Dragon War

Chapter 7

CHAPTER FOUR“The true nature of the arcane arts is inherently unknowable.”

~ The Codex Arcanum

Three days had come and gone, and Viran had done exactly zero of the things he’d intended to do.

He hadn’t thought of a better way of moving between Noryk and the coast. Talking Keriya and Valerion out of the teleportal spell had been a nonstarter, and talking to Keriya alone—about the war, about the dragons, about anything—was impossible. She was surrounded day and night.

What would I say, anyway?

There was nothing to say, of course. If Viran hadn’t had a personal connection to her, he would never have objected to this plan. All things considered, the teleportal was one of the more practical ideas that had been pitched over the last several weeks.

Viran stood on the steps of the Imperial Palace, surveying the troops in the vast cobblestone courtyard. To his right was a platoon of elves. Imperial Guards stood in perfect rank and file before him. Only one battalion had been selected to meet with the Jidaelni—the remaining troops were staying in Noryk to guard against another attack from the Shadow. To the left was a battery of state soldiers.

While the Imperials only accepted Tier Seven wielders and higher into their ranks—elite wielders who could perform creation spells in addition to manipulation spells—the state soldiers had no qualifying criteria. These men looked older, shabbier, already exhausted.

“Another patchwork army,” Viran muttered. Like the force he’d stitched together in the Ghoren Islands, none of these troops looked like they belonged in a cohesive unit.

“Have faith, Commander-General,” Taeleia whispered. She and Danisan stood at attention on the step behind him alongside the human royals. “Allentria has been beaten, but we are not broken.”

On Viran’s other side, Caelburn was issuing instructions to ten mounted officers. They galloped down the line of troops, resuming their posts, and Caelburn turned to Viran.

“We await your orders, Commander-General,” he said coldly.

Caelburn was a tall man, but Viran was slightly taller. He lifted his chin, hoping Caelburn couldn’t detect in his eyes the turmoil that was sparking in his soul.

The great irony of Viran’s existence was that he was not a leader. He was not a warrior. His father had packed him off to the military school of the Xamarai to be rid of him, the ignominious bastard son, the black sheep of the Kvlaudium Sept. Viran had spent a decade fighting tooth and nail to earn the dynast’s approval. He’d become a warrior by necessity and a leader by accident. In an ideal world, he’d be surrounded by books, studying magic—not for the sake of killing enemies, but for the love of learning.

I came here to be a warrior, he thought. So a warrior I must be.

“Company attention!” he boomed, amplifying his voice with an airmagic spell. “We will move to the coast with the use of arcane magic. You have been briefed on the spell you are about to witness; remain in formation until it is complete.”

Viran turned to the palace entrance. On cue, Keriya and Valerion emerged into the misty morning light. Fletcher and Roxanne were with her. They were going to the coast as ambassadors—Fletcher because of his work with the elves, Roxanne because of her ability to communicate with animals.

Droplets of sun jeweled Valerion’s hide, turning his scales to diamonds. A cheer swelled from the troops at the sight of him. The dragon had remained a symbol of heroism, purity, and power over the last ten ages. The Allentrians saw his return as a miracle beyond miracles—a defiance of death and Necrovar alike.

They didn’t know that Valerion had been reanimated by a necromagical enchantment, that he’d traded half his soul to the Shadow. They didn’t know he was soulless—unable to wield, and consequently, unable to kill Necrovar. Viran had made it plain to Keriya’s group that it was to stay that way. If Valerion was to be a symbol for the war, then a symbol he must be. Nothing could tarnish his image, not when morale hung by threads.

Keriya halted midway down the flagstone steps. She was paler than usual and there were dark circles under her eyes. She’d been running herself ragged practicing the changemagic spell with Valerion. Seeing her so fragile, Viran felt an urge to call the whole thing off.

She’s here to be a warrior, too, he reminded himself. You must let her be what she wants to be. What she’s meant to be.

“Ready?” Keriya asked, glancing at her friends.

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Fletcher said with a small smile.

“Look at this,” Roxanne murmured, surveying the cheering crowd. “Three Aerian peasants standing on the steps of the Imperial Palace, helming an army.”

“I used to dream about this sort of thing,” Keriya admitted, her mouth twisting wryly. Sethildras sang as she drew it from its scabbard. “Careful what you wish for, I guess.”

“We’ve come a long way since Aeria,” said Fletcher. “In every way. In good ways. And I don’t mean your magic, Keriya—although that is, uh . . . pretty wild.”

Roxanne snorted. “Not even Shivnath could have foreseen that.”

Viran was sure he was the only one who caught the subtle flicker in Keriya’s eyes.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” she said cryptically. The hard, tired lines of her face softened as she looked at her friends. “I’m glad you’re here with me. I’m glad we came all this way.”

Fletcher bumped her shoulder with his. “Likewise.”

“If you’re done being sappy,” said Roxanne, though she was grinning, “there’s an army to transport.”

Viran stifled the desire to add his own sappy sentiment to the conversation. Now was not the right time to have a personal conversation with Keriya.

It’s never the right time. We’re at war.

So the cycle always went. So it was that Viran once again found himself holding his tongue, pulling away from Keriya, letting her take center stage.

A hush settled on the crowd, as if the troops were holding a collective breath. Keriya’s relation to Arisse, one of the guardians of pure Changemagic, had given her the ability to wield this spell. But having the ability to wield and successfully completing a complex weave of arcane threads were two different things.

Viran didn’t doubt Keriya’s power, but she was inexperienced. As the air before her distorted, as heat waves from the spell’s energy rolled over him, he felt the now-familiar pressure grip his chest, squeezing his heart.

Keriya closed her eyes and hefted Sethildras. Sweat beaded on her brow. She let out a muffled groan and then—

The shimmering atmosphere before her changed. The pressure gave way to wonder. Awe thrummed through Viran, tingling in his bones as he watched a patch of air approximately ten meters wide become something else. Within the nebulous edges of the spell, a blanket of dark moss gleamed on either side of a stone path. The trunks of ancient trees loomed in the shadows beyond.

Viran hurried forward to inspect the portal. The edge of the spell had no substance or width, and was invisible to the n***d eye from the side. When he embraced his source, a tangled mass of pearly molecules became visible—a tapestry of changemagic.

He rounded the portal and examined it from the courtyard. Sure enough, there was the location Keriya had studied and committed to memory. Port Elvinthrane sprawled beyond a barren stretch of land that the elves had cleared for an army encampment.

“Generals,” he called, “let’s be efficient and quick.”

Taeleia leapt down the steps and raced to her platoon, Danisan close behind. Caelburn snapped his fingers and a lieutenant brought his arion. He mounted the horselike steed and heeled it forth, shouting orders.

Viran retreated from the portal, making way for the vanguard of Imperials. “General Earengale,” he said, glancing at the steps.

Fletcher’s eyes went as wide and round as the Oldmoon. “I’m not a—”

“I want you on the other side of that portal to liaise with the resident elves.”

Fletcher closed his mouth and bravely marched down the steps. Without being asked, Roxanne followed. They stepped through the portal together, and Fletcher waved before they vanished, looping around to join the troops entering from the other side.

“Interesting,” said Viran, a smile of fascination threatening to spill across his lips. Keriya had stitched together two locations with a portal that occupied no space of its own. Fletcher had passed through safely from the north side as Imperials were marching into it from the south.

“Second battery, at the ready!” Caelburn boomed. Another unit of Imperials moved into position, awaiting their turn to march through the portal.

“Generals Emberwill, Wavewould, Windharte!” Viran’s voice snapped over the rhythmic thump of feet rising and falling in unison. “Join General Earengale to assist with organization.”

Effrax was the first to pull himself out of his semi-stupefied state. He approached Keriya, who stood with her eyes closed as she held Sethildras aloft. She didn’t need the sword to perform magic, but Viran knew the blade offered her comfort.

Effrax paused when he was abreast of Keriya. She gave no sign that she was aware of his presence, though his metal prosthetic clanked against the stone steps. His mahogany eyes slid past her to Valerion. The dragon gave a tiny shake of his head and Effrax took the hint. He passed Keriya without a word so as not to distract her, entering the portal in silence.

Sebaris went next. The Galantrian queen looked as bad as Keriya did—worse, now that Viran saw them together. Seba was gaunt and frail. Her skin had a bluish tinge and an unnatural waxy shine. Exhaustion darkened the underside of her angular sapphire eyes. Viran caught faint tremors in her hands as she entered the portal.

Maxton went last, and he had the gall to speak with Keriya. Viran saw his lips moving, but he couldn’t hear what the prince—King, he corrected himself sourly—was saying. The beat of the march was too loud, and Caelburn was shouting instructions at the third battery of Imperials.

Keriya’s knitted brow relaxed and a tiny smile lifted the corners of her lips. When Max laid a hand on her shoulder an irrational crackle of pressure surged in Viran’s chest.

“General Windharte,” he barked. “You’re needed in the Smarlands.”

Once Max was gone, Keriya’s condition worsened. She was hemorrhaging energy, and at the rate the troops were marching, it would take half an hour to move them through the portal. Could she maintain the spell that long?

“General Caelburn,” said Viran, “your men need to be running.”

“Double-time,” Caelburn roared.

The soldiers picked up their pace. Viran watched as the strain took its toll on Keriya. There was nothing he could do but grit his teeth and stand by as she suffered. Valerion extended his wing and hooked it around her in a comforting fashion. His wingthumb rested on her shoulder and she stood in the curve of his arm.

After what seemed an age, the Imperial Guards were through. Taeleia’s platoon went next. Most of the elves were barefoot—they had dexterous, clawed toes that splayed across the cobblestones, keeping them balanced and silent as they sprinted to their home.

Now the Smarlindian battery was marching. Viran stood beside the portal, urging each soldier on. There were a hundred men left. Then there were fifty. Then there were none. The courtyard was empty. Stillness settled on the ground like fog.

“Commander-General, permission to ride through?” said Caelburn, in a tone that suggested he loathed the fact that he had to ask.

Viran nodded curtly and Caelburn heeled his arion, trotting into the portal. Finally, Viran was able to turn his full attention to Keriya.

The sight of her made his heart break. She was drenched with sweat. Valerion’s wing was no longer a gesture of support—now it was all that was supporting her. She sagged against the slab of his shoulder, eyes closed.