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

by Araya Evermore

  She turned her gaze from the elves and looked at the Karalanths walking behind them. At the front she was sure she could see Rhul’ynth, and maybe that was Cusap’anth beside her. Was Grast’anth with them? She had not seen her old sword master for a long time. Dear Zanufey, I hope we meet again when this bloody battle is over.

  Her eyes travelled over the armies of Atalanph and then Davono, noting their distinctive tabards and fearsome looks. Picking up the rear with their war drums marched the barbarians of Lans Himay, who wore no helmets or metal armour. These tall, heavily muscled warriors, were swathed in fur and leathers and armed with any blade or blunt weapon they preferred—and lots of them.

  She trailed her eyes back and forth over the thousands of soldiers; so many armies combined into one force and from this day forth they would fight as one. They were a vast army to her eyes, seemingly unstoppable, but how could any army defeat a rift in the sky? She swallowed hard.

  Wizards marched amongst them, she even spotted the purple robes of one of the Circle, but it wasn’t Freydel. He was not here when his people needed him the most. She no longer felt anger towards the wizard, to the teacher who had abandoned her. Instead, she saw the old broken man cowering in a cave.

  She lifted her gaze to the top of the ravine where two red dragons perched, on lookout duty. Rust and Garna were tasked with guarding the ravine as they marched through it. This road—the only passable route to Maphrax—was ripe for an ambush. More dragons circled the skies.

  ‘The Dread Dragons have retreated,’ said Asaph, bringing Ironclad alongside her.

  His mount tossed her head, sensing what was to come. Asaph stared hard towards Maphrax. The three ugly peaks reared less than two miles away, and they were enormous, dominating the landscape. Issa refused to be intimidated by them. They will fall, they will fall, she said to herself, over and again.

  ‘For days, the cursed Dromoorai have harried us, trying to wear us down, but they have not stopped us.’ Asaph gave a hard grin.

  Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as Issa considered the monumental events taking place, of what was expected of her, expected of them all. It seemed impossible. Seemed.

  ‘Let’s join the others, companionship and camaraderie are the things we need most right now,’ Asaph said. He must have noted her pensive expression for he reached over and squeezed her arm.

  She smiled, allowing the tension to ease, then jumped when a roar came from directly above, making their horses whinny and rear. Issa gripped Duskar’s mane and tried to calm him as Ironclad bucked and Asaph cursed. The ground shook as a young green dragon landed several yards away. The dragon was smaller than the others but still enormous at this distance. It opened and closed its mouth and seemed to be grinning – if dragons could grin.

  There was something on its back and Issa gasped. ‘Can it be…Is that a…?’

  ‘A dragon harness? Yes,’ Asaph finished for her as he grappled with sword and rein.

  An intoxicating laugh boomed, and a man stood up on the dragon’s back, gripping the harness. His shoulder-length white hair was kept out of his face with a headband. His thick beard came to his chest and his face was wrinkled yet his body was well muscled. He looked to be at least sixty years old, and she could definitely add ten or twenty years to that for the longer-lived Draxians. He wore a very beaten Draxian helmet, ragged Dragon Legion tabard and leather jerkin, and leather trousers.

  He pulled off his helmet and whirled it around his head. ‘I got one, look!’ he shouted.

  ‘Goodness me, a Dragon Rider of old!’ Issa said incredulously.

  She managed to calm Duskar enough to get him to walk forward. Asaph forced Ironclad closer by shouting at her and jerking his body. The horse stepped slowly, determined not to be ruled.

  ‘You managed to convince her?’ Asaph said to the man when they neared, indicating the dragon and gawping.

  ‘Over Draxa, you two made it look like so much fun,’ said the female dragon, answering the question for the man on her back. ‘A Dragon Lord and a Dragon Rider hold their own inspiration, though most pure bloods might not agree. But anyway, I can always take a dip in the sea should I tire of his company.’ The dragon gave a smoky snort.

  Asaph laughed and looked from the dragon back to the man. ‘You’re a Dragon Rider, one of the original?’

  The man nodded, grinning from ear to ear. ‘I was barely a man when Coronos led the Dragon Legion just before he retired. I never thought I would fly again, but ahhh, the majesty, the wonder! When Drax is rebuilt, we’ll live the glory days of old once more.’

  The man’s joy was catching, and Issa dared to imagine Drax restored to its former glory, of even Tusarza beautiful once more.

  ‘Now one dragon has accepted a rider, others will too,’ Asaph said, his eyes sparkling. ‘You, Sir, are the First Dragon Rider! The responsibility rests upon you to guard the army and liaise between man and dragon. This, I command you, as your prince.’

  ‘It will be done, Sire, and you command me not as my Prince but as my King! Yeeaaah!’ he yelled, lifting up. The dragon beat her wings, gusting air and sand around them, roared, and rose fast into the air where it joined the others.

  Garna and Rust, having witnessed the whole spectacle on the opposite side of the ravine, roared and lifted to join their sister.

  Asaph laughed and looked at Issa, his face alight. With a whoop he kicked Ironclad into a gallop down the hill and back to the marching army.

  Issa chuckled. She was just urging Duskar after him when something made her pause. Fear, an icy finger down her spine, the movement of the Under Flow to which she was now so attuned.

  ‘Issa,’ a voice called, all other sounds stilling to silence. She turned Duskar around looking for the owner of the voice, it sounded so close.

  There, on the closest part of the opposite ravine where the red dragons had perched, a black cloud swirled and took shape. Issa suddenly felt alone, vulnerable. A pounding began in her head.

  Baelthrom appeared in the same manner as he had ages ago when she’d stood in the burnt-out ruins of her house and knew nothing of the horrors plaguing the world—smoke and darkness turning to form. His lizard legs bulged with muscle and his eyes blazed red. Seconds passed as hours as she stared at her emerging enemy, fighting the fear that threatened to overwhelm her.

  Ehka landed on her shoulder. Her guardian glared at Baelthrom.

  ‘Raven Queen,’ Baelthrom said and gave a low chuckle. ‘You can’t stand against the power of the cosmos. The might of the Dark Rift and all within it cannot be withstood.’

  ‘There are other powers rising—ones over which you have no control,’ Issa growled.

  ‘The Dark Rift grows within you, making you stronger, my gift to you. How else do you think you could survive the fall into Oblivion? You will survive, and then you’ll come to me. You will have to.’

  ‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘It won’t happen as you plan. The will of the people, their power, is stronger than you think. If any of us survive—here or in there—we’ll find you and we will destroy you.’ Rage boiled, almost overpowering her. She trembled, trying to hold it in rather than unleash all her power into the bastard right now. It would be a waste and he could best her easily. She needed the dark moon, and she needed it soon.

  ‘As you wish, Raven Queen. See you on the other side.’ Baelthrom’s form turned to swirling smoke and vanished.

  Issa let out her breath, feeling suddenly faint. She gripped her saddle for a long moment.

  ‘Issy?’ a small voice spoke. Maggot flapped in the air before her. ‘Danger.’

  She straightened. She scanned the area where Baelthrom had been, but he was gone. ‘Yes, there was, but it’s gone now.’

  Worry, fear of failure—she clenched her right fist, the one she now kept gloved to hide its demonic appearance. At least it was strong and fully healed, she thought, maybe even stronger. It was a small price to pay compared to Velonorian. No, do not think of those fallen, think of those s
aved.

  She turned from her reverie and looked at the little demon. ‘Get the demons, Maggot. The time has come.’

  Edarna heaved herself along the craggy path huffing, panting and sweating.

  The old donkey snorted and strained alongside her, and the blue cat padded ahead unburdened, a permanent smile on his face, or, rather, a smirk, so Edarna thought.

  ‘These legs ain’t what they used to be, Mr Dubbins.’ She paused and pulled out a hanky to wipe the sweat from her face.

  ‘Oh my, Mr Dubbins, look at that.’ Her mouth went dry.

  Down in the valley and far into the distance, so far they were just pinpricks, thousands of soldiers gathered before the black peaks of Maphrax.

  ‘No, that’s no place for an old woman. Best left to the younger folk, those wars and things.’

  She didn’t like war or battles much either. Sure, she’d enjoyed creating Issa’s armour, and enjoyed a well-muscled man just like the next, but the whole fighting bit? She’d rather do without it.

  ‘It’s just not me,’ she sighed. ‘I was never a battle witch. I make my potions and work my powers far from the front line.’

  Her eyes travelled further, resting on the horde of Maphraxies amassing at the mountains’ base. Dread Dragons circled above them, their screams faint but audible. A cold shiver shook her body and a heavy feeling settled in her heart.

  ‘Pray to the Great Goddess the armies of the Free Peoples are enough, Goddess bless them. We can only do what we can do, Mr Dubbins.’

  Mr Dubbins meowed, his whiskers flicking as he looked to the Mountains of Maphrax.

  Edarna turned away from the battlefield and focused her attention, and her monocle, on the task at hand. ‘Ah, there’s the trail again,’ she said, noticing a barely visible footprint. ‘And look, man-sized, long and skinny, just like wizardy feet. I can almost smell him; we must be close.’ She rubbed her hands together with a grin.

  Freydel rocked back and forth on his haunches, his hands clasping his head. He was only vaguely aware of the moaning coming from his lips. He was beyond hungry, but a ravenous thirst consumed him. The last trickle of his canister had run dry yesterday morning, or perhaps it was the day before, but he refused to look for water, not when before now he would just have caused it to spurt from the ground.

  No, he would not look for water when it had always been at his command! Now his one love had left him, he would rather die than be without his power. He sat on his haunches because the hard ground hurt his bony hips, and his spine ached when he lay down. There was no point laying down anyway, sleep never came.

  He lived in a hapless world devoid of magic, devoid of anything worth living for. Time may have stopped for all he cared. So he sat, on his haunches in the narrow cave, his own moaning keeping him company as he waited for death, waited for release.

  ‘Now stop that!’

  Thwack!

  Pain smarted his eyes as something small and pokey struck him on the back of his head. Another hallucination come to taunt him! Wouldn’t even his mind leave him alone? Cursed consciousness, when would it end? He moaned all the louder.

  Thwack.

  ‘Yeow!’ he howled as the stick struck again.

  ‘Stop it! Or Wandy gets cross!’

  Freydel stopped rocking and peaked through his fingers at the hallucination—this time it wasn’t a giant frog but a plump old woman. She couldn’t be real, could she? What did it matter if she was?

  ‘Leave me alone, curse you!’ he wailed, glaring at the awful woman whom he vaguely recognised but whose name completely escaped him.

  The wicked woman brandished her stick menacingly. Freydel slowly put “Wandy” and the wand she held, together. ‘Get away from me, foul witch, can’t you see I’m busy?’

  ‘Nobody ever got busy dying,’ she scowled, unimpressed.

  ‘I’m already dead, I just have to get out of this cursed body!’ he screamed, although his parched throat and emaciated body ensured his voice held no commanding authority. Even he realised he sounded like a wheezing old man.

  ‘Now you listen to me, you wizard, there’s more to life than wizardy things. There’s magic in all things if you dare to look for it. The magic has left you, any fool with half an ability can see that, but when one door closes—’

  ‘Another one slams in your face. Now leave me alone!’ he howled.

  ‘Nope!’ she scowled and crossed her arms under her large bosom. ‘You drink this potion I have, and you’ll start seeing sense in no time. There are people out there asking where you are, they need you and you owe it to them to return.’

  She rummaged around in a large pouch tied at her waist and pulled out a thin blue glass vial. She waved it in front of his face. Inside, an insidious grey liquid sloshed. He thought he was going to vomit.

  ‘You’ve got barely a day left in you, now drink it.’ She pulled the cork and shoved it towards him.

  ‘No, let me die here alone!’ he wailed. Only one day to freedom? Oh happy days! He was so close…The moaning came again, this time with anticipation.

  Thwack.

  ‘Ow!’

  Something invisible took hold of his hand, it made him clench his fingers around the bottle and slowly forced it to his lips. He tried to resist but he was so weak a child could have pushed him over. His own body had betrayed him, curse it and curse the goddess for making it!

  His lips were forced open, the bottle tilted and liquid burst into his mouth. He refused to swallow but unseen fingers pinched his nose. Now he couldn’t breathe—he refused to breathe. His throat betrayed him with a gasp, and he spluttered as the foul liquid sloshed down, feeling like his nose and ears were ingesting it also.

  He breathed liquid and air then keeled over retching. Nothing came out, though he wished it would. His desperate, traitorous body clung to whatever had been delivered down his throat. It tasted like mud—no! Excrement—demon excrement. It was ghastly!

  The horrendous, maddening dehydration began to fade. The pounding in his head turned to a slow soothing whooshing and the world softened into colourful hues all around him.

  ‘Ahhhh,’ he sighed as overwhelming relief washed over him.

  Edarna grinned and nodded her head. Without speaking she settled herself beside the wizard and took out her last sandwich. Carefully she set half aside for the wizard for when the potion had worn off. Giving him anything else at this moment would cause all sorts of nasty eruptions from all sorts of orifices. Well, that’s what had happened to her anyway.

  The wizard giggled. ‘I see fairies.’ He lifted a bony finger and pointed at the ceiling. ‘Blue and greens, they float and laugh.’

  Edarna smiled at the old man suddenly turned into a child. Perhaps the wizard might just live. Perhaps the wizard might just put aside wizardy things and learn some of the other magicks of the world.

  Mr Dubbins watched the wizard then turned to Edarna and purred loudly. She grinned at the cat over a mouthful of food, and he winked a large golden eye.

  39

  Oblivion's Reach

  Issa made her way down the winding path to the bottom of the ravine.

  Asaph cantered a hundred yards ahead, and a hundred yards beyond him marched the tail end of the army. The air suddenly rippled and shimmered between her and Asaph, as if someone had dropped a pebble into a pond. It was so subtle, not even Ehka sensed it as he flew the distance between them. There was no rush of either the Under Flow or the Flow, and no prickling feeling on the back of her neck as the black vortex opened up before her.

  Duskar reared to a halt before the swirling black. Issa pulled her sword free. The dull throb of her constant headache now turned into thunder. Time slowed, and her limbs became heavy as an immense weariness weighed down her sword arm.

  The Under Flow hit her full force in the chest, straining ribs, and shuddering through her pounding heart. Duskar staggered beneath her.

  Issa raised her hand to command magic, but the Under Flow rose to do her bidding. She gasped,
horrified as black magic gathered at her fingertips, so strongly she couldn’t even feel the Flow. There was no time to choose, so she whipped her hand and the energy blasting her rebounded back to where it had come from.

  The heavy feeling abated and Duskar recovered.

  Lona appeared in the vortex, her eyes vicious and scowling, and behind her clustered at least twenty of her race. Most of the Yurgha were bald but some had black hair tied up in elaborate styles. They all wore the same strange shimmering black robes, made neither of cloth nor leather.

  Lona lifted her hands. In one, she gripped a black orb. Issa stared at it. It was just the same as Freydel’s Orb of Death. Black and blue lightning flared from it, towards her.

  ‘Shield,’ Issa commanded.

  Again the Under Flow responded, leaching power back to her, away from Lona. It shimmered around her protectively. Lightning snaked over it as she held back Lona’s power. It crackled and hissed, the shield strained, sweat soon trickled down her temples and she began to feel sick. It’s the Under Flow, she thought, her body rebelling against the unnatural forces she unwillingly commanded.

  Lona roared and dropped her hands, the lightning vanished. ‘So, the fool has given you the power of the Dark Rift. This, then, must be done the old way.’

  In her other hand, Lona raised a thin black rod—it looked like a wand but made of crystal or stone, not wood—then turned and motioned her people forwards. The black-eyed Yurgha started walking towards Issa, their faces hard and expressionless as they stepped out of the vortex onto solid ground.

  Issa pulled Duskar back, she could not take on twenty. The black stick hurtled towards her, she didn’t even see Lona throw it. She ducked but it hit her shoulder. Agony ripped through her body, her jaw slammed shut biting her tongue and drawing blood. She fell from Duskar and hit the ground hard.