Interlude
So this is what has become of my realm.
He paced the stone floor. It had been so long since he had been in the presence of reality, of things of substance and physical form. Too much time had passed while he'd been imprisoned in the rift, floating aimlessly without body. Housed in this new vessel, everything looked larger than he remembered.
A suitable body, nevertheless. Not as imposing as my original form, but it will grow and endure for many years. The magi did well.
He had worried that they wouldn't have been able to find a body strong enough to hold the forces of his and his former dragon's mixed soul-essences. It was a tremendous burden on any mortal frame, but upon seeing this one he'd known it had strength. Having the boy fall into the Rift had turned out to be useful. Instead of merely possessing the body, as he had done before that warrior woman interrupted with Runeblade, he had been able to displace the boy's soul and take up permanent residence in his body. The body belonged to him, now, and none other; its former occupant's soul adrift in the void.
The woman... his sister?
He frowned when remembering the confrontation scarce days ago. Not only had the girl wielded Heron's sword Runeblade, but she was Bonded to Heron's old dragon Arokh. Who was she? Related to the boy he had overcome, yes, but was she anyone else?
No one I need fear. All who faced me have perished, save Arokh, and he survived only because his rider died before he did. This time, the dragon will die first. Perhaps I will experiment with the girl's soul shadow. She seemed to have her own share of power...
He climbed three stone steps, ignoring the creatures on his left and right who bowed and grovelled at his passing. At the top, a single representative of the Death Magi genuflected.
Ebontyne and Morghus. Traitors to the Order and now to the Union. They, too, will die. After that, who opposes me? Rimril, the last of the Guardian Magi and Archmagi, is dead. Two other Bonded live, but do not yet oppose me. Perhaps I should have them brought here.
"My Lord," the death mage said in a ghostly voice, and gestured to the throne it hovered beside.
He turned to face those gathered in the throneroom - his loyal lieutenants and followers - then sat on the large throne of carved black crystal. They cheered his return, sounds of mingled terror and triumph, but the noise was a distant thing in his ears. He let it wash over him, an absent-minded smile of acknowledgment on his face as he continued to think.
One thing became a necessity.
I will take the Runeblade.
Once it was his, the pitiful group of individuals opposing him would have nothing with which to stop his plans, which hadn't changed. Not just annihilate the inhabitants of this planet, as many had thought he'd meant to do when Heron had interrupted his spell so many years ago, but absorb their souls as he had absorbed the soul of his dragon Kaeros.
With the amassed soul-force of the entire world, perhaps then he'd have strength enough to reclaim his own soul from the fallen angel.
After that, who knew or dared to dream what he'd be capable of? With that much power and the Runeblade at his command, Drakan would not be the only world open to him.
These thoughts in mind, a real smile curved Navaros' lips and he laughed softly in anticipation.
It is really good to be back.