Dragon War

Chapter 4

“I am Major-General Stormleaf.” The woman identified herself in a voice nearly as deep and commanding as Viran’s. “We aren’t permitting civilians past—”

“I’m not a civilian,” he interrupted, offering a curt bow. “I’m Viran Kvlaudium—Jidaelni ambassador and honorary military commander, titles given to me by Empress Aldelphia.”

The woman’s deep-set teal eyes flickered with uncertainty. Everyone in Noryk knew Viran’s name, but he wasn’t wearing any mark of rank. Her gaze slid past him and landed on Keriya.

There could be no uncertainty about Keriya’s identity. Her ghostly skin and unnatural white hair were unique, and her red-violet eyes were a mark of their own. They branded her as the Dragon Speaker: a traitor and a hero. The girl who had abandoned Allentria to its fate at Necrovar’s hands. The girl who had returned home against all odds to make things right.

“He’s with me,” Keriya said dryly.

The guard nodded and saluted. “We suffered a blow to Noryk’s protective shield.”

“Is a breach likely?” asked Viran.

“The shadowtroops have attacked twice before, and each time the shield has held. But I was there during those attacks, and I’ve never seen anything like this.”

The gates ground open to allow a phalanx of foot soldiers out. Stormleaf beckoned for Viran to follow her, and he and Keriya accompanied the mage through the Southern Gate.

A waft of hot, ashy air rushed to meet Keriya, burning her nostrils with an acrid smell. She squinted against the sudden brightness and saw dozens of winged creatures hovering half a league away, hurling necromagical spells at the city’s invisible shield.

CRACK!

Another explosion rocked the ground. Keriya stumbled sideways into Viran and looked wildly to her left. A sphere of dark energy ballooned from the hovering creatures. It flared with shadowy brilliance, draining the light from its surroundings.

The orb swelled, expanding to the size of Noryk’s twelve-height walls. Keriya feared it would obliterate the Allentrian defenders, but it crashed against the shield, crumpling in a convex curve against the barrier. Purple-tinged energy waves rippled from the impact, distorting the air.

“Prepare volley!” cried Stormleaf, stomping east along the wall. Keriya saw a line of white-clad Imperials standing at the cliff’s edge. As one, they began preparing spells. Water wielders crafted liquid spears that they turned into icicles. Fire wielders molded molten flame into deadly points. On the ramparts, artillerymen angled war machines into place.

The foot soldiers spread across the gate platform. They knelt and primed heavy black crossbows, aiming at the winged monsters. Caught in the moment, Keriya mentally reflected threads from her source. She gripped Sethildras with one hand, while the other rose slowly, palm facing the enemy line. She closed her eyes and was again blinded by brilliant purple light beneath her lids.

“Fire!” Stormleaf screamed.

Cannons thundered. Spells launched, their cross-currents battering Keriya. Viran shot a white-hot jet of flame at the hovering creatures. Heart jumping into her throat—more from the thrill of wielding than from nerves—Keriya pointed at the winged beasts and loosed a spell.

A wave of magic, helmed by her anomalous ray of light, roared toward the enemy. With another deafening c***k, black lightning split the afternoon sky. The storm of sizzling forks evaporated spells and cannonballs alike, negating the Allentrians’ attack. The itchy scent of electricity smeared the air, making the hairs on the nape of Keriya’s neck stand upright.

“Voltmagic,” Viran whispered beside her, sounding shaken. “Those are necrocrelai.”

“Who?”

“The born-demons,” he explained. “Necrocrelai are one of the oldest wielding species. They pledged to Necrovar during the Second Age and were imprisoned alongside him at the end of the Great War—if they’re here, it means he’s freed them from the Etherworld.”

Keriya groaned. “As if we didn’t have enough problems.”

“Unlike shadowbeasts, who are dead creatures reanimated by Necrovar’s power, the necrocrelai are true demons. They have changemagic at the core of their sources, which means they can wield either darkmagic or voltmagic.” Viran’s mouth thinned to a grim line. “You’d never want to face either one . . . but voltmagic is particularly unpleasant.”

“Second volley!” Stormleaf’s faraway voice echoed toward them.

Another round of magic and missiles flew. Viran launched a fireball at the necrocrelai while Keriya wielded another beam of light. She forged her spell from fiery anger and steely determination, and the attack broke through the born-demons’ defenses. Her glowing ray shattered a black lightning bolt into a thousand crackling shards and hurtled onward—but the demon she’d targeted turned to shadow, escaping a searing death.

Keriya, who felt like triumph had been snatched from her grasp, didn’t have time to be upset. A shockwave of debris billowed toward the Allentrian front. The backlash was thick and putrid. It caught in her throat, and she doubled over in a fit of violent coughing.

“Steady,” came Viran’s voice. He patted her on the back to help clear her lungs. Gasping, she straightened and squinted toward the necrocrelai.

“They’re gone,” she said, her watering eyes going wide.

“They turned to shadow and disappeared.”

“Why?”

His brow creased. “I don’t know.”

“Shore up and regroup,” Stormleaf barked. “The shield holds fast!”

A ragged cheer ran through the troops. The soldiers busied themselves with inspecting the wall, the cliffs, and each other for harm.

“Why would they retreat?” Viran mused. “Come to think of it, why appear in the first place? There’s no sign of shadowbeasts or Necrovar’s mortal supporters . . .”

“Which means this isn’t a full-scale assault,” Keriya guessed, looking at him.

“The necrocrelai would be devastating if introduced as a surprise on a battlefield. Why did Necrovar show his hand? Trying to reassert dominance?”

“If he wanted to do that, he would be actively destroying the city,” she muttered.

“Quite right,” said a melodic dark tenor, a voice that came from everywhere and nowhere. “But I am not here to destroy. I am here to see you.”

Screams erupted along the walls. There was a rush of movement as the foot soldiers scattered in blind retreat. Keriya was vaguely aware of Viran yelling at her to move, to wield, to do something—but she was frozen again, drowning in a black sea of memories.

She turned to face the owner of the voice.

The stone platform stretched out flat before it began a gentle curve, arcing ponderously into the Fironem. A lone figure stood below her on the wide bridge, wreathed in wisps of shadow. He looked human, but Keriya knew he was much more than that. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was dressed in dark plainclothes. A heavy cloak stirred around him, partially concealing the sword that hung at his side. The pinpricks of yellow-orange light that served as his eyes were visible even from this distance. He was forty heights away, but she caught his smile.

“Hello, Keriya.” Though he spoke in a whisper, his words magically carried across the space between them and settled in her ears, sparking shivers across her skin. Judging by the chorus of gasps behind her, she assumed he’d made himself audible to everyone on the cliffs.

“Necrovar,” she breathed.

“You know I’ve never been partial to that name. Necrovar just means darkness; it lacks a certain flair.”

“Would you prefer I call you ‘tyrant’? Or maybe murderer.” The fear that had seized everyone else relinquished its hold on her. Bubbling heat welled in its place.

Necrovar’s smile faded. “Come closer, my dear. It’s been a long time. Show me how you’ve changed.” His voice was dangerously soft, halfway between a hiss and a caress.

Keriya felt a gentle tug on her arm. Viran was trying to extricate her from the confrontation. She remained rooted in her spot. Things she had forgotten—had chosen to forget—resurfaced as she glared at the Shadow. Thoughts of Thorion sprang to the forefront of her mind, causing her throat to burn.

Stop it, she told herself. Don’t cry. Don’t show weakness.

Necrovar tilted his horned head. “I see the magical block has been lifted from your soul. I figured it had to be, given how busy you’ve been these past few weeks.” He indicated the ring of rising mountains. “This changes everything. And yet, in many ways, nothing has changed at all. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Don’t engage him. That’s how he always gets in your head.

As soon as that thought hit her, Keriya dove into the deepest part of her soul and performed her mindcloak spell. She’d been practicing this one over the past two months, and her efforts had paid off. She isolated her consciousness in a heartbeat, concealing her thoughts.

“Keriya, you wound me.” Necrovar laid a hand on his chest. “Is this any way to greet an old friend?”

Before she could reply, thunder raged from every weapon on the ramparts. Keriya flinched as a hundred magical spells tore through the air and wove into a focused point, hurtling toward Necrovar. Stormleaf had arranged another volley.

With a negligent flick of Necrovar’s wrist, the attack evaporated. Spells and projectiles burst apart when they left the city shield, leaving nothing but a smudge of oily smoke in the air. He remained unscathed and unbothered.

He twitched his fingers next, and patches of darkness detached from the shadows on the bridge. They wafted across the ground toward him, rising and solidifying into six shapes—six necrocrelai.

“I’d like to introduce you to my most trusted generals, the demon lords of old,” said Necrovar. “Perhaps you’ve heard of them—they were infamous in the Second Age. Meet the Severed Six.”

“No.” Viran choked on the word. His fearful tone frightened Keriya more than the demons did.

This was her first proper look at the necrocrelai. They reminded her of overgrown bats with the huge, pointed ears protruding from either side of their wedge-shaped heads. The demon to Necrovar’s right stood a full hand taller than the Shadow. Massive shoulders and a keeled chest supported his ropy muscles. He had leathery wings instead of arms, and he hunched forward to rest part of his weight on his knuckles. His legs were like those of a jungle cat, bent and tipped with fearsome claws. A forked, whiplike tail lashed behind him. He had coarse navy fur and empty black eyes.

A female necrocrelai on Necrovar’s left narrowed her obsidian eyes to devious slits. She had the feral, dangerous beauty of a viper. A mane of gray-blue fur rippled past her bat ears and fell around her muscled shoulders.

“So, you are the light-wielding flesh-rat.” Her voice was throaty and sultry. “I don’t see what the fuss was about, Master. She is nothing special.”

“On the contrary, Ashétyn,” Necrovar said coolly. “It is thanks to this lovely little flesh-rat that you are free.”

“I didn’t free them.” Keriya spoke loudly—partly for her audience, but also to reaffirm the fact for herself. One demon, Frinshir of the Ninth Pavilion, had slipped through the Rift when she’d widened it. That had been a fluke, and Keriya had sent that monster back to the Etherworld.

“You freed the dragons,” the demoness sneered, “and upset the balance enough for us to return.”

Keriya’s mouth went as dry as a Jidaelni desert.

“Now that we’ve had our introductions, down to business.” Necrovar strode forward and placed his hand against the invisible shield. A vibration of energy radiated from his touch. A low rumble filled the air—so deep it was more felt than heard, and just loud enough to set Keriya’s teeth on edge.

“Two years ago, Shivnath sent you to me as a sacrifice. I’ve come to collect.”

“She only did that because she was trying to save Thorion,” Keriya rejoined, fury poisoning her voice. Though she’d known this since her first altercation with Necrovar, she’d never divulged the information to her friends. It was a cruel choice the dragon god had made, but a necessary one—no one else would have understood that. “Shivnath wanted you to take my soul instead of his, but you didn’t. Whatever deal you were hoping to make is off the table, because you murdered Thorion Sveltorious.”