Dar, joy in her voice.
‘Then the transition can begin, blessed Dar,’ said Iyena, hearing and feeling the other seer’s thoughts and words as her own. They were the Trinity, and now they had become one.
‘No sadness, my bright ones,’ said Suli.
The three seers allowed the light to fill their bodies completely, they would not be needing them beyond the mortal planes, and assigned themselves to their last task—to hold the pure light for as long as they could. There was no sadness, only joy, the promise of freedom, and the satisfied knowledge of a task finally completed.
Only Naksu, who was outside of the Trinity, emanated imm
ense sadness. ‘Is there no other way? I can bring you back. For a short time, I can be the portal to Maioria. If you go, the Age of Seers will have ended.’
‘Do not weep, beloved Naksu,’ Iyena’s beautiful voice caressed her, angelic in its tone. ‘This is as we have foreseen. Now the time has come. The seers upon Maioria have outgrown their purpose and now reach for that which is higher. They will, in time, become something far greater than we ever were. Do not be sad to let go of those things you have outgrown. Maioria is moving upwards, so all things must follow her too, but first we must all rid ourselves of the darkness.’
Wizard magic suddenly moved into the light, surrounding them in effervescent silvers, purples, yellows and greens—a beautiful rainbow swirling into their white pillar. The seers sighed, a sound filled with absolute relief and absolute joy. Naksu could feel a little of what they experienced—something broken combining, a missing part found, completion of the ultimate, and in its wholeness, greater power forming.
‘Our magic is whole once more,’ breathed the Trinity. ‘Feel it, Naksu, feel the combining of our power, it is wondrous.’
The power grew exponentially as the two magics combined, faster and faster. The black energy above them trembled and was shoved back. It resisted and then the light exploded.
Naksu felt power move through every particle of her body, rushing around and through her. The Under Flow disappeared. There was nothing but the light, within her and without, rushing and flaring and exhilarating.
The beautiful light and all the power it contained, faded. The seers were gone, and all the light and power she had felt dissipated. They had given their lives to push back Baelthrom one last time. Naksu’s senses returned and her physical body became heavy and dense as a deep exhaustion she had never really known dragged her down.
War of the Raven Queen: The Goddess Prophecies Fantasy Series Book 6 Page 40
