Dragon War

Chapter 5

“How little you understand,” Necrovar sighed. “I am presenting you with a one-time offer, Keriya: surrender yourself to me, and I vow no more blood will be spilled. No more innocent lives will be lost. Why, I’ll even promise to leave Valerion Equilumos alone. Every last one of my mortal subjects will be safe. Except for you, I suppose—but that is the unfortunate nature of sacrifice, is it not?”

“Surrender isn’t an option,” she declared. “We’re not intimidated by your show of power.”

The pinpricks of light in his eye sockets flared. “You think this was a show of power?”

A wind whipped to life, flinging Keriya’s braid and tearing at her too-fine clothes. She leaned into the force and watched as Necrovar’s fiery eyes glowed brighter. They deepened from yellow-orange to blood-red, and then, horrifically, to purple.

Shadows leaked from his form. They raced across the bridge, stopping short at the shield before billowing upward to spread across the barrier. Keriya gasped as darkness arced over the city, blotting out the sun and devouring all light. Faint, panicked screams rose from the streets.

She looked at Necrovar. Ethereal purple flames licked his form, silhouetting him with cold, amethyst ghost-fire as he wielded. He was growing bigger, becoming giant.

“You have never seen my power.” Necrovar’s voice was omnipresent again, distorted in a crackly, ghoulish way. He was taller than the walls. The purple fire blazed in place of the sun he’d stolen from the world.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of.” With a speed that seemed impossible for his mass, Necrovar lashed out. His claws collided with the shield and the low hum became an eardrum-rupturing roar. Keriya clapped her hands to the sides of her head.

“You cannot stand against me.” Necrovar struck again. The hum of magical energy intensified, driving her to her knees. This time it was accompanied by a sharp c***k. A shining fissure had appeared in the air—a break in Noryk’s protection.

I have to stop him.

The thought forced her upright. Keriya pulled her hands from her aching ears and drew Sethildras. Angling into the howling gale, she started forward, each footstep a battle in its own right.

“You . . . won’t . . . win,” she panted. The wind stole the words from her mouth and flung them away.

“I can’t lose,” Necrovar countered. “You have no idea how to use the magic in your soul, and the dragons will never fight me.”

A streak of white flashed through the sky, a shooting star in a collapsing black hole. Glowing in the light of the purple hellfire, it soared over Keriya and landed on the bridge at the edge of the shield. Hope sparked within her—Valerion had come! She staggered to join him and saw streams of black ichor leaking from his eye socket.

Will being this close to Necrovar destroy him? Keriya couldn’t let that happen, so she did the only thing she could think of: she took another step, passing through the shroud of shadow and leaving the shield’s safety. Her vision went black and she swung Sethildras blindly.

A metallic clang met her ears and triumph reverberated up her arms—she’d struck Necrovar. She heard a vicious hiss and backpedaled to safety, but not quickly enough. Something sharp swiped across her throat and cheek, drawing a grunt of pain from her. She reentered the city’s shield and her vision returned abruptly.

Above, Necrovar’s pupils were once again their normal sickly orange. He pulled his claws from the barrier and the humming stopped. Keriya loosed a shuddering breath of relief.

The wind settled to a whisper. The shadows thinned, allowing the memory of sunlight to seep through. Slowly, Necrovar shrank. His gaze was fixed on Valerion.

“We meet again,” he breathed.

“So long as I am standing,” spat Valerion, “one dragon will fight you.”

Necrovar glanced at Keriya. “Or two, depending on how you look at things. Oh yes,” he added when Keriya’s eyes widened, “I know.”

He can’t, she thought. He’s lying. Trying to throw me off. There’s no way he could know—

The wind died completely, leaving an eerie hollowness in the air. The shadows grew transparent. Keriya could see the glow of the setting sun through the shadow-stained shield. Necrovar raised a hand to the light, revealing a glistening sheen of red on his black claws. Keriya’s own hand flew to her throat and felt warm wetness.

“There is dragon blood in your veins. I admit, learning that surprised me as much as I expect it surprised you.” A sour smile played across the cracked flesh of his lipless mouth. “Shivnath has been keeping secrets again.”

Heat leapt in Keriya’s belly. “Leave Shivnath out of this.”

“Shivnath is the beginning and the end of this,” he countered. “Soon you’ll realize that she does not deserve your loyalty. You’ll tire of her manipulation and deceit. Just remember that every death from now until then is your fault. If you want a war, then a war you shall have.”

Necrovar began to dissolve. The Severed Six took their cue from him, evaporating into dark splotches and merging into the natural shadows on the bridge.

“When you’re ready for real answers, dragon-child, come find me.” This time, Keriya was sure his voice reached her ears only. Necrovar and his servants vanished, and all that was left were his final words on the wind:

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

CHAPTER THREE“Of all the ways to shape our future, war must be the worst.”

~ Keleth Stellarion, Seventh Age

Viran was late.

This wasn’t a habit he wanted to fall into—not after the empress had accepted his presence and given him honorary titles—yet it seemed he’d been late more often than not since he’d come to Allentria. Not late, exactly, but . . . behind. He had the overwhelming sense that he was last in some invisible race, always fighting to catch up.

That feeling had abated after he’d received an enchanted ring that translated his language for the Allentrians’ ears and vice versa, but it had returned full-force since his arrival in Noryk. A constant pressure squeezed his chest, making him unable to relax. Not that he would relax—he’d thrown himself into the epicenter of what was about to become the greatest global conflict Selaras had seen in ten ages.

He hurried down a corridor in the northern wing of the Imperial Palace. Two guardsmen stood before a veil of opaque magic at the end of the hall, flanking an ornate marble door.

They stepped aside for Viran, and a field of energy contorted around him as he passed the door’s threshold. Embracing his source, he tried to identify the magics used to cloak and protect the Council Chamber. He saw air-threads, woven into a shield to prevent eavesdropping; fire-threads, woven into an enchantment that would incinerate trespassers; and a layer of threads that glowed a shocking shade of blue.

Voltmagic. Real voltmagic, not the necromagical electricity the Shadow’s minions had wielded against the walls yesterday. He’d never seen volt-threads before, yet somehow he recognized them. A shudder ran through him as he exited the shield and entered the Council Chamber.

“General Kvlaudium,” said the cool voice of Aldelphia Alderwood. The empress’s brown skin was smooth but pallid, as if she had faded over the many long years she’d ruled. Her hair was as shiny and healthy as that of a child, but gray with age.

“Your Majesty.” Viran pressed his left hand to his chest and tilted his torso in a forty-five-degree angle, though she was blind and couldn’t see the salute.

“Now that we are all present,” said Aldelphia, “we may begin.”

Viran scanned the room as he straightened. In his home country of Jidaeln, wielding had been a secret. The royal family and military guarded the truth, hiding it from the civilian populace. By contrast, Allentria and its inhabitants were bursting with magic.

Kzar Ilkhar, ruler of the dwarves, stood on a stone podium he’d wielded. Beside him were two elves: Taeleia Alenciae and her hulking bodyguard, Danisan, who was dressed in his usual cheerless black garb. While Taeleia’s white-blond hair and alabaster scales glowed beneath the light of the crystal chandelier, Danisan’s black mane and pallid gray countenance faded into the shadows cast by it.

Effrax Emberwill, Sebaris Wavewould, and Maxton Windharte—rulers-apparent of the three Shadow-occupied Allentrian states—had donned royal attire for the meeting. General Zarius Caelburn, who led the loyal Imperial troops, cut a striking figure. His medal-peppered white robes gleamed against his tawny skin.

Each of them was impressive. But they were all outshone by one.

Viran’s eyes settled on Keriya, as they always did. For a moment, the pressure in his chest abated. For a moment, he could breathe.

Without really paying attention, he drifted forward to join Fletcher Earengale and Roxanne Fleuridae, who stood beside Danisan. As he came to a stop at the round council table, a blunt force rammed into his rib cage.

He blinked and looked down to find Roxanne had elbowed him. She glared up, honey-hazel eyes snapping with impatience. She’d cut her hair short in anticipation of the coming conflict, and her cropped dark waves bobbed as she jerked her head toward Empress Aldelphia, who was watching Viran expectantly.

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t catch that.” Ra’s teeth, what was wrong with him?

“As our only military representative present at both events yesterday, I would like your report,” the empress repeated.

The pressure returned, squeezing the breath from Viran’s lungs. Amidst the chaos of Necrovar’s attack, the equally worrying issue of the dragons had fled his thoughts. Again he glanced at Keriya, whose eyes were a storm. Valerion stood beside her, his noble face set in a scowl.

Viran gathered his self-control. “The attack on the Southern Gate was—”

“Let us focus on the more pressing matter,” Aldelphia interrupted. Her unnerving gaze pierced Viran. He was sure some arcane magic allowed her to get a visual imprint of her surroundings. “Will we be adding another signature to the Allentrian Alliance Pact?”

Keriya spoke out of turn before Viran could open his mouth: “No, Your Majesty. The dragons refused our gifts.” She motioned to Fletcher, who unslung his rucksack and produced the four parcels. “They told us in no uncertain terms that they will not fight Necrovar.”

After a painful pause, the empress said, “That is disappointing.”

Well, that was the understatement of the last ten ages. Aldelphia could have given the dragons a run for their money in terms of emotionless reactions.

General Caelburn raised a hand for permission to speak. “Empress, it was my understanding that we allowed this civilian to handle first contact with the dragons because she has power over them,” he said, motioning to Keriya. “She previously demonstrated control over the original dragon who returned to Allentria. Why was that ability not employed now?”

“These are not impressionable dracklings,” growled Valerion. “These dragons are ancient and powerful. Moreover, Keriya does not share a bond with any of them, so she can’t exert her will upon them. They will not—cannot—be controlled.”

Keriya grew rigid and closed her eyes. Viran knew how deep the trauma of Thorion’s loss ran in her veins, but couldn’t offer telepathic support—her mind had remained cloaked after the attack.

“Here, Empress,” said Fletcher, hurrying around the table to return the treasures. It was an obvious attempt to draw attention away from Keriya, but it worked. Aldelphia ignored the parcels containing the phoenix feather, the emerald, and the timemagic vial. She took only the valestone, plucking it from its packaging and holding it aloft.

“I had hoped this would mean something to them,” she murmured. The stone glinted ominously in the light cascading through the windows. Viran’s stomach plummeted toward the marble floor. Where before its sides had been rough but unbroken, now the valestone had a dark c***k on its face—not unlike the c***k that hung in the air above the Southern Gate.