Endgame

Chapter Seven

Chapter SevenYou are weak.

Elzaria looked around, but could not discern the source of the deep, booming voice. Who said that?

That I must depend on such feeble creatures to ensure my victory is infuriating. It is a wonder your race has survived.

Her eyes widened. Arantha?

No, it said with more than a trace of indignance.

Who … who are you?

You wield the power I gave you. And yet you waste it.

In spite of her awe, Elzaria felt anger course through her. I have not! We have two Stones! We are on the cusp of victory! Of immortality!

The voice laughed cruelly. You and your misguided brother follow some ancient delusion as if it is prophecy. But you know nothing. Your ignorance will be the death of you, him, and all your dull-witted minions.

A stab of fear punctured Elzaria's soul. From the day she gained her power over lightning, she had followed her brother's commands. His plan, based on the prophecy regarding the three Stones of Arantha, had dictated their actions ever since. The visions she'd been receiving helped to further that plan. Had she been wrong?

No. It wasn't possible. She had beaten Kelia. Two of the three Stones were now contained in a pouch that dangled at her hip. The third Stone, according to her most recent vision, would soon be hers.

I have followed the path you have set, she said with no small amount of pride. I will defeat this alien, and we will have our victory.

You will not. She is powerful, and her allies are myriad. Your body is weak. Using the power drains you, and that will be your undoing. If you are to be the instrument of my victory, I must make you something greater.

A surge of excitement chased away her doubt. Greater?

Yes. But you are warned. This transformation will not be without consequences.

Her mind raced. The voice was right. She was not strong enough to overcome both Darad's mighty army and this alien. If she had to employ the same tactic she'd used on the Agrusian army and the Ixtrayu, it would leave her vulnerable and helpless. She would die, and their quest would remain unfulfilled.

Elzor. The only one who had ever truly loved her. She would gladly give her life a hundred times over in his service if it helped him attain his ultimate goal. If increasing her power meant doing just that, then she would do it.

I understand.

Do you?

She made her voice as resolute as she could. I do.

Though she still couldn't see the face—or, indeed, any part—of her mysterious benefactor, she could sense the satisfaction in his next words.

It has begun.

She smiled as she felt the voice's invisible presence recede, then vanish. Then she became aware of another voice, though not as booming or resonant. “Elzaria? Sister? Sister!”

She shook her head, blinking her eyes rapidly. Little by little, her vision refocused, as did her other senses.

Trees surrounded her, towering high into the sky, shading her and the large company of riders with a green blanket of leaves. A fierce wind blew through, bending the branches and blowing her untamed hair around her face. The air was thick with moisture, and she knew rain was imminent. The white merych she rode stamped its hoof, chuffing as it shifted its weight beneath her. Her eyes fell to the black-gloved hand jostling her thigh, and she turned to see Elzor, an expression of both concern and frustration on his face, watching her. “Elzor?”

“Yes. What in the Fire Realms is the matter with you?”

Several other men were staring at her. Langon, Brynak, even Maxtar sat stock-still atop their merychs as they ogled her.

In an instant, she regained her composure. “Nothing. I'm fine.”

“You didn't look fine a moment ago. You were staring into space, lifeless and vacant. Would you care to explain?”

“It was …” She caught herself before she could mention the Stone. Maxtar still didn't know about it. Whatever had just happened to her, she would have to keep it a secret. Perhaps even from Elzor, who might think her mad, a possibility she had not yet discounted. “It was a lapse in concentration, my liege,” she said.

Elzor narrowed his eyes. “Are you certain that's all it was?”

She scowled at him. “Quite certain. It won't happen again.”

“See that it doesn't.” He straightened up, facing forward.

“Agedor hasn't returned yet?”

“Not yet,” Elzor muttered, turning to Maxtar. “Warlord, I can't say I'm fond of having to lay the success of our plan on that Daradian whelp's shoulders.”

Maxtar grimaced, his hand clenched around the hilt of the enormous club that hung menacingly at his side. “He'll come through,” he growled.

Elzor snorted. “How can you be so sure? For all we know, he's alerting his army to our presence at this very moment.”

“He'll. Come. Through,” Maxtar repeated, gritting his jagged teeth. “If he doesn't, he'll find out what his bowels taste like.”

“I hear something,” Langon said. “Hoof beats. Up ahead.”

Elzaria tensed. She raised her hands, preparing to summon a volley of lightning at a moment's notice.

Elzor drew his sword. “How many?”

Langon tilted his head, closing his eyes. “Three. No, four.”

“Could it be a patrol?” Brynak offered.

“If it is, they're in fer a surprise.” Maxtar indicated the line of merychs that took up nearly every inch of dirt on the road behind them.

Elzaria risked a glance back. She couldn't get over how incongruous their alliance was: Barjan soldiers, many clad in machinite armor pilfered from the Agrusian metalsmiths' stockpiles, rode alongside Maxtar's Vandan countrymen. Their grizzled hair, unruly beards, blue and red face paint, and animal pelts they covered themselves in provided a sharp contrast to the Elzorath.

Utter madness, she thought. If she hadn't foreseen it, she would never have believed it possible.

Four merychs came into view around a bend in the road, their hooves kicking up a shower of mud in their wake. Elzaria willed the power within her to ebb, then fade. Agedor, flanked by what she assumed were three of his trusted commanders, had returned.

“About blagging time,” Elzor said as Agedor rode up, just loud enough for the prince to hear.

Agedor sneered at Elzor. The man seemed to have no other means of self-expression. He addressed Maxtar. “The way is clear.”

Maxtar kicked his massive steed into motion. “Yer certain?” he asked with a hint of menace.

“Yes, Warlord. All soldiers not loyal to me have been disposed of.” He smiled his usual unctuous grin. “Including that braga my father sent to inform on me.”

“Excellent!” Maxtar roared.

A drop of rain hit Elzaria's hand. A second splashed on the top of her head. Within moments, a light drizzle was filtering through the leaves. Above the canopy, she knew, the darkening sky was thick with gray clouds, ready to empty on them.

Not the ideal weather for an invasion, but it will hamper our enemies equally.

“Elzorath, Vandans, move out!” Langon boomed, and he nudged his merych into motion. Within moments, the long procession had resumed its march into Darad. If Agedor was right, they would meet no opposition before they reached their first destination.

Elzaria pulled the hood of her cloak up over her lowered head as she kicked her merych into a brisk canter, keeping pace with Elzor.

Her thoughts drifted to the conversation she'd had with the mysterious being who claimed to be the source of her power. It has begun, it said. What did that mean? Had this “transformation” already taken place? She didn't feel any different.

The thought of the power she commanded, increased tenfold, sent a thrill of excitement through her. She looked forward to unleashing the full might of her Wielding on Aridor's forces. And the High Mage. And the alien who dared to think herself superior.

But first, she needed a test, a way to measure the scope of her new capabilities.

The village of Ghal will be that test.