The King of the Fallen

by David Dalglish

  Veliana heard the roar and turned from the city wall. Her eyes widened.

  “Azariah didn’t,” she said.

  Deathmask grinned. “He did. He begged to Karak, and Karak answered.”

  Rakkar took to the air, flying out from the castle garden to the outer wall, the same exact spot where it had first been summoned by Melorak years before. The dragon looked like an obsidian knife cutting across the blue sky, leaving behind a thick trail of smoke that stubbornly refused to dissipate in the soft wind. It roared again, a gargantuan creature of myth that soared on black wings, with violet eyes and claws the size of a man.

  The creature looped once overhead, then dove for the inner wall, landing with a tremendous rumble of earth. Its third roar tightened Deathmask’s stomach and gave him a vague need to kneel and confess obedience. It was nothing like that first imposing moment when confronted by the dragon. Was it because he was farther away? Or did Azariah’s faith in Karak pale compared to Melorak’s when summoning the otherworldly creature?

  “I suspect you have a plan to kill it?” Veliana asked. She crossed her arms and glared. “Ahaesarus can’t possibly win against that, not when their forces are mirrored.”

  “Kill it?” Deathmask lifted his hands. His mind receded into itself, into the realm of runes and magic. “No, Vel. I have something far more amusing in mind. I’m going to steal it.”

  Words of magic slipped off his tongue. He closed his eyes. All was pitch black save the form of Rakkar, a half-mile away. A violet outline, seen only due to Deathmask’s attunement to the realm of magic, shimmering about the dragon like a glowing fire. That fire originated not from Rakkar, but from a distant source: Azariah, exerting his control. Even now the angel flew from the royal gardens where he’d performed the summoning ritual, connected to the dragon by a glowing tether. Through that magic he gave the dragon his commands, as well as gave of his own strength to keep it upon the land of Dezrel.

  But Deathmask had tweaked the summoning runes. He had, in a sense, carved a secret password that only he knew. Letter by letter, rune by rune, he’d inscribed his true name. Azariah might be the anchor holding Rakkar to Dezrel, but he was not its final master. He was a prince. Deathmask was king.

  Do you hear me, Rakkar? he cried out with his mind. Do you sense the words of your true master? An invisible fire gathered about his hands, though in his mind’s eye it was the same violet color as that which flowed from Azariah.

  The dragon roared. Ahaesarus’s angels backed away from the wall, and the encroaching human army halted its approach. They had not anticipated such a foe. No doubt they scrambled to discuss its arrival. Deathmask laughed. Such reactions were unnecessary, as he would soon show them.

  The violet fire about his hands shot across the void to Rakkar, swarming along its form, wrestling control away from a stunned and clueless Azariah. The dragon was his now, and it would obey.

  We have guests coming to our fair city, he told the dragon. Open them a door.

  Rakkar bellowed out its acceptance. Dark fire grew within its gullet, which it then unleashed in a tremendous burst. The several dozen undead soldiers standing between the dragon and the inner wood gate were charred within seconds.

  The fire shattered the gate as if it were made of twigs and mud instead of aged oak and iron supports. Azariah’s fallen angels, at first hovering in steady formations above Rakkar in a show of strength, suddenly panicked like bees from a knocked beehive. Not that there was anything they could do. Only one fallen angel mattered...

  Deathmask screamed as pain spiked in his forehead, like a terrible migraine sprung to life in the blink of an eye.

  Azariah, fighting for control.

  “He’s strong,” Deathmask muttered, dropping to his knees. “Holy shit, Vel, he’s so strong.”

  Rakkar howled in confusion. Its scaled body swayed side to side, like a bull trying to toss an unwelcome rider. Deathmask clenched his jaw and bared his teeth.

  No you don’t, he thought. That shadowy fucker is mine.

  Deathmask rose to his feet and reached out a hand, imagining his own tether into the dragon’s mind solidifying. Azariah would not outmatch him, not in this. He was a child new to magic. He was a divine brat convinced of his kingliness. Deathmask was a former member of the Council of Mages. Before Veldaren fell to the orcs, he’d been a master. A goddamn legend.

  “A door,” he hissed. “Do not keep our guests waiting.”

  Rakkar snapped its reptilian head up and about, its long neck undulating like a pinned snake in a state of panic. Deathmask spared not a fraction of his concentration. He curled his fingers and poured his reservoir of magic deep into the spell. The distant garden runes flared, and somehow he knew they were wreathed in flame. The limits of the magic were starting to break. The summoning spell had never been meant for this type of dual control.

  “A door!” he screamed. “Give our guests a door!”

  Rakkar barreled forward with a terrifying roar. It smashed stones free as it passed through the first gate, then charged straight for the outer wall. It did not make the turn for the other, distant gate to the outside. Instead it charged straight ahead, fire belching from its mouth as if it could burn away the stone. Another spike of pain pierced Deathmask’s temple as a panicked Azariah used every bit of his own magical influence to order the dragon to halt.

  It’s too late, he thought. The beast is mine, angel. You failed.

  Rakkar slammed into the wall, dug its enormous claws into the earth, and pushed. The crack that followed was like an earthquake. The ground shuddered. Stones broke and fell, sending dust and debris into the air, mixing with the dark smoke that seemed to leak off the dragon’s scales. Larger chunks of stone toppled moments later as hidden supports broke and gravity took its toll. Meanwhile, Ahaesarus’s army, seeing the dragon’s arrival, pivoted to greet it. Did they think it enemy?

  Perhaps, but Deathmask would quickly disabuse them of that notion.

  The way in now open, he turned the creature back to the numerous undead who waited oh-so-patiently for orders. More fire belched from the belly of the wounded dragon. Sadly, he was too far away to see clearly, but Deathmask estimated at least fifty to one hundred of the dead fell beneath the first wave of flame that scorched through the heart of the undead formation. Fire swelled in Rakkar’s throat for a second blast, this one much longer and wider. Dozens upon dozens of rotting, skeletal slaves collapsed against its raw power. They knew no fear. They had no instinct to flee. Only Azariah could command them, and he was locked in a losing battle with Deathmask for control of the dragon.

  Burn them all, he thought. Roast every last rotten body forced into servitude.

  Azariah had only one recourse. Unable to take back control of the dragon, he banished it entirely. The anchor holding the magical creation released. The modified runes Deathmask used to control it faded, their magic ended. Rakkar had time for one last mournful roar before its body dissolved into smoke. It didn’t matter now, Deathmask told himself. The damage was done. The defensive walls were nullified, and the fallen angel’s undead forces were cut in half.

  Deathmask’s legs wobbled, and he collapsed to one knee. His dark hair clung to his face and neck from sweat. Had he really used up so much of himself to keep control? He hadn’t noticed, not in the thick of the mental battle, but now he felt like he had run a dozen miles. His breathing was labored, shallow. Abyss take him, maybe he was just starting to get old?

  When he glanced up, he found Veliana standing above him offering a hand.

  “I hope you weren’t planning to sit this out,” she said, hooking the thumb of her other hand over her shoulder. Deathmask leaned to the side to see Ahaesarus’s army sprint full-speed toward the double openings in Mordeina’s walls. His angels soared above, providing cover against the fallen that flew to intercept.

  Veliana smirked. “I believe we have some fallen angels to decapitate.”

  Despite every bone in his
body demanding he rest, Deathmask laughed. He would push through. He would endure. Vengeance waits for no man, be they mortal or divine. He took her hand and accepted her help.

  “You’re goddamn right we do.”

  28

  “What is that?” Jessilynn asked. She need not point or clarify, for all eyes were upon the creature of darkness flying to the outer walls.

  “Karak’s dragon,” Dieredon answered, needing to shout to be heard over the rush of the wind as they flew. “Celestia have mercy.”

  Jessilynn rocked backward, remembering the stories she’d heard of the creature known as Rakkar, the otherworldly dragon used to keep Mordeina in line during its brief occupancy by the priest-king Melorak. Dieredon had modified Sonowin’s saddle so that it also seated Jessilynn with her legs wrapped tightly into stirrups. This allowed her to remain steady atop the winged horse’s back while still wielding her bow. Together, their arrows had claimed dozens of lives during the battle at Hemman Field, and the plan had been for them to do the same here at Mordeina...at least until this terrifying dragon appeared.

  Her elven teacher leaned closer to Sonowin’s ear to give an order, and then the winged horse banked hard to the left. Their path veered to the many angels flying over what was ostensibly King Gregory’s army, though in truth all saw it as Ahaesarus’s. It was to him they flew, Dieredon calling to the angel a question.

  “What now?” the elf asked.

  Ahaesarus watched the dragon’s approach with a grim smile on his face.

  “We kill it,” he said, as if it would be so easy.

  Dieredon banked Sonowin back around to face the city. Jessilynn could tell the elf wanted to argue, but it seemed he knew it would be futile. Instead they watched the dragon approach, heard it roar out its supernatural fury.

  Watched it drop down behind the city walls and tear a hole straight through while slaughtering Azariah’s undead forces.

  “It’s on our side,” Dieredon said incredulously.

  Jessilynn’s mind mirrored his shock. It had certainly looked to be a creation of Azariah’s, and wasn’t Rakkar a beast solely loyal to Karak? But no, it thrashed through the fallen angel’s troops, until with little fanfare it broke apart, the shadow that made up its body melting away like snow before a warm spring sun. Far below, she saw the ants that were Ahaesarus’s ground troops lift their arms to hoot and holler. What had been fear quickly turned to elation. The way was open. They wouldn’t even need to rely on Tarlak and Aurelia to make them a door.

  Dieredon gently tugged the reins, guiding them back down. They flew over the human army, Sonowin’s white wings spread out to their full length. More cheers, and Jessilynn allowed herself to smile and wave at the soldiers. The upcoming battle would be vicious, and they would need their morale at its highest to endure. The elf guided Sonowin to the very front of the attacking force, and instead of banking upward like she expected, he lowered them to the ground. When she saw Harruq Tun marching at the front of the human forces across the grasslands, she quickly understood.

  “Yet again you lead an army to Mordeina,” Dieredon shouted to the half-orc.

  “Better be the last time, too!” Harruq shouted back, a wild grin on his face. “Getting damn tired of evil bastards taking this city from us.”

  Jessilynn understood that the two of them were keenly aware others listened to the conversation, and that these soldiers would remember their words as they charged the walls of the city. She kept her head high, doing her best to look stately and impressive, as no doubt Jerico would prefer.

  “We will aid you as best we can with our arrows,” Dieredon said, hoisting his wicked-looking bow high above his head. Jessilynn almost joined him, but decided to let the elf have his moment. He was a legend to these humans, a hero of the second Gods’ War whose name was whispered among Harruq’s and Aurelia’s.

  “Just leave a few for us to kill!” Harruq requested. Dieredon slung his bow back over his shoulder and smiled, so light-hearted, so jovial, that Jessilynn thought it might actually be real.

  His next shout didn’t bother to address Harruq alone, but all those with him. “I shall leave you plenty, so long as you promise to do your job, half-orc! Cut them down, and leave them bloody. Dezrel needs its heroes.”

  “Heroes?” Harruq bellowed. “I have a thousand heroes with me, don’t I?”

  Sonowin returned to the air, a rousing chorus of cheers and swords slamming against shields chasing after their flight. Jessilynn leaned closer to Dieredon so she wouldn’t have to shout.

  “You’re charismatic when you try to be.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “You don’t try very often.”

  He laughed, and it warmed her heart. She clutched to that warmth to fight her own nerves as they flew toward the walls to join Ahaesarus and his angels. The battle was near. They would focus solely on the aerial fight. Silence fell over her, and she closed her eyes to silently pray to her god.

  Are you with us still, Ashhur? Are you with me? Forgive my lack of faith. Forgive my doubt. Be with me, please, as we try yet again to do what is right.

  Perhaps there were better final prayers to offer before potentially meeting her maker, but she could only offer what was truthful to her heart. Eyes snapping open, she pulled her bow off her back, gripped it tightly, and drew an arrow from her quiver. Her pulse quickened. This was it.

  Sonowin joined the initial charge of angels, Ahaesarus himself not far to her left. Black wings filled the sky. Bone-metal rattled. Weapons ready. Spears up. Azariah’s magic, and those of a few spellcasters with him, crossed the gaps between armies. Tarlak and Aurelia immediately countered, and it was through that explosion of fire and ice the angelic forces crashed.

  The few seconds were but a blur. She did not behold a battlefield, but individual snippets of combat. There was too much to see, too much to understand. Ahaesarus, slamming aside an attempt to block with Darius’s enormous blade, and then ramming the sword all the way to its hilt into his foe’s stomach so that it pierced out his back in an explosion of gore. A ball of fire from a spellcaster detonating to her left, consuming angels from both sides. Charred corpses fell, feathers still burning, some angels screaming in pain. Jessilynn released arrow after arrow, but she did not aim, not really. All around her were black wings, and so she sent her arrows in their vague direction as her mind struggled to make sense of the chaos.

  One of Azariah’s angels flew overhead, his sword swipe barely failing to cleave off her head. She spun on instinct to track the fallen, only to see him be chopped in half by an angel. Sonowin dipped, Jessilynn’s stomach lurched, and she clung to Dieredon as they weaved through a trio of attempts to spear the winged horse. Enemies surrounded them all on sides. She fought her fear, telling herself to ready another arrow, but this was so much worse than Hemman Field. They had kept their attacks focused on the ground forces during that battle. To be amid the aerial war? To fly through a rain of blood as bodies collapsed and wings snapped? Too much, it was too much.

  And then they burst through the opposite side of Azariah’s soldiers. The sudden emptiness was like a breath of fresh air. Jessilynn drank it in and used it to gather herself. There would be time to suffer through the mental scars later, if she survived. Her friends needed her. Humanity needed her. The fallen angel’s rule must end this day. She believed that with all her heart.

  Sonowin’s path shifted, and she followed the trajectory with her eyes to realize why Dieredon had led them on such a dangerous path directly through the heart of the aerial battle. Azariah’s spellcasters were their target, what few yet remained after Hemman Field hovering in the relatively calm airspace between the walls and Mordeina’s castle. Sonowin’s approach did not go unnoticed. Spells screamed their way. Sonowin banked left, then rotated ninety degrees the other direction. Jessilynn gripped her bow in one hand and clutched Dieredon’s waist with the other. No chance to loose an arrow, not during this. A chunk of ice swooshe
d over their heads. A single bolt of lightning flashed to her right, leaving a blinding afterimage in that eye. Dieredon leaned over, every muscle in his body tense. He trusted his steed, and he merely watched. Waited.

  For one brief moment Sonowin pulled up and spread her wings. Their flight leveled out, and in that half-second Dieredon lifted his bow. His hands were a blur. Four arrows flew through the air, though she saw him pull the string only twice. His aim was impeccable. Four arrows, two shots, and just like that, the few spellcasters Azariah had left fell from the sky, arrows jutting from their faces and throats.

  Dieredon slung his bow over his back with one hand and clutched Sonowin’s neck with the other. “Away!” he commanded. Sonowin folded her wings into a dive in a desperate attempt to gain speed. Only two fallen gave chase, for Ahaesarus’s angels had locked nearly every one of them in a savage battle. White and black wings slammed into each other, chased, and looped. The entire sky was filled with blood. Jessilynn trusted the stirrups holding her in place as they dove, and she twisted around to fire behind her. The first shot struck flesh, sending the fallen careening away. Realizing he was in danger, the other attempted to dodge, but he could only move so much if he wished to maintain proximity.

  She let off two more arrows, and the fallen shifted too much to his left. Sonowin’s wings carried them the opposite direction. When the fallen tried to change his angle and regain speed, one of Ahaesarus’s angels slammed into him from above. The distance was great, but she swore she saw the fallen’s head separate from his shoulders.

  We fly through the Abyss, she thought darkly during the momentary reprieve.

  Jessilynn could only spare an occasional glance to the battle below. With their numbers already thinned by Rakkar’s betrayal, the undead struggled against the human army. She could not see Harruq amid the chaos, but Jerico’s shield shone like a beacon. Blue-white flashes of light sparked across the battlefield, spiritual replicas of his shield slamming outward like divine battering rams to crumple tens of undead at a time. Jessilynn felt pride at the sight. Diminished they may be, but Ashhur’s paladins would still make their mark upon the battle.