Riadamor stepped out onto the platform, near the top of the fortress’s highest spire, and looked west, at where the sun was slowly slipping beyond the horizon. An icy wind snagged at her robes and blew her hair into her eyes, but Riadamor paid it no heed.
This was the moment she had dreamt of; all these years of hardship, all the anger she had channelled into her work – it was all for this.
The day she could step out onto Deep-Spire’s Star Platform, take a walk about the tip of the Great Spire, and look down on the lands that were hers.
Tears trickled down Riadamor’s cheeks. She did not bother wiping them away; she had earned them. She circuited the platform, walking dangerously close to the edge. The wind whipped at her robes, buffeting her ever-closer to the edge, but she was fearless. The joy of this moment felt like a living thing in her chest.
The memory of the pleading look in Lady Serina’s eyes, the moment before Riadamor stopped her heart, still gave her a thrill of pleasure.
I waited years to kill that bitch.
Yet, the only sour note was that at least half a dozen of the Sentorân had escaped – Belythna Arran and Floriana DeSanith among them. That should not have happened. Riadamor knew that she would not be able to turn her mind to other tasks with Sentorân still at large. She had to eradicate them all, for she could not risk their resurgence at a later date.
Deep in thought, Riadamor turned away from the sunset and left the Star Platform.
She descended the central stairwell to the fortress’s Spire Garden; a vast chamber that was open to the elements along one side. Riadamor made her way past a row of trellises, around the tinkling marble fountain and out onto a terrace that was filled with a profusion of rose bushes, potted shrubs and trees. This being mid-winter, the entire garden lay dormant, waiting for the first flush of spring to bring it to life.
However, Riadamor had not come here to take a stroll in the garden. A group of Esquill, her strongest, stood waiting for her in the centre of the terrace. Riadamor’s feet crunched on fine gravel as she approached them. Her gaze moved from her followers, to the bloodied, chained group who stood in their midst: the six Sentorân they had managed to capture during the battle.
Riadamor smiled when her gaze slid over Kern’s ravaged face and rested on Jedin. The younger man stared back at her coldly. His boldness made irritation surge through Riadamor.
You’ll look at me with fear in your eyes when I’m through with you.
Riadamor stopped before the group and surveyed her captives for a moment longer, before turning her attention to one of her Esquill.
“Marin, do you have the potion?”
“Yes, my Queen.” The young, dark-haired female stepped forward and held out her hand. In it, she held a slender vial of dark liquid.
“Queen?” Kern spoke up then, his voice dripping with venom. “You’ve crowned yourself already have you?”
Riadamor took the vial from Marin and turned to Kern.
“Old fool,” she looked him up and down dismissively. “I think you can go first.”
Kern glowered at her, his lips curling. Riadamor nodded to two Esquill who stood behind the elderly sorcerer. “Bring him forward.”
The two Esquill, young men with hard faces, unchained Kern and dragged him forward.
“Kneel before me, Kern,” Riadamor ordered.
Kern spat at her feet in response but did not obey.
“Make him do my bidding,” Riadamor ordered.
One of the Esquill kicked Kern in the back of his knees. With a grunt of pain, the Sentorân sank to his knees on the gravel.
“Pull his head back and open his mouth.”
Kern’s gaze fixed on the vial in Riadamor’s hands, which she was unstoppering – then he began to struggle.
It took four of them, two holding him still and two forcing his head back, to subdue Kern. He may have been getting on in years, but he was still wiry and strong. Finally, they had to pinch his nose shut to force him to open his mouth. Kern went purple before he finally took a gasp of air.
At that moment, Riadamor let a drop of the liquid fall into his mouth.
Then, she stepped back and restoppered the vial.
“Let him go and stand well back,” she ordered her followers.
They did as they were told, abruptly releasing the Sentorân and moving back to where the other captives looked on.
Kern stood alone in the centre of the Spire Garden. He stared at Riadamor a moment, hate in his eyes, before shuddering.
“What have you done to me?”
Riadamor laughed, the sound echoing across the terrace. The light was fading now and the torches that lined the edge of the Spire Garden guttered in a light breeze.
“I am making you into my servant,” she replied before holding the vial aloft. “This potion has taken me years to perfect, and many cups of my own blood. You are about to become a terrible creature. You will love me and hate me. You will obey me but will never forget who you were or what I did to you.”
“Foul hag,” Kern managed between gritted teeth. “Moden curse you!”
He doubled over then, as if someone had just kicked him in the stomach. Those present watched, their faces frozen in horror. No one, not even the captives, uttered a word. Kern writhed on the pebbles; his legs kicking, his mouth frothing.
A moment later, he began to transform.
Black feathers sprouted from his body, pushing through his clothing like it was wet tissue. His feet grew into huge, scaly claws, his torso expanded and his head grew massive and grotesque.
Even the Esquill, who had been expecting this, let out gasps at the sight of the creature transforming before them.
Kern disappeared and a foul bird, five times his size, replaced him.
The abomination crouched upon the pebbles. It had the body of a massive crow. A face that was, and was not, Kern, looked about the terrace, taking in its surroundings. Its head was bald, as Kern had been, although the man’s features and been turned into some foul parody of himself. His beaky nose pointed down, his chin jutted up, and his forehead bulged above two gleaming white eyes with pinprick pupils. However, it was his mouth that drew everyone’s attention. Kern’s thin mouth had stretched wide and was now crammed with razor carnassial teeth and two huge canines.
The creature finished surveying its audience before opening its maw wide and issuing a wrenching scream. It fixed its gaze upon Riadamor, its great body quivering.
“Yes,” Riadamor crooned, stepping forward and stroking its soft black feathers. “You desire to slay me, but find you cannot. You will serve me well, dear Kern. I will send you to live high in the mountains, where you will be my spy, my eyes on the world below. Whenever I have need of you, you will come and carry me wherever I bid.”
The bird gave another keening wail.
Riadamor ignored it, fearlessly remaining at the creature’s side while she turned to face her other captives. Her gaze slid over their terrified faces till it reached Jedin, and there it stayed.
“This will be your fate too, Jedin,” she told him, enjoying the sight of him barely managing to keep his fear in check. A nerve flickered in his cheek and his tall, muscular body trembled. “You will help me track down the Sentorân who are still at large. You will kill the last of your kind.”
She looked deep into his eyes and smiled when she saw fear, at last.
Epilogue
A New Beginning
Deep-Spire, Central Omagen
Deep-Spire Page 21
