Niveren raised Asphodel and pointed it at the goddess. To his surprise, she laughed.
“The fate of this world will depend on that blade. It matters not. Either it falls to darkness here and now, or it will be in a century or a millennium. Your mercy will lead to the death of billions. Your children will never be free of it. In the end, the darkness shall consume all.”
The ground shook, and a lightning bolt split the sky as the God of Balance shot down from the heavens to land in the crater. The golden figure faced its dark aspect.
“You have lost the wager, Esperin,” its voice boomed. “My champion has won the day.”
Esperin shrank back in terror. The God of Balance strode towards the Dark Goddess. It reached out and grabbed her. The goddess’s screams pierced the sky as she was forced to re-join the God. The brightness of the golden figure dimmed slightly as it absorbed the Dark Goddess. Finally, the God of Balance had been restored. It faced Niveren.
“Balance is restored,” it said softly.
Niveren knelt before his father, his head bowed.
“The time of gods is over. I will leave this world in the care of man. With their immortality removed they will grow old and die, just as all things must.”
It pointed at Niveren and Danon. “You must decide your brother’s fate, Niveren, for what Esperin said is true, and there must always be a balance. Both of you are different, for you are my creations and, therefore, shall retain your immortality. You shall both epitomise the balance – but for good or ill, that is down to you.”
Niveren looked up at his father’s words. He was about to speak, but the God of Balance looked to the sky and, with a flash of light, departed the world forever. As it left, every living thing on Esperia felt its passing. It felt as though a great weight had been lifted, and that feeling of freedom brought both elation and terror.
Luxon sat in stunned awe at what he had witnessed. Asphodel was the key to stopping Danon, he now understood.
Danon was dragged to his feet, and heavy iron manacles were clamped around his wrists. His army had scattered back down the mountainside. Luxon rose to his feet, and to his surprise noticed that Niveren was looking straight at him. Niveren’s piercing eyes felt familiar. The two watched each other for a few moments, before Niveren nodded his head to him and turned away. A chill went through Luxon. Had he seen him? A portal opened in front of him. He stepped through.
9.
Bison
Dust fell from the stonework of the underground tunnel’s ceiling as another projectile smashed into the city.
The citizens that had chosen to stay were now huddled in the ancient passageways that ran underneath the city’s streets. Normally, the passageways were used to transport goods to the various districts. The underground network of tunnels and open spaces was a relic from the much older Nivonian city that had once stood here.
Thousands of people could stay underneath the earth for weeks at a time; a natural spring provided water, and the granaries were well supplied. Above the petrified people, their city was being bombarded day and night by siege engines and dragonfire. Despite the carnage, the Legion was putting up a fierce resistance; so far, Danon’s forces had been unable to reach the walls. Mighty defences of trebuchets, ballistae and other artillery pulverised any enemy forces that got within range. With winter quickly approaching, it would be the mortal servants in Danon’s army that would suffer most. The Sarpi and N’gist cultists would soon find themselves dangerously exposed to the elements on the vast open Bison plains. When winter struck, it would bring hurricane-force winds and snow drifts several feet deep.
Ricard walked tiredly through the tunnel. His armour was now worn and battered; a new set would need to be provided for him. Ever since the siege had begun, he had been in the thick of it, fighting alongside his men. He’d just returned from the southern wall after another attack had been valiantly fended off. He winced as pain lanced up his side; a Sarpi hammer had almost caved in his ribcage, but luckily his men had saved him.
“I wish you would reconsider going out to the front, My Lord,” Baltar, the baron of Bison said. The tall, thin man looked exhausted.
Ricard waved away the baron’s protests.
“If I do not go to the front, the men will question my courage,” he replied. “Do you propose that you go in my stead, Baron? Because from what I can recall, I have not seen you with a sword in hand since this siege started.”
Ricard increased his pace, forcing Baltar to jog after him to keep up.
“I have been overseeing the civilians, Lord; they need to be fed and watered. They need to see their baron so that they do not lose hope.”
Ricard scoffed at that. “Your men could also do with seeing their baron fighting at their side.”
They rounded a corner and entered a large oval chamber that was being used as a command centre. Maps of the city and the surrounding terrain hung from the walls and a large oak table was covered in a huge cloth map that had figurines placed upon it. Each figure marked the location of a unit of a thousand men, while black markers were used to identify the enemy. Legion officers were hastily scribbling down orders, and messengers were constantly coming and going.
An officer handed Ricard a scroll which he unfurled and read.
“This plan of yours will lead to the ruin of my city, Ricard,” Baltar complained. “The market quarter has been ravaged by dragonfire, and countless other buildings have been destroyed. If the snows come late, then this plan of yours will be for nought. Remember that we shall be trapped here, too.”
Ricard lowered the scroll and tossed it onto the table. He rubbed his eyes; he was growing tired of the baron’s constant complaining.
“Our scouts have reported that another force has landed to the south. They fly the banner of Retbit. It seems as though Danon has summoned Accadus to his side. He knows he must take this city quickly and so has brought his full might against us. I suggest you stop complaining, Baltar, and tell your people to prepare for an all-out assault.”
*
Accadus of Retbit watched his army marching below him. He stood on a small bluff overlooking the plains of Bison. At his side was the sinister figure of the Sarpi commander, Sintinius. Danon had summoned all his followers to the city; he was in a hurry to crush the Legion once and for all. The distant thump of firing siege engines carried on the chill air, and thick black smoke rose into the sky.
“I should be in the East conquering the rest of the kingdom, not here,” Accadus muttered bitterly. “I could have marched on Sunguard unopposed, and yet here I am.” With Balnor conquered, there was little that could stand in his way. Now his army was here, hundreds of miles away.
“You go where the master tells you to,” Sintinius hissed. “Or have you forgotten your oath to him?”
Accadus kicked the ground like a petulant child. “No, I have not. Danon promised me the Sundered Crown and the head of that bastard Luxon. He has delivered neither while me and my men have done all that has been asked of us. If he is so powerful, then why does he need our help?”
Sintinus stepped forward and grabbed Accadus by the throat. With ease, he lifted the panicked baron from the ground and held him high.
“You serve the darkness, boy. The master has given you power beyond your wildest dreams. Shall I assume you to be a traitor?” The Sarpi tightened his grip, and Accadus kicked his legs feebly. His face was turning blue, and his breaths came in strained gasps. “Do as the master commands. Otherwise, I shall gladly kill you myself.”
A deep laugh came from behind them. Sintinius turned his head to see Danon striding towards them. Danon had fully restored himself since his return from the Void. At Eclin, he had been nothing but a skeletal corpse, but years of absorbing the life force of countless victims had made him whole once more.
“My two trusted commanders are getting along I see,” he mocked.
Sintinius released Accadus. The young man fell to his knees gasping for air. Accadus staggered back onto h
is feet and glared at the Sarpi.
“I will get my revenge on you for this, freak,” he spat.
Danon chuckled. “Perhaps, but not now. You are angry at me, Accadus for summoning you and your forces to me. Fear not – the East will remain under pressure; assistance is coming.”
As those words left his mouth, the sky darkened as the silhouette of a massive dragon flew in front of the sun. The flapping of its wings sounded like drum beats as it soared low above them. Its scales were as black as night, and its eyes glowed yellow. It circled overhead before landing. It towered over the three leaders who had to look up to see the behemoth’s head, which had a mouth filled with dagger-like teeth the size of a man.
“You summoned me. I have heeded your call, master,” the dragon said, its voice shaking the very ground.
Danon smiled and faced Accadus and Sintinius. “This is Drakis, the King of Dragons and my servant. He will lead his dragon army east and spread terror across the land. What defenders there are will be thrown into chaos and will be unable to rally. Then, once we have destroyed this troublesome city, you will be free to resume your campaign, Accadus.”
Accadus gulped in awe at the dragon that towered over them all. He tore his eyes from the beast.
“The plan will remain the same, then?”
Danon nodded. “You advance from the east and me from the west. We will meet at Sunguard, cast down that wretched city of Niveren once and for all, and you shall have the crown that was promised to you.”
“What of the mages of Caldaria?” Sintinius asked.
Danon waved a hand dismissively. “My agents have sown so much discord amongst the people and the mages that the magic wielders will have little desire to come to their aid. They will all bend to my will in time. Their power will be added to my N’gist, and then we shall be unstoppable.”
Danon faced Drakis.
“Go and do as I command. Oh, and if you see that traitorous Umbaroth, kill him for me.”
10.
Luxon was in a garden. It was a warm, pleasant evening. He took in his surroundings and recognised the place as the palace at Sunguard. Unlike before, there was no sign of war or chaos. The sound of raucous laughter carried on the breeze. It sounded like a festival of some sort was taking place. He followed the sounds through the garden, which smelt of jasmine and wild flowers.
Rounding a corner, he found himself in a wide open plaza that was lined with statues all exquisitely cast from solid gold. People dressed in fine clothing were chatting with one another, sipping from chalices filled with red wine. In the heart of the plaza, a troupe of musicians were playing a song that Luxon did not recognise.
He walked through the plaza, enjoying the music and the party-like atmosphere, it was a welcome reprieve from the horrors the portals had shown him previously. The way the portals worked made little sense to him. Where he ended up had at first seemed totally random, but now he was beginning to think that someone or something was deliberately guiding him.
His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of a bell that was located atop one of the palace’s high towers. The music stopped, and an excited chatter spread its way through the people.
“It’s time at last! The Empress will make and announcement, and this terrible war will finally be over,” said a nobleman who was talking excitedly to a rather bored-looking high-born lady.
“I do hope so. Anything is better than war, even if we do have to bend the knee to that savage from the west,” the woman replied snootily.
Luxon followed them down a path which led under a wide stone archway and into the palace proper. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling at regular intervals, illuminating a corridor with walls painted in gold leaf. Large mirrors were built into alcoves adding to the sheer sense of size and splendour of the place. At the end of the corridor was a massive set of doors made of solid gold. With a loud click, the doors opened, allowing the nobles to enter into a hall that took Luxon’s breath away.
A long table carved out of Retbit Mahogany dominated the centre of the hall. Around it, men and woman gathered. Some looked like the nobles from the garden while others wore garb that reminded him of the tribespeople of the Great Plains. Set a little way from the table and atop a raised platform were two thrones inlaid with glittering jewels and carved from gold.
A tall, muscular man sat in one and a woman so beautiful that it took Luxon’s breath away sat in the other. She had perfect olive-coloured skin that looked like silk, and long, thick black hair that was tied with ribbon. Her dress was covered with diamonds and sapphires, and upon her head was a crown. Her large green eyes were offset by a small delicate nose and a sensuous mouth.
The man, on the other hand, had long black hair that fell to his shoulders and a set of hard blue eyes. His nose was crooked from where it had obviously been broken numerous times, and a livid scar ran from his chin to his right eye socket. From the clothes that he wore, the man obviously held immense power. His golden cuirass glinted in the light, and his purple knee-high boots were decorated with the shapes of wild beasts. On his fingers were numerous jewelled rings, and on his hip … Luxon had to do a double-take. The sword – it was Asphodel!
The doors to the chamber closed with a loud thud, and the occupants fell silent. The woman stood and held her hands high into the air.
“I welcome all of you. These past few years have been awful for us all, but finally, with the slaying of the traitor Sivion, the N’gist have been defeated. My empire may lie in ruins, but my people are now free of the wizard lords and their corrupted ways. Today we herald in a new age of peace for the world.” She paused and smiled at the man sat next to her. “Beside me is our saviour, the man I love and the man who shall be king. Marcus the Mighty.”
A loud round of applause erupted from the gathered guests. Luxon did not join in with the celebrations. He knew this story. The portals had taken him centuries into the past again, this time to the final day of the Golden Empire. The day when one of the history’s greatest tragedies took place.
It was the day that the legendary lovers, the Empress Theodora and the Great Conqueror Marcus the Mighty were betrayed and murdered. Luxon pushed his way through the crowds and hurried toward the door leading out of the chamber. Before he reached it, however, a crimson-robed figure stepped out of the shadows and barred the door. Panic filled Luxon. He looked at the other doors that led out of the room. Each one was now blocked by a Crimson Blade.
His mind raced, if he remembered his history correctly, then the deadly assassins would wait for a signal. Sure enough, the din of the hall was quieted as a woman wearing the clothing of tribal royalty dinked her crystal glass. The tall, strongly built woman rose from her seat and cast her steely grey eyes over the gathered people.
It’s Princess Yissa, Luxon thought. One of the most reviled characters in history.
If she was speaking, then his chance to flee was quickly fading. All of the books told of how no one survived the butchery that would soon occur.
“Let me congratulate our new rulers,” Yissa began, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “If I recall, Markus, you promised to conquer the Golden Empire for the tribes. A promise that you broke as soon as you set eyes on her.” She stabbed a finger at the Empress. Markus gripped the arms of his throne tightly in anger. “You see, everyone, as soon as he set eyes on her he began his long run of breaking promises. You were promised to me, the princess of the Stormchaser clan!” She was shouting now, her fist banged loudly on the table. “If you can break such an important promise such as marriage, then the other clans and I question whether you will keep your oaths.”
The watching crowd was now whispering amongst itself at the scandal.
Then with a gesture from Yissa, all hell broke loose.
The guardsman stood closest to Theodora dropped his spear, pulled the dagger from his belt and slashed it across the Empress’s throat. The hall was filled with screams as the other Crimson Blades who had been hiding amongst the crowd set t
o work slaughtering the nobility gathered within. Markus tried to draw his sword, but a dagger thrust to his stomach sent him to the ground.
Luxon dived under the nearest table and hid. Bodies were falling all around him, their blood pooling into puddles on the floor, the finely embroidered carpets failing to absorb it. It was all over so fast. Markus dragged himself over to his lover and held her in his arms. Tears streamed down his face. Yissa stood over him, the assassins at her back.
“The Empire has fallen, and its conqueror will shortly join his dead bitch. The Delfin clan has no right to rule. My father will rule! This continent will belong to the Stormchaser clan and its allies,” she said mockingly.
Markus raised his head to glare at the vengeful princess.
“Do it, then. I do not want to live without her,” Markus said, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
Yissa took a dagger from one of the assassins and, without mercy, drew the blade across the broken man’s throat.
Luxon held his breath, terrified that he would be found. He was still unsure whether he could be seen by the people he came across in these strange visions … at least, he thought they were visions.
A loud banging came from the barred doors. Shouting came from the other side, and soon the sound of axes splintering wood filled the room. Yissa and her assassins faced the doorway, weapons drawn. The door exploded inwards in a shower of splinters and a dozen heavily armed warriors charged into the hall. At seeing the signs of slaughter, they hesitated, giving the assassins a chance to strike. They launched themselves at the newcomers, and soon the sounds of battle raged. One by one the assassins were cut down, but not before they had taken down half of the warriors. Only Yissa remained standing. She was like a cornered animal, and blood poured from a wound in her side. She glanced around for an escape route; her eyes settled on the corpse of Marcus, specifically the sword on his belt. With a cry, she dived for it, grabbed the hilt and drew the golden blade from its sheath. She spun to face her attackers, Asphodel held in a two-handed grip before her.
Quest for the Sundered Crown (The Sundered Crown Saga Book 3) Page 7
