The Seventh Magic (Book 3)

by Brian Rathbone

  She was a fool, a babe in the presence of masters. For lifetimes these sorcerers had lain in wait, and it was too late when the traps were sprung. Like tentacles of fire, ropes of energy lashed out at Catrin's spirit, grabbing on to her and embedding themselves deep within her psyche. Rather than recoiling, as her instincts demanded, she charged forward, intent on triggering every defensive mechanism the sorcerers had managed to create. It was unclear how much power the two saved throughout the ages, but they had somehow remade the prison's interior to suit their purposes.

  Through sheer determination and strength of will, Catrin Volker charged forward, intent on scattering one of the shadows to the winds. That same finger that took Sarjak's life pointed at her chest. In that very instant, her son landed atop the Noonspire. The world trembled. Losing her step, she stumbled forward, no longer under control. No one could manipulate her then. She was fully committed, and nothing stood between her and Aggrezjhon, his finger still extended. The ringing, though, interrupted the power flowing within the crystal. Each time Sinjin struck, it was as if Istra's powers ceased to exist. Though jarring, she was alive in spite of the finger still aimed at her heart.

  Colliding with Aggrezjhon was a mistake. Though she did achieve her goal of scattering his spirit, he seeped into her, the traps holding her fast. Sucking a deep breath, she expelled him with all the self-determination and identity she could muster. He'd goaded her and she'd fallen for it. Now he had an edge over Murden, though being a woman was an advantage she pressed. The ringing of Sinjin's sword interrupted the energy, preventing any of them from gathering more than a pittance of power. Having it ripped away with every other heartbeat made it feel as if she were being torn apart. The shades struggled as well. Lacking physical forms, their very existence was tied to the energy stored within the Noonspire.

  Two against one, it was but a matter of time. Flashing lights from the outside world made the crystal prison's walls dance as Catrin fought. It was all she could do.

  Never had she known such gratitude as what she felt for Trinda and Allette. They could have let her be destroyed; both had vowed to see her dead at one point or another. But instead they came to her aid, using scraps of power coerced from the air. It wasn't much but it shifted the balance. Even with the assistance, Catrin reeled from the attacks. Already astral travels with Allette and Pelivor had damaged her identity and sense of self. The knowledge of multiple lives bottled up in her memory made her question her sanity.

  And then there was Mael.

  Mael.

  The name thundered like coming doom. Laughter rang in the Noonspire, and Catrin looked up to see the dragon mage with Nat Dersinger on his back; it could be no other. Secured by a dragon ore saddle and carrying a glowing metal staff, he rode in a coat of shining mail. His long hair flew free, his eyes as wild as a bobcat's.

  Allette and Trinda continued their slow advance, the shades not launching any counter attacks. Only when Trinda met Catrin's eyes and gave her a sad, knowing smile did she understand. With an extended arm, Murden's shade leveled a single finger at Trinda Hollis, releasing energy stored up over time. The child queen and daughter to Baker Hollis dropped to cold stone, her burdens and responsibilities forever removed. Catrin silently wished her spirit a swift journey.

  * * *

  Sinjin Volker watched in horror as Trinda Hollis fell. Even from his unusual vantage point, he knew what he saw. His resolve faltered. She'd been an irritant and an enigma, but in some ways, she'd been his friend. His sword strokes lost their cadence, and he struggled in his mourning to achieve his former rhythm. In spite of the defenses in the air above him from Drakon and aircraft alike, ferals crept closer and closer to where Sinjin stood, exposed.

  An especially large male got close enough to latch on to the giant crystal, his legs finding meager purchase on the glossy surfaces. As the feral dragon reared its head, Sinjin readied himself for death with a glance down at his mother. By some strange trick of the light, or from the power she held within, Catrin looked otherworldly, illuminated from behind. Lighting reflected off the feral dragon's scales as it readied to strike, but its visage shifted from victorious apex predator to that of hunted prey.

  It was then Mael came into view, on his back, a rider glittering with power, wild hair flying in every direction: Nat Dersinger. An instant later, Kyrien and Pelivor flashed by. Jessub Tillerman circled overhead in his aircraft, not leaving the fight as others had. Still Sinjin swung his mother's sword, ringing its one repeating note. Hands numb and shoulders aching, he was afraid he would falter. Part of him expected Mael to attack, but Kyrien and the golden dragon circled lower and lower before landing amid charred ruins at the spire's base. Pelivor dismounted and stood, facing east. Nat Dersinger climbed down and faced west, his back to Pelivor. The two dragons, each unique, regarded one another. What transpired between them, no one else could know.

  Again, Sinjin nearly faltered from the desire to see what transpired below. With a grunt of effort, he resumed his rhythmic strikes. Tension filled the air. Facing each other, the dragons looked as if they might tear each other apart. After long moments, the two seem to reach some sort of agreement. Together, they turned toward the Noonspire.

  Newcomers, like wisps of smoke, materialized into slender forms emerging from the dark swamps. Barely recognizable as such, dryads marched on the Noonspire. Unnoticed, they had gathered around the last of the regent dragons and the man-become-dragon. Dingy and mud stained, the dryads surrounded the spire and raised their hands in a silent gesture perhaps they alone understood. They parted long enough to let the dragons pass.

  Climbing opposite sides of the spire, Kyrien and Mael ascended, wrapping themselves around the giant crystal until they became intertwined. Sinjin stood to deliver his next blow, struggling more with every strike and not knowing how much longer he could go on. In a semiconscious stupor, he concentrated on the next swing.

  Eyes closed, Kyrien and Pelivor looked as if they were both in a trance. With little more than a look, Mael sent feral dragons to the winds. None dared defy him as he stood guard over Sinjin and Kyrien. Even in his trancelike state, Sinjin had to wonder why. His eyes made contact with Nat Dersinger. The man had been friends with his mother but still looked like a madman. In his eyes, though, Sinjin found peace and understanding. It was impossible to say why anyone would align themselves with Mael, but it was clear Nat believed he was in the right. Weariness overcame him then. The last thing he heard was the dragon mage humming that sounded like a lullaby.

  Chapter 16

  Judge not by the loudest among them but by those who remain calm.

  --Catrin Volker, Herald of Istra

  * * *

  The coming dawn brought with it a unification of the heavens. Vestra cast his warmth across the land, bathing it in color and texture, making even the black swamp appear vibrant. Most comets faded in the sun god's light, only to reappear with the coming night, but not all. Large comets, close to Godsland, radiated sufficient light to remain visible for most of the day. For those who'd been born under Vestra's light alone, it was a difficult thing to get used to. For those born under Istra's light, this was all they knew. The idea of pinpricks of light at fixed locations in the skies was entirely foreign to them, and would be for more than a hundred years to come. With the moon passing close to Godsland, it dominated one side of the horizon so even the Dead God was represented.

  It was an omen, an ending and a beginning.

  Sinjin Volker did not know how long he'd managed to keep striking the Noonspire with his mother's sword, but his shoulders and arms ached in remembrance. He didn't remember stopping. To sleep in such a place was unthinkable. Wind gusts and smooth facets could easily have sent him to his death, not even taking feral dragons into consideration. With the sudden recollection of a haunting melody, Sinjin realized Mael was gone. Forcing visions of the dragon mage from his mind, he pushed himself to his feet, straddling the peak, his boots slipping on the smooth surface. Everything withi
n many miles was visible from this vantage point through clear skies.

  Above, Jessub Tillerman still circled, apparently watching over him. "He's up!"

  A cheer arose from those gathered below. The Dragon's Wing rested in nearby shallows, nowhere near enough water to actually float her, but better than landing on rock, Sinjin supposed. Vestra rose higher, revealing more details and shifting the hues toward what most would consider true, natural light. The ferals were gone. Regal dragons patrolled the skies along with verdants. The marshes surrounding the Noonspire crawled with life, like ringlets of water radiating out from a cast stone. Demons, mud men, and even a few giants fled. Part of Sinjin wanted to attack them now, to eradicate them before they reorganized and threatened peace once again.

  Something new filled the air, though. As if a dark veil had been removed, the world around him grew brighter and more colorful. The surrounding swamp was still twisted and covered in foul ooze, but the change was there; he could feel it. In years past, he'd written such feelings off as superstition or unrealistic dreams of power. Now he knew better. He, too, had changed. He'd lived in his parents' shadows most of his life. Even as Al'Drakon, he'd never fully left their overpowering influence behind. He loved them and would never forget the lessons they'd taught him and the love they'd showed him, but they no longer defined him. Subtle changes resulted in a monumental shift.

  When he looked down, though, he recognized the biggest change around him. Shining like polished gemstone, Kyrien twined around the mighty spire, his eyes lidded, his visage peaceful. The Noonspire itself had changed. No longer dark and smoky, the largest noonstone crystal ever found had been transformed into dragon ore--the rarest and most potent material on all Godsland--as only regent dragons could achieve. It seemed impossible and yet he stood atop it, basking in its warm glow. While Sinjin wondered how he would get down from such a perilous height, the pressure around him changed. Valterius landed beside him.

  The valiant beast held his head low, as if expecting reprimand, but Sinjin just wrapped his arms around the dragon and shed joyful tears. His companion and friend was alive and could still fly. Extending his uninjured wing to Sinjin, Valterius helped his exhausted rider gain the saddle. With hands that refused to cooperate, it took time to work straps and buckles, several of which he didn't fish through the keeper, which normally held the ends of the straps in place. It was the kind of laziness he chastised in others. Expecting a brief flight, he allowed himself this weakness.

  Showing his concern, Valterius spread his wings and took flight far smoother than any time they left Windhold. As he turned on a wingtip to soar lower in a graceful spiral, Valterius gave Sinjin an even better view. Enormous airships hovered along the coastlines, which alone was difficult to believe. The air around them held a myriad of flying machines along with the Drakon.

  Dryads now radiated away from the spire. Though they remained gaunt, wispy figures, their gait and bearing conveyed a very different message. They had arrived looking defeated but dispersed with renewed life. It was a feeling mirrored in his own spirit. He'd begun to fear hope, thinking it too much to ask and worried embracing optimism would allow harsh realities to crush his spirit. Now he knew it had been among the few things keeping him alive. Without hope, he would have given up a thousand times. It was impossible to imagine what the world would look like had he done so.

  He'd seen nothing within the spire, no sign of his mother, Allette, or the others. The memory of Trinda Hollis falling haunted him, tarnishing his salvation with bitter regret. He should have been so much kinder to the girl. She'd been a victim of manipulation as much as or more so than anyone, and Sinjin had mistreated her. She'd tried to explain it to him, but he'd been unable to hear her words. Only now that she was gone did he come to see Trinda Hollis's true nature. He mourned her death while trying to keep from speculating on his mother's fate. That knowledge would have to wait. Valterius did not rush their descent, giving Sinjin time to sort his thoughts, or to at least make the attempt. Feelings washed over him, from joy to anger to remorse. All were real. All were valid and he embraced each one, allowing himself to feel the full force of those emotions and know from whence they came. It was something his mother had taught him; something Benjin Hawk had taught her; and if his memory served, something Mother Gwendolin had taught him. He was grateful.

  Moments later, Valterius landed in a small clearing surrounded by Sinjin's friends and loved ones. Seeing them brought fresh tears to his eyes.

  Not waiting for Al'Drak to set foot on land, Kendra rushed forward and embraced him before he got the first strap loose. Climbing up the rest of the way, she helped, clearly aware of his physical state. "I don't know how you managed to persevere. Most would have fallen long before you quit."

  "I don't remember."

  Nodding, Kendra pursed her lips. "You were brave and strong," she said, unable to keep her voice from cracking. "I was afraid I was going to lose you, but you proved yourself more powerful than anyone would have given you credit for."

  "I'm just glad I didn't fall off."

  Chuckling, Kendra helped him get his sore leg over the saddle. He grunted with effort, but no one laughed at that. He was lucky, though. His wounds would heal. Sore muscles would mend. Even his wife walked with a limp, favoring her right side. Others had not been so lucky; the knowledge weighed heavily. It had not been the kind of night to leave one without scars.

  From below, the Noonspire appeared even taller than it had from above. Facing east, Sinjin watched Vestra illuminate the megalithic dragon ore crystal from within, setting it ablaze. At that moment, a seam appeared at the crystal's base. Previously invisible doors swung open without a sound, as if moved by the hand of an unseen god. Dwarfed by the massive portal, two figures leaned on one another. In spite of sore legs, Sinjin moved toward his mother with all the speed his body could gather, stumbling and nearly falling as he went. The two figures waited for him. Others followed in silence. Kenward Trell matched his pace.

  Kyrien uncoiled with the most graceful movements and lowered himself to the ground. Not stopping, Sinjin reached out to his mother until her glowing spirit raised a single hand, bidding him to hold.

  "We are not yet done," Catrin said, her words loud enough for people miles away to hear. "Come."

  The command was not meant for Sinjin or anyone outside the spire; that was clear without additional instruction. The Herald of Istra communicated with more than simple words and inflection. Every syllable conveyed feeling. This higher form of communication used words more like vessels than the content themselves. It made his tongue feel clumsy and inadequate, no matter how eloquently he might speak.

  Gradually, imperceptibly at first, two forms began to materialize before Catrin and Allette. No longer did they manifest as dark, twisted shades, but instead resembled what their physical forms must have been so very long ago. Though the crystalline prison had long since absorbed them, somehow memory survived. Aggrezjhon and Murden stood in the light for the first time in many centuries, the world outside visible to them once again without the Noonspire to shade it. The wonder was visible on their ever more distinct facial features, their bodies gone but not entirely forgotten.

  "You are free," Catrin said.

  The words echoed and resonated within the prison. Seeing confusion on the sorcerers' faces, Sinjin swallowed hard. What was she doing? It occurred to him then that Aggrezjhon and Murden both needed physical forms to leave the prison, and only two remained within. "No!" he shouted, but his mother held up a hand to silence him. Even her gestures conveyed greater meaning.

  "Allette Kilbor and I will leave this place; whole--or at least as whole as when we entered. But Aggrezjhon and Murden, you have been punished enough. No soul should be imprisoned for eternity, no matter their crimes, and certainly not for being who and what they are. My powers are no more my fault than those your brethren feared in you."

  Her voice washed over Sinjin, bringing absolution, humanity audible in her words, conv
eying regret and remorse. She had not asked to be the most powerful person on the planet, and perhaps she no longer was, but she knew the burdens such power imposed. She understood what it was like to be feared and hated because she possessed abilities others did not.

  "I accept you for who and what you are," Catrin said. "You must accept me for who and what I am. My form is my own and will remain so. My spirit is my own and will remain so. I am connected to all of you, but you may not inhabit this mortal shell. That is for me alone."

  Understanding washed over Aggrezjhon and Murden, though their faces still showed disbelief. Sinjin could only imagine how they must feel. They had been imprisoned for thousands of years and had been free for a mere fraction of that time prior to their imprisonment. It must be strange and exhilarating as well as frightening.

  "For a brief time, the way will be clear," Catrin said. "I grant you leave of this place."

  "But where?" Murden's voice whispered yet boomed. "How?"

  Behind the two sorcerers, light bloomed and swelled as Vestra showed his full glory above the horizon. From that light stepped a diminutive form in a pristine white dress. Smiling like Sinjin had never seen her do before, with light and warmth finally reaching her eyes, came Trinda Hollis. She walked with deliberate slowness, beaming with newfound bliss. Standing between Aggrezjhon and Murden, the girl known as the child queen reached up and took their hands. With an almost shy smile, she said, "Come on, sillies. It's this way."

  No more words were required. Sinjin stared into the blinding light until they were gone, and even then he had trouble pulling his gaze away. Towering ghosts clouded his vision long after he turned back to his mother and Allette. Six long steps it took them to reach the natural light, and they transformed as they crossed the threshold, as if they had not truly been physical beings while trapped within the Noonspire. Lines gathered around his mother's eyes. What might be an unwanted sign of aging to some showed his mother's humanity and were beyond value.