Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Brewing Storm
The Fell-Speakers used magic to bind the flesh together, knitting together skin and sinew, fusing muscle and bone. It took the form of a grotesque, misshapen lump, vaguely humanoid, as if made by somebody who had no idea what a human actually looked like.
The head was round, with no neck. The torso was flabby and thick with fat, the limbs ropey with muscle. Stubby fingers twitched as the summoning continued.
One eye, small and squinting, dark and beady, flickered open. The other was huge but blind. Uneven dark, lank hair spilled from its crudely fused scalp.
The creature began to rise, groaning. Sitting up, it smacked its wide, flabby lips together, displaying rows of misaligned, randomly sized teeth. 'Urgh! Right! Who's got somethin' to eat?'
'I see that you have not changed, Butcher.' Terrorblade stated.
'You know, I actually prefer what the 'umans call me: Pudge. Says it all, really.' Pudge clambered into a standing position, wobbling slightly on his short, stubby legs. 'Makes sense when you look like this, eh?'
'Are you ready to mould flesh for me?'
'Long as I get to eat some.' Pudge waddled over to the nearest pile of corpses. 'They'll need somethin' to drive 'em.'
'That will be seen to.' Terrorblade eyed one of the Fell-Speakers.
'You want changin', Terrorblade?' Pudge squinted at Terrorblade's vessel. 'You look seriously ugly in that.'
'It will serve, and it is temporary.' Terrorblade said. 'We will march on Dragon Keep soon, and then you can eat Dragon Knights to your stomachs' contentment.'
Pudge's wide tongue darted over his lips. 'Good! I'm bloody famished!'
'Our forces are assembled as you instructed, my lord.' Dierdd announced, leading his cockatrice by its reins. 'And I have gathered the soldiers you requested. What are our orders?'
The Invoker peered into the bowl set on the plinth in his tent. It was a smaller version of the scrying pool in his tower. The depths of the tent were inky, but the scrying pool cast a silvery light about the Invoker.
Dierdd waited patiently as the Invoker stared down at the water in the bowl.
'They are desperate.' He murmured at last. 'Their enemy is winning.'
'My lord?'
'I can see via Fymryn's sapphire,' the Invoker explained. 'It's just as well. Ever since she left my tower, I have not been able to use the wurm-forged's amulet to watch them. The spell placed upon the Watcher's amulet must have been more temporary than mine.'
Dierdd did not ask what he meant. He knew little of magic, and he trusted the Invoker absolutely.
'Dierdd, I need you to go to Dragon Keep.'
'My lord?' Dierdd was taken aback.
'I am needed elsewhere, or I would go myself. And if all goes ill, then it will fall to me to prepare our people for the end of all things. I trust you to act in my stead, Dierdd, and whether you are victorious or slain, both Mene and I will hold you in the highest regard.'
Dierdd nodded slowly. 'I will do as you command, my lord. I live to serve the will of Mene.'
'You are a good man and a fine soldier, Dierdd. Go now, and may Mene watch over you.'
'We serve in Her shadow, and we shall serve when Her light is unveiled.'
'So shall it be.'
Dierdd bowed and backed out of the tent. The Invoker hoped he survived. He had not been exaggerating when he had deemed the man a fine soldier. The soldiers of the Dark Moon Horde trusted him, and he was a good tactician.
He would have gone himself. With his powers, he would have torn bloody furrows in Terrorblade's army. But it was not his place to face Terrorblade. That burden fell upon others, as Mene had decreed. Ensuring Her return was his duty, and he was the only one who could carry it out. Dierdd could be replaced. He could not.
He stepped out of the tent as Dierdd rode past, accompanied by some of his best warriors. They were the only ones who could be spared. Their skill would hopefully compensate for their lack of numbers.
The army was not that far from Dragon Keep, but Dierdd and his small band would reach it in time without the rest of them slowing him down. The rest of them had somewhere else they needed to be.
However the Battle for Creation ended, Mene would still have need of Her army, either for the destruction of the last foes which could stop Her, or for one last stand as She gathered the souls of Her faithful for one final battle.
This would have been easier if he had been able to kill Mirana when she had arrived at his tower. But he had made a deal. He honoured his promises, and the deal would allow Mene to return sooner rather than later. She would have new followers, a new realm to call Her own in addition to the Nightsilver Woods.
Fymryn had asked him to spare Mirana too. He had little room in his heart for mercy. But he was old. He had lived far longer than any of his kind should have.
Her companions, he would consider sparing if they changed their ways. If they converted, then Mene might not kill them. They would have to be punished for opposing Her, of course, but they might live.
But Mirana's fate was sealed. For Mene to return and rule, as was Her right and Her destiny, when the time was right, the Princess of the Sun had to die.
Fymryn would understand. It was one of the costs of Mene's return.
They pressed on, barely pausing to rest. They ate on the move, stopping only when they absolutely had to. They set aside and buried any supplies they did not need, lightening the loads on their beasts of burden, enough so that they could ride.
Aiushtha elected to carry Caewyn, since she was the smallest and weighed the least. To make the journey easier for Aiushtha, Caewyn removed her brigandine vest and tied it to the harness of Donté's tatou de guerre. The large beast could carry more than the rest without slowing, so they gave him whatever armour they felt they could do without for now. It was a risk, but they needed to move quickly, and unless they crossed paths with Terrorblade, these lands were safer than most of those they had crossed.
Davion was riding with Marci on Sagan. Purist was carrying Fymryn behind him, Donté would be riding with Eserren. Mirana chose to ride with Luna on Nova. This way, they would hopefully not overburden their mounts. She also still wanted to give Marci and Davion some time together, still feeling guilty about interrupting them earlier. Perhaps it had not been the best place, or time, but she still thought that she should have let them have their moment.
It felt like years, Mirana realised as she climbed up behind Luna, watching as Marci took Davion's hand and helped him up onto Sagan's back. It had been… weeks? A few months? She had lost track of the time. They had been travelling for at least a month, longer most likely.
The Nightsilver Woods had never felt further away. But home, their true home, had never felt so close.
Mirana was surprised to feel it, yet she could not deny it. Her heart ached to see Rasolir once again. She yearned to return with Marci, so that they could both stop hiding, stop running, stop living a lie.
If only they could have returned with Davion. Marci still held on to hope, but Mirana doubted that an Eldwurm could be easily dislodged from his soul, if he could be dislodged at all. She went along with Marci's hope though, just to keep her spirits up, feeling wretched for not helping her to face the truth, to prepare for the day when Davion would be lost to them.
Perhaps it was because she could not face it either. She might not have liked Davion at first, but he had become such a good friend to her, and much more than that to Marci. She would have liked it if he could have come to Rasolir with them. If she was to become the Empress, she could think of few finer candidates for her new Sun Guard, apart from Marci herself.
Perhaps Eserren would want to join the Sun Guard, or perhaps one of the Legions. If the Dragon Knights saw her as a traitor too, she would need a new role and a new home. Mirana would have been happy to find a role for Caewyn too. She had no doubt that Fymryn would not join them, and she had no idea what to do about Luna—she was still a wanted criminal in the Imperium.
They rode on, no longer caring if it was night or day. Terrorblade had the shorter distance to cross, they did not. Speed was their only chance now. If they were caught by Terrorblade outside of Dragon Keep, they would all die.
Mirana was no stranger to the relentless pace. The only difference between now and the flight from the Imperium was that they were riding now. When she and Marci had run from Shabarra and his allies, they had done so on foot. They had barely rested then too. Sometimes she had only been able to stand and walk because Marci had held her up. At times, Marci had driven herself so hard, Mirana had propped her up instead. Sometimes, Marci had carried her when she had been too tired to move. Sometimes, Mirana had carried Marci. Marci had obviously found it easier to carry Mirana, even though she was smaller than Mirana.
She was glad that they had mounts now, especially the two lunar cats. Without them, this would have been impossible. Sagan had adopted Marci's stubbornness and loyalty, and would not relent until he was absolutely exhausted. Only Nova persisted for longer, tough and relentless just like Luna.
Luna might have got along better with Marci if she had known how stubborn she was. Marci would have risked losing her foot, her leg, even her life to infection to fulfil her duty too. She hoped they got the chance to know each other at least a little better.
Ahead, she could see strange protrusions sticking out the ground. She thought of teeth first. They emerged from the cracked, dry soil, most of them curved, some oddly shaped, bone white.
It took her tired mind a moment to realise that they were bones—dragon bones, bleached white, left here to become dust.
Eserren indicated that they should slow down. Nova grunted as Luna pulled back on the reins, prompting her to walk rather than run.
'The Graveyard,' Davion murmured. 'I still remember travelling through this place after I was recruited. It always spooked me when I was a squire.' Marci turned her head and raised her eyebrows. 'Yeah, it still does.'
'Is that a void dragon skull?' Caewyn pointed at a large, bulky skull lying in the dust. Davion had mentioned how powerful void dragons were. It looked out of place, just lying there, lost, abandoned to time and nature. It seemed disrespectful.
'A juvenile.' Eserren noted. 'Female, I think. It's hard to tell without seeing the pelvis.'
'Don't dragons lay eggs, Lady Eserren?' Donté inquired. 'How does the pelvis tell you the gender of a dragon?'
'Void dragons lay very large eggs, the pelvis is wider and structured to make it easier. They also store their eggs for a short time, they need the extra space.'
'Have you fought one before, Lady Eserren?'
'No. But Caewyn and I have studied them, and all other types of dragon.'
'Very wise,' Purist approved. 'It is good to understand your enemy. But how much do you really know about dragons? You clearly understand their physiology. You know how to kill them.'
'Killing a dragon in theory isn't hard,' Davion said. 'You just hit them until they stop moving.'
Marci smirked.
'What about their habits? How they live? What they think?'
Eserren considered. 'Less than I'd like, especially now.'
'Have you read any of Auroth's books?' Davion asked. 'Some of them mention how dragons live, the things they do, stuff like that.'
'A few. They're good. Caewyn likes them.'
'They're fascinating!' Caewyn smiled. She glanced at another skeleton and shuddered. 'This place is really creepy though! Can we go a little faster?'
'Better to move slowly.' Davion said. 'We don't want to provoke the wendies.'
'The what now?' Luna frowned.
'Wendies.' Davion repeated.
'The local nickname for wendighasts.' Eserren explained. 'They nest here.'
'They scavenge amongst these bones, picking them clean. They eat the boneworms and dustpickers too.' Davion added. 'They're dangerous in numbers, but they won't attack us unless they think we're attacking them. We just need to move slowly and avoid shouting.'
'What do they look like?' Caewyn whispered, carefully loading her crossbow.
'You'll hear them first. They hiss almost constantly, like angry snakes. You'll see the eyes next, they reflect light.'
'They're small.' Eserren said. 'No larger than a toddler. They have wide, long hands for digging, with short claws, wide mouths with sharp teeth, long flexible noses, big ears.'
'They sound like goblins.' Donté noted. 'They are creeps in Nivan, related to the trolls here, I believe.'
'Maybe the wendies are related too.' Davion suggested. 'They're not clever though. They don't make tools, unlike trolls.'
'Should we be speaking?' Mirana whispered.
'Yes.' Eserren answered. 'Trust me. As long as we're making noise, the wendighasts will avoid us. Their eyesight is poor. Keep talking and they'll think there are more of us than there actually are. Just don't shout or scream, or they'll think we're attacking.'
'Right...' Fymryn murmured uneasily. 'So… it's a nice night, isn't it?'
Mirana sighed and glared at the bloodied moon, still spilling seemingly endless blood into the sky. 'We're riding through an unpleasant place full of dragon bones beyond counting, on our way to battle a Demon and his army of un-dead and dragons, the moon is bleeding and Mene is returning to kill us all. Or most of us. But that might not matter, because if Terrorblade beats us, the world will end. So, no, it is not a nice night.'
Fymryn sighed. 'Sorry.'
'Be optimistic, Mirana,' Caewyn suggested lightly. 'I still want to see who's the better shot. So we have to stay alive, right?'
Mirana pretended to consider. 'Staying alive would help with that, yes.'
'My crossbow is very accurate.'
'It takes longer for you to load a bolt than it does for me to nock an arrow, even with the cranequin.'
'Crossbows are easier to use. You don't need as much training.'
'Bows aren't complicated.'
'No, but you need to train for years to use one skilfully.'
'Doesn't that make crossbows too easy for Dragon Knights?'
'You still need to hit the target.'
'You're pretty good at that.' Mirana admitted. 'I expect you might win.'
'I don't know about that. You're a great archer.'
Luna chuckled. 'Do you two need a moment alone?'
'No. Mirana's nice, but I prefer men.'
'You're an elf, aren't you?'
'An elf raised by a human.' Fymryn muttered.
'Ah. I almost forgot.' Luna cocked her head. 'It's funny.'
'Funny how?' Eserren inquired.
'You raised an elf. I was raised by elves.'
'Aren't you half-elven?'
'So they say.'
'Quiet for a moment!' Donté held up his hand. 'I heard voices!'
Purist frowned and peered around. 'Sir Donté is right. There are Dragon Knights here.'
Marci raised her eyebrows.
'How do you know?' Davion whispered.
'They keep calling each other "Sir" or "Brother". They mentioned you too, Davion.'
Mirana listened carefully, all but holding her breath. All she could hear were the two lunar-cats breathing, growling softly, their ears twitching as they heard movement amongst the bones. She heard a horse whinny, and it wasn't Purist's. Aiushtha dug at the ground with her hooves.
Something skittered and hissed. She caught a glimpse of eyes shining in the darkness.
'Wendie!' Davion hissed.
'What was that?' A new voice this time, one of the Dragon Knights. They were separated from them only by the thick ribs and colossal skull of an adult fire dragon, likely an ancient one before its death, judging by the size.
'We can't stay quiet,' Mirana recognised the second voice. Wasn't it the voice of Davion's squire? Bram? 'The wendighasts are gathering.'
'Shit.' Luna breathed, easing her kriegsmesser from Nova's saddle.
'What do we do?' Aiushtha whispered, pawing more urgently at the ground, as if she was about to charge. 'What do we do, Davion?'
Mirana saw another pair of lamp-like eyes in the darkness. Another wendighast. A third pair of eyes appeared.
'They're gathering.' Eserren was clutching her bardiche tightly, ready to jump down and fight. 'Draw weapons!'
Luna and Caewyn had already done so, and Aiushtha had not put down her staff. The rest of them carefully readied weapons. Marci drew a throwing knife in one hand, with her other she indicated them with a sweeping motion, then made a chopping movement.
'Circle!' Mirana whispered. 'Form a circle!'
'I can hear voices!' Bram sounded excited. 'I think they're in here with us!'
'Your helmet is messing with your ears, new blood,' somebody muttered.
'He's not wrong.' The next voice was also familiar. Mirana recalled the face, struck by a jug of ale hurled by Marci. Jorsen was in there too. 'They're here.'
Mirana tensed, nocking an arrow to her bowstring, but hesitated when she heard Jorsen speak again.
'Sheath your weapons.'
'But—'
'Do as I command, Tandley. We have our orders, remember? Bram, with me.'
'The game is up.' Purist muttered.
'Then we might as well take our chances.' Mirana sighed. 'At least we can try to negotiate with the Knights.'
The others grunted or nodded their consent. No more hiding.
'We're on the other side of the fire dragon's ribcage.' Davion called. 'Let's get this over with before the wendies come out in force.'
Mirana clutched her bow, wondering if their bones were fated to join those already here. This was not a nice place to die.
At least she would have friends with her, though she wanted them to live, especially Marci. If she could buy them some time to flee…
Flee where? No. There would be no more running, and no more hiding. This would end in war, victory or defeat.
Mirana heard the hooves upon the ground as the Dragon Knights rode around the skeletal remains of the vanquished dragons. There were fifteen of them, all on horseback and fully armed and armoured. Behind them came the squires, with lighter armour and fewer armaments. At the head of the group was Jorsen, with Bram at his side.
'Bram?' Davion slid off Sagan's back and approached his former squire, staring at the silvery scales on his new armour. 'Those are dragon scales, Bram! You've killed a dragon!'
'I did,' Bram dismounted too, looking sheepish. 'I… I wish you could have been there, Davion. I'm sorry.'
Davion shook his head. 'You have nothing to be sorry for, Bram. I'm proud of you. Sir Jorsen,' he looked up at the senior Knight. 'Thank you, for helping him.'
Jorsen hesitated. 'You trained him well, Davion.' He looked up, noticing Eserren. 'Lady Eserren? I take it that these people are not your prisoners, since they are armed and free of chains?'
'You are correct.' Eserren stated. 'They are friends and allies. Is this to end with violence, Jorsen?'
Jorsen sighed and shook his head. 'Not if I can help it. The Fathers want Davion alive.'
'And Marci?' Mirana demanded. 'What about her?'
'She killed Sir Kaden!' one of the other Knights growled. 'We should behead her and leave her to rot!'
Mirana raised her bow. Marci's eyes started to light up.
'Peace!' Jorsen held up his hands. He jumped down from his horse and approached, hands away from his weapons. 'Peace. I did not come here to fight you.' He stood before Davion, looking contrite. 'The Fathers want you for something, Davion, and they might want your friend too. Carliven wants to study you. But I believe that his plans will bring only ruin to the Order.'
'You dare?' one of the Knights snapped.
'Silence!' Jorsen barked. 'I am in command here.'
'Jorsen,' Davion held out his arms. 'We will not resist. We need to speak with the Fathers. There is more at stake than just a couple of souls and some dragon's blood.'
Jorsen held up his hands. 'Gods help me, Davion, but I believe you. Too much which can't be explained has happened for me not to. And we've all seen the smoke rising from Knight's Hearth. Get back on your girlfriend's cat-monster-thing.'
'Her name is Marci and the cat is a lunar tiger.' Marci whistled and Davion shrugged. 'His name is Sagan.'
'Whatever, just get on with it. We're riding for Dragon Keep. Everybody, ready yourselves! I want us to be back at Dragon Keep before the next moonrise!'
Caewyn peered around Aiushtha's shoulders as Davion climbed up behind Marci again. 'Was that man your squire, Davion?'
'He was, yes.' Davion answered, nodding gratefully as Marci helped him up. 'Why do you ask?'
'Hmm? Oh! Just curious!' Caewyn smiled.
'Caewyn, stop admiring the boy and hold on to me,' Aiushtha told her. 'When I run, I run. Hang on now! Sproink!'
Caewyn yelped and held on to Aiushtha for dear life as the Enchantress took off at full gallop, catching up with the horses easily. The two night-beasts followed swiftly, Purist's horse galloping after them. Donté gave chase, with Eserren bouncing along behind him. 'Wait for me, my friends!' The Gallant yelled. 'I'm not missing out on this battle!'
'Neither am I,' Eserren concurred, 'so get this beast to run faster!'
'THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!'
The two Sun Guard threw Orodal to the ground. He yelped, rolling over and clasping his side. His robes were dirtied, and his sleeves were singed.
Lina stood over him, her fists on her hips. 'It is an outrage that you were ever allowed to plague the lands!' she snarled. Flames were still billowing around her fists, her hair also flaming.
'How dare you?' Orodal would have risen if the Sun Guard had not pointed their weapons at him. 'The God Emperor had a deal with me and my compatriots!'
'The God Emperor is gone!' Lina growled. 'He has fled like the coward he is. Now you have to deal with me.' Lina moved closer, baring her teeth. 'And I hate your kind, slaver.'
'I'm just making a living, woman!'
'Address the Regent properly, scum!' Asar, one of the newly chosen Sun Guard, an Ursa who had once fought in the arena with Garrisan, brandished his poleaxe. He was imposing and strong, like most Ursa, and they'd had to have his armour specially forged. He had fought tirelessly to prove himself worthy of his position, and Kashurra had noticed.
'You make your "living" by depriving innocent people of their lives,' Lina spat. 'You and all other slavers. I know that you've brought slaves here. You will release them. Now.'
'I will not!'
Lina held up her hand, flames swirling around it. 'I know that you don't use keys, or I would have had Asar take them from you.'
Asar growled, his scarred mouth opening to reveal his fangs. He had been a slave, and he had no more love for slavers than Lina did.
'Viceroy Kashurra told me of you when he heard that you were coming. He knew that you used passwords on your slaves' chains. You will tell us the words now,' Lina moved her burning hand closer, 'or I'll burn you.'
Orodal chuckled despite his situation. 'Killing me won't help you!'
'Who said I was going to kill you?' Lina sneered. 'I just said that I would burn you. I'll start with your feet, and work my way up.'
'You… you wouldn't!'
Lina crouched down and looked him in the eye. 'Do you know where I lived before I was brought here? I lived in Misrule.' Lina shrugged. 'Maybe Misrule means little to you, a backwards desert nation with people you can snatch now and then. But for me, it's home. It's a place where my powers are respected rather than feared.
And you and your partners have taken people from my home. You have taken my friends. I'll be happy to avenge them.' Lina glared at him, her eyes flickering with fire. 'Do you know what happens when human flesh burns? I do. It's not something you forget. I can't actually eat pork because the smell is so similar.' Lina leaned in closer. Orodal moved back, trying to get away from Lina's hand. 'But I can burn you. I'm more than willing. I'm good at burning people, aren't I, Asar?'
'Very good, my lady.' Asar rumbled.
Orodal gibbered, his eyes flicking over to Kashurra. 'You can't let her do this!'
Kashurra raised an eyebrow. 'I dislike suffering. But I couldn't stop Lady Lina even if I wanted to. Make this easier for all of us and reveal the passwords.'
'I had—'
'Shabarra is gone, and your deal with the Imperium is now void. It has been against our laws to take slaves ever since we chose our new Regent. And you arrived at the gates with several carts full of slaves. You have committed a grave offence, and insulted Lady Lina. I suggest that you apologise, give her what she wants, and submit yourself to the law, in that order.'
Orodal gulped. 'My Lady, I… I am truly sorry that I insulted you. Please forgive me!'
Lina did not move away, or douse the flames. 'The passwords. Now.'
Orodal recited a slew of words, which Kashurra memorised.
'Good.' Lina stood, at last letting her flames fade. 'Asar, take him away and lock him up.'
'But—'
'You said that you would submit to the law.' Kashurra stated. 'Your fate lies in the hands of our future Empress, who should be here soon enough.'
'I'm not a citizen!'
'But you have taken our citizens. And I seem to recall that slavers are sent to the mines for life in your own country, and the Misrulians would behead you if they caught you. Which would you prefer?'
Orodal lowered his head. 'Fine. I submit.'
Lina nodded to Asar, who seized Orodal's arm and dragged him away. She sighed and removed the circlet from her brow, a gift from the noble families and the Senate, to make her position as Regent official. 'Would you really have stood by and let me hurt him?'
'Torture is distasteful,' Kashurra stated. 'But you are the Regent, and your cause was just.'
'I didn't want to torture him.' Lina admitted. 'I hate slavers. But...' she shook her head. 'Ironic, isn't it? My greatest weapon is an instrument of suffering. I know all too well how horrible it is to die by fire.'
'The Burning Dunes.' Kashurra murmured. 'You fought there, didn't you? You fought for the clan which adopted you.'
Lina nodded.
'I heard that it was a great victory.'
'It was. For my clan. I tried to make it quick.'
'Would you have done it?'
'Only if I had to.'
'You and I are not so different then.'
Lina glanced at him, frowning slightly. 'Does it make me weak? My hesitation?'
'No.' Kashurra shook his head. 'Show me a ruler who does not falter now and then, and I will show you a leader who is a danger to their own people. Not all choices are simple.'
'I see. Thank you.'
Kashurra smiled faintly. 'Just don't falter too often.'
'Hopefully, I won't have to worry about that.' Lina fidgeted with the circlet. 'What news is there, Kashurra? Is the Princess on her way?'
Kashurra's small smile fell. 'I have received no news yet, but the rumours coming from across the sea are troubling. I have even heard tell of Knight's Hearth falling to an army of dragons.'
'What?'
'It is just a rumour, my lady. But it is not one we can discount, not since the Titan Coast is the place Sir Donté will most likely take Princess Mirana and Marci to meet with the Legions.'
Lina tapped the circlet with her thumbs. 'What would you suggest?'
'I would order the Legions to make landfall now.'
'What if people think we're invading?'
'If Knight's Hearth has fallen, we will be the least of their concerns, and though Dragon Keep is close, the Dragon Knights are neutral.'
Lina continued to tap the circlet, thinking. Kashurra watched her impassively, his mind working hard as usual.
He knew.
He knew that she had met with Draxius twice. Though he had not overheard either conversation, he was fully aware of how Draxius and his friends felt about Mirana. But he also knew that she had been speaking to Drysi, and Drysi wanted Mirana to return and assume her place on the Solar Throne.
Yet Lina was ambitious. As Regent, she had tasted the power of an Empress. Which would win out? Her honour? Or her ambition? She wanted to protect the weak, but would she do so as a servant of the throne? Or would she do so as a ruler?
Lina placed the circlet across her brow again. 'Send word to Vigilus Island, Viceroy, and new orders.'
Kashurra waited, outwardly patient. What she decided next would tell him much.
Davion had first travelled to Dragon Keep after he had been orphaned. A wandering Dragon Knight by the name of Halstaw had found him wandering aimlessly across the border. Halstaw had taken Davion under his wing after learning about his circumstances, taking him to Dragon Keep to train as a squire.
Halstaw had died two months later, slain by a void dragon, which had been killed in turn by Kaden. Some Knights had considered Davion to be bad luck, since every Knight who trained him seemed to end up dead shortly afterwards. He had gone through eight mentors before the last, a laid back Oglodi Dragon Knight named Torrhorn, had led him on the hunt on which he had killed his first dragon—a fire dragon—earning his own knighthood.
He wondered if Torrhorn was still there. What would he have said when they told him that his former squire had become an abomination and a traitor?
What would he say if he ever learned that his former squire, now an abomination, was in love with the woman—a woman who bore the blood of an Eldwurm herself—who had killed Kaden, the Dragon Knight Torrhorn had looked up to?
Davion was brought back to the present by a familiar sensation: something soft and feathery tickling his chin. Marci's hair.
Sagan was still running at full speed, stubborn and determined just like Marci.
Ahead, the gates of Dragon Keep awaited them. Davion knew the sight of the towers and walls well. He had always been glad to return. Dragon Keep was where he could catch up on the adventures of his brothers, and share his own tales. But every return had been tinged with melancholy, for each time he would learn that another brother had fallen, or simply gone missing without trace.
Though they were a successful Order, their numbers had been steadily dwindling. There were fewer and fewer of them every year, and fewer and fewer new recruits. Dragons were still an ever present threat, but perhaps the Dragon Knights had done their job too well. Orphans were harder to find, especially when other factions like the Dark Moon order and the Omniknights took them in too. Willing recruits were also rare. How many people actually wanted to risk their lives fighting dragons?
Kaden had been old for a Dragon Knight, and Carliven was perhaps the oldest in the Order. No other member of the Order had survived to be as old as him yet.
As they slowed their mounts to a walk, Davion glanced over at Eserren. She was in her late forties, getting close to Kaden's age before his death. Davion had never expected to live for as long as he had, and now that he knew what he had to do, every second seemed so much more precious. Every breath had to be measured and savoured.
He had never expected to fall in love.
There was no denying it now. There had not been any point for some time now. Yes, he was in love. Perhaps he had loved Marci ever since that kiss in Trestaine. Maybe it had been when she had kissed him by the river, with the glow of the sun in her hair. Or had it been when she had freed him in Weiß Wache? Before that, when he had first held her in his arms in that cave, and they had tried to make music together, butchering a happy tune as he kept her warm, admiring her selflessness and courage, worrying about how far she might go to save the people she cared about? Maybe even sooner, when she had come so dramatically to his rescue at the gates of Haupstadt.
He remembered waking up on the road to find her leaning over him, her beautiful eyes full of concern and warmth. Could it have started then?
No. It was even earlier than that. That first meeting, when fateful chance had chosen that moment for them to meet at that bar in Barreltown. He had just been curious. He had thought her pretty. He had turned aside a woman some would have argued was more beautiful. He himself had thought it strange at the time, but Marci had been captivating even then, in those first moments of their first meeting.
If they had been meant for each other, if only by the whims of fate, or by the will of some god or goddess, then it seemed all the more cruel. They'd had so little time.
Marci turned her head and smiled at him, and the ache in his heart dulled. The warmth of her smile banished his fear for a moment, and he barely felt the regret Slyrak shared with him.
He did not regret it. None of it. He was just sad to know that when this was over, if they somehow lived, he could not be with Marci. It was not to be.
Perhaps she would find someone else. She deserved to be happy.
'This place is ominous.' Aiushtha whispered. 'What is it with Dragon Knights and despoiling the dead?'
She had a point. The dragon skulls attached to the walls stared down accusingly at them, as if haunted by the bitter spirits of the slain.
Slyrak grumbled within. The very stones of Dragon Keep were woven with spells meant to deter and discourage dragons. The walls teemed with ballistae and scorpions meant to skewer dragons.
Never had he dreaded stepping into Dragon Keep so much, not even the first time, when it had stood over him like an indomitable sentinel, determined to keep out the unworthy—himself included.
"Welcome home, Davion."
That was what Halstaw had said to him. The place had never felt less like home.
Where was home now?
Another promise fate had dangled before him, before yanking it away. He would never know.
A sentry called down to them, 'Who goes there?'
'Sir Jorsen,' Jorsen responded. 'Davion and his… his friends are with us. Open the gates. We must speak with the Fathers at once.'
The sentry could plainly see them. He could see that Davion and his companions were not prisoners. He did not question Jorsen though. He blew a short note on his horn and the gates were pulled open.
They rode under the archway, the clang of weapons clashing familiar at first, yet it soon became apparent that there were many more than usual. It sounded like an army was training, not just a handful of Dragon Knights and their squires.
Eserren slid onto solid ground and looked around, taking in the many Knights and squires sparring with training weapons. 'What is going on, Jorsen?'
'The Fathers ordered all available members of the Order to come here without delay.' Jorsen explained as he dismounted. 'They've ordered a Great Hunt against Vylgranox.'
Marci whistled sharply.
'He's dead,' Caewyn frowned. 'Very dead.'
'Then how come he attacked us?' Bram asked.
'Yes, how come?' There was more annoyance in Jorsen's tone. 'We saw him with our own eyes. What, did he come back to life, elf?'
'Mind your tone, Jorsen.' Eserren growled.
'He didn't come back to life.' Davion murmured, staring up at the Keep. 'We defeated him. Marci cleaved his skull open with Eserren's bardiche. But his corpse was possessed by a Demon.'
Bram paled. Jorsen looked sceptical for a moment, read their grim expressions, then shook his head. 'How in the name of all that is holy did you get mixed up in this, Davion?'
'I've been asking myself the same question a lot recently.'
'Any answers yet?' Bram asked.
'Does fate count?'
Bram shrugged. 'It'll do.' He extended his hand, managing a weak smile. 'Davion… it's good to see you again, Brother. I'm sorry I could not be there to help you.'
Davion reached out and clasped his arm. 'It's fine, Bram. And I'm glad to see you too. You're going to have to tell me how you became a Dragon Knight.'
'That will have to wait.'
Jorsen and the other Knights snapped to attention at once. Striding into the crowded courtyard was a stout man arrayed in golden dragon scales.
'Father Ritterfau,' Jorsen bowed. 'We have brought Davion, as ordered.'
'So I heard, and so I see.' Ritterfau remarked dryly. 'That did not take long.'
Marci was eyeing the golden scales with a slight frown. Maybe it was because she had Orrak's blood, but she seemed to disapprove.
'Father Carliven wishes to speak with you.' Ritterfau announced.
Marci cleared her throat and stepped in front of Davion, her eyes narrowed.
'No, Marci,' Davion stepped forwards, placing his hand on her shoulder. 'Not this time. I have to do this alone.'
She blinked and looked up at him, raising her eyebrows. She touched his arm, her eyes wide with worry.
'I'll be back, Marci.' Davion promised. 'Trust me.'
Marci lowered one eyebrow.
'If they do anything, you know what to do,' he winked at her.
Marci mustered a smile and lifted her fist.
'Davion,' Mirana frowned. 'What are you doing?'
'Something stupid.'
Marci huffed and made a couple of signs.
'Yeah, you're right. Nothing's changed.' Davion murmured. 'I'm going to see the Fathers. I need to tell them what we're up against.'
Marci tapped his arm and indicated herself, then whistled his name.
'Marci...'
Marci shook her head, narrowing her eyes.
Davion sighed. 'I should know better. And I do admire your stubbornness.'
'She's right, Davion.' Mirana stepped forwards. 'We're in this together.'
'I remember a time when you just wanted me out of your hair.'
Mirana half-smiled. 'I was a fool, wasn't I?'
Davion shrugged. 'Maybe once or twice.'
'Oh, come on, Davion!' Mirana chortled. 'I was worse than that!'
Marci whistled and shook her head.
'Someone's got to admit it!'
'Enough!' Ritterfau barked. 'Davion, you are to accompany me at once.'
'Fine,' Davion agreed. 'But my friends are coming with me.'
'I cannot allow this, Davion.'
'We can't waste any more time,' Purist stated. 'Father Ritterfau, you have surely seen the smoke rising from Knight's Hearth. The one who destroyed it is coming here with his army. You must prepare for war.'
'Take us to Carliven, Father.' Davion insisted.
Ritterfau scowled and folded his arms.
'We're not your enemies, Father. There's a lot we need to tell you, the sooner the better.'
Ritterfau groaned. 'This had better be good, Davion. This had better be damn good.'
The Dragon Knights seemed to like their trophies, Marci thought. They had yet to turn a single corner without coming across a skull—not as big as those outside—or a claw, a set of scales, teeth, hide, something which had once been attached to a living dragon.
She supposed that she couldn't blame them, but it still seemed… uncivilised. Such trophies were considered unseemly in the Imperium.
Marci sighed. Had she been set on this path because of her failures?
She had failed to protect herself, and she had met Mirana because of her failure.
She had failed to save Mirana's parents, and they had fled to the Nightsilver Woods because of her failure.
She had failed to protect the sacred lotuses, and had been exiled because of yet another failure. Mirana could have remained safe, but she had chosen to accompany Marci.
If she hadn't failed so often…
'Everybody fails, Marci. It's how you deal with failure which matters. Find hope, like you were taught.'
For a moment, she wasn't certain if that was her own thought. It did not sound entirely like the voice from before. It was gentler, softer, more caring than before.
Marci's fingers wandered to the chain of her amulet. Things… things were terrible, yes. Yet not every moment had been awful. Mirana had not hated being back on the road with her, and Marci had been glad to travel with her Princess once again—an adventure like the ones they had dreamed of as children, even if it hadn't started well…
The Nightsilver Woods, two months ago…
Marci wasn't fond of the ceremonial garb. It felt… wrong on her. Robes didn't suit her, it was difficult to fight in them.
Mirana had suggested wearing them. It seemed like good advice, though Marci didn't think that wearing ceremonial robes would ease Selemene's ire.
The robes had never felt heavier. It was normally cool—often cold as far as Marci was concerned—here in the interior of the Temple, yet she felt trickles of sweat running down her spine. She wondered if she should have done something about her hair, which was still held back in the usual messy way. Mirana thought it was cute, Selemene probably did not. Too late now.
Luna was standing next to the doors to the sanctum, arms folded, glowering at Marci. She seemed to be taking Marci's failure personally. Overall security of the commune was her responsibility. Though Marci was not really under her command, Luna apparently resented her blunder—her and many others.
Marci had not integrated well. People respected Mirana, they just found Marci weird. She'd grown used to it. In some ways, it was not all that different from life in Rasolir.
The doors opened to allow a priestess to leave. 'The Goddess will see you now.'
Marci nodded and stepped over the threshold. Luna glared at her as she walked past, trying not to trip over her robes.
The inner sanctum felt even colder. Marci wondered how Mirana could stand it. Or had Selemene made it colder just for this?
Marci dropped to one knee, nearly ripping her robes, as piercing silver light erupted from the throne. She squinted as the light stung her eyes.
She had only met Selemene a few times before now, usually in Mirana's company—how else would Selemene understand anything she tried to say?
Mirana was not here now. Not good.
Marci lifted her head a little as Selemene slowly moved closer. She might not have been attracted to women as Mirana was, yet she could not deny that Selemene was arresting to behold.
Selemene stared down at her, Her violet eyes narrowed. When She spoke, Her words were low and full of menace. 'Do you love me?'
Selemene always asked this of Her followers. Marci knew that Selemene was uninterested in her. It was a question of faith.
Marci was not one of the most devout followers in the commune. In fact, she was probably one of the least faithful. Her duty was to Mirana first.
Selemene was still glaring at her. 'Well?'
Marci nodded.
Selemene said nothing, letting Marci fret before speaking. 'I do not believe you.'
Marci lifted her head.
'Do not raise your eyes to me!'
Marci lowered her head again.
'You have the gall to attempt to look me in the eye after your failure?' Selemene hissed. 'I gave you a second chance, and this is how you repay my benevolence?'
Marci shuddered. Selemene's words weighed down on her like millstones.
'I did not want you here at all. Were it not for Mirana's insistence, you would have been cast out.' Selemene stepped closer, cupped Marci's chin and lifted her head, forcing Marci to look up at Her. 'You owe her your life. You owe me your life. Yet you serve us both with failure and a lack of faith.'
Marci blinked quickly as her eyes grew moist. Failing Selemene was bad enough. Failing Mirana was worse by far, and she had already failed her terribly. Selemene did not need to remind her of that.
'Luna was right about you. I gave her a second chance, and she has served me faithfully. Unlike you. Mirana has such faith in you, and I cannot fathom why. She would be better off without you. You're like a weight around her neck, a burden she feels compelled to care for even as you let her down time and time again. Why she wants you around is something I will never understand. You are not a protector. You are a leech. You may well have allowed our enemies to gain strength, and bring about a disaster you could not hope to comprehend. For this, you deserve no leniency.'
Selemene tipped Marci's head back down, releasing her chin and striding away. 'But I am not without mercy,' She uttered Her next words slowly, putting a stress on each syllable. 'Though I will spare your life, you must pay for your transgression.'
Marci lifted her head a little as Selemene turned to face her again. 'This is my judgement, your sentence, your punishment: for your failure to protect the sacred lotuses you were charged with defending, you are henceforth banished.'
Marci lowered her head and squeezed her eyes shut. It would have been easier if Selemene had killed her. Instead, she would have to continue living with her blunders and failures. And Mirana…
Marci sighed softly. Maybe Selemene was right. Maybe Mirana would be better off without her. Mirana spent enough time worrying about her even as she served Selemene. And Selemene was not entirely wrong. She wasn't wrong at all.
Night after night, Marci had replayed the first moments of the Bloody Dance in her mind, wondering what she could have done differently.
She had disarmed Larisden, moving on instinct. And then she had stood there like an idiot. She had hesitated. She had been stupid. She had ended up killing him anyway.
She could have—should have—killed him then and there. She could have rushed Shabarra before he killed Mirana's father, she could have killed him… couldn't she? He'd had plenty of allies on his side, Callardis had overwhelmed Garrisan. She wouldn't have made it in time.
Could she have saved them?
That question had haunted her for so long now.
Had she hesitated because she had been scared? Attacking Shabarra then and there would have meant sacrificing herself, she knew that. She had never been a Sun Guard, and the Emperor had ordered her to run, but still…
She had been ordered to run. She had sworn to defend Mirana at any cost. She had clung to that in an attempt to alleviate the guilt. It barely worked, if it worked at all.
'You have not been summoned!' Marci turned her head when she heard Luna shout. 'No! I don't care who you are. Unless Selemene Herself tells me otherwise… Hey! Don't you dare!'
Selemene grimaced. 'Let her in, Luna.'
The doors opened. Mirana did not walk in, she ran. She did not even drop to one knee, she hurried straight to Marci, crouched and put an arm around her shoulders. 'Marci! I didn't realise you had been summoned so soon! If I had known...' she released Marci, stood and faced Selemene, inclining her head respectfully. 'My Goddess, forgive the interruption, but I should be here, if only to help Marci to speak with you.'
'There is no need for that, Princess.' Selemene stated. 'I have made my choice.'
'Choice?' Mirana breathed, her eyes widening. 'You… you can't punish Marci. She did her best.'
'She failed.'
'We both did.' Mirana insisted. 'I… I had a clear shot at the thief, but I…' Mirana looked down at her feet. 'I faltered, my Goddess. I missed. I missed because I was reluctant to kill again.'
Marci blinked. She still remembered the first time Mirana had killed somebody: a bandit, part of a gang who had attacked them on the road. Marci had been forced to kill most of them, but the last had attacked her from behind. Mirana had picked up a fallen mace and struck him with it, smashing his skull, saving Marci's life, ending another life in turn.
'Guarding the lotuses was not your duty. It was Marci's.'
'I was there. And Marci is my handmaiden. I am responsible for her.'
'You should not blame yourself, Princess.' Selemene told her. 'And my decision is final.'
Mirana gulped. 'What are you going to do?'
'It is already done. Marci is banished. She is to be cast from the Nightsilver Woods, never to return.'
'What? No!' Mirana cried. 'No! You can't!'
Selemene's eyes narrowed dangerously. 'Do not tell me what I can and cannot do, Mirana.'
'Please, my Goddess!' Mirana pleaded. 'Don't send Marci away!'
'I told you, my decision is final. Luna! Come here.'
Luna strode into the chamber, her weapon in hand.
'Remove her robes. She has no right to them.'
Luna did not argue. She reached out and seized the shoulders of Marci's robes. Marci did not resist.
Mirana turned and shoved Luna. 'Get away from her!'
'Stand away, Princess!' Luna snarled.
'Don't you touch her! Don't you dare!'
'Enough, Mirana!' Selemene snapped, waving Her hand. There was a flash of silver light and Mirana was forced away from Marci.
Marci stood and shook her head at Mirana. It would do her no good to anger Selemene.
Luna grabbed Marci's robes and pulled them off, leaving her with a simple shift and leggings. Marci made no effort to stop her, trying to ignore the cold air on her bare arms.
'Luna, take her to the gates and send her away. She is not to return, on pain of death.'
'No!' Mirana all but wailed. 'Please! I'm begging you!'
Selemene glared at her. 'Do you love me?'
Mirana was taken aback. 'W-with all my heart and soul, my Goddess.'
'Yet you seem to value your handmaiden more than your duty to me.'
'Marci… she's my dearest friend, you know that. She's all I have left of my old life.'
'Your life is here, with me.'
Mirana closed her eyes and sighed.
This was it. This was goodbye. Marci lowered her head, unable to face Mirana.
At least Mirana would be safe here. She had done what she could to protect her, to serve her, to be her friend. But all things came to an end, such was the way of the world.
'Very well.' Mirana whispered. 'If that is your decision, then so be it.' She opened her eyes. When she next spoke, her voice was stronger. 'If Marci is banished, then so am I.'
'Mirana, you can't.'
'I can. And I will. We were exiles before we came here. We can be exiles again.'
Marci stared at her, her eyes beginning to burn with tears. Though she did not want Mirana to abandon the safety of the Temple, she was indescribably grateful to her. Exile had been easier to bear with Mirana at her side. Like the Princess had said, they had survived as exiles together before. They could do it again.
'You are my Princess, Mirana. Your place is here, at my side.'
'I will not abandon Marci. If she has to leave, then so do I.'
Luna scowled. 'You should know your place, Princess.'
'I do, Commander.' Mirana stated. 'My decision is final too, my Goddess. If Marci stays, I stay. If she leaves, I leave. She is sworn to me, and I to her.'
'She must be made an example of, my lady!' Luna insisted.
'Silence, Luna,' Selemene ordered, clearly conflicted. She glared at Marci, Her gaze softening when She looked to Mirana, seeing how determined she was. Like Marci, she could be steadfast too. She would not abandon her.
'My decision stands, Princess. Marci is exiled, and I cannot stop you from leaving if that is your wish.' She sighed and closed Her eyes. 'And though Marci has failed me, it pains me that her banishment upsets you so.
I will offer you a final chance, Marci. You will have the opportunity to prove yourself to me. The lotuses must be found. The ones which were stolen were under your care. You must retrieve them. Find them, punish the thief, and return here with the lotuses, and you will be forgiven.
Do you understand me, Marci? Return with the lotuses, or do not return at all.'
Marci nodded solemnly.
Mirana approached and placed her hand on her arm. 'I will be with you, Marci. We're in this together,' she vowed, 'I'm here for you. I always will be.'
Marci managed to smile. She tipped her head forwards and rested her forehead against Mirana's.
Selemene looked away, hiding Her scowl. Luna folded her arms, shaking her head.
How could any of them have known what this, another one of Marci's failures, would lead to?
Now...
Marci shook her head, and tried to find those positives her mother had told her to seek so often.
If they'd stayed in the Nightsilver Woods, they would have surely died when the Invoker attacked. There was no way she could have protected Mirana against an entire army, and even if she had, Selemene would likely have taken their lives to fuel her power, to better oppose the Invoker. Between Luna and Fymryn, one of them had to be telling the truth about Selemene, if not both of them.
She'd made new friends, that had to count for something. She'd met Davion…
Davion…
She still clung to the hope that they might be able to save him. She had to.
One day, she kept telling herself, once they were done with Terrorblade, she would return home with Mirana. She wanted to show Davion Rasolir, help him to find a new purpose… with her, if he wanted that. She hoped he did. She hoped he did because... because she loved him. Though they had only known each other for a short time, she could not deny the bond between them.
She loved him. But she did not know if she could save him. She could only hope.
More skulls. Grim place. Nothing like the Rasolir palace. Aiushtha liked this less than her. It didn't help that she had to keep ducking whenever they passed through some of the older doorways.
More Knights followed them, carrying their weapons. The only one who was still armed, though nobody knew it, was Luna. She still had a dagger hidden up her sleeve. Marci did not need a weapon to fight. The Dragon Knights had confiscated her throwing knives and her dagger, and had two squires with crossbows watching her.
For his part, Jorsen seemed more trusting of them than the others, almost as much as Bram. Marci was not sure why.
They stopped outside a pair of metal doors engraved with the image of a Dragon Knight, probably the Order's founder.
'The Sanctum.' Davion told her quietly. 'Normally, only the Fathers are allowed inside.'
Ritterfau removed his right gauntlet and placed his palm against the doors. 'Until the last falls.'
The doors boomed and swung open, revealing a vast chamber beyond. A robed man was waiting for them, leaning on a staff. 'You are here at last, Son. We have much to discuss.'
'Yes,' Davion agreed, 'we do, Father Carliven.'
'You needn't worry, Davion,' Carliven turned to face them, one arm hanging at his side, his fingers curled awkwardly. He was favouring one leg as he moved, dragging the other behind him. 'You represent the future of the Dragon Knight Order, a future in which we will be stronger than ever, and the dragons will be but a memory.'
The new vessels were taking shape swiftly, and the Fell-Speakers were infusing them with new Demons. Though Foulfell had been created to hold Terrorblade himself, it was not solely a prison for him. There were others imprisoned in its depths, others he had reached out to and persuaded to join his cause.
What an army it would be, a mighty force gathered for one battle. The last battle. The Battle for Creation. A battle which would begin and end at Dragon Keep.
Terrorblade perched atop what remained of the wall facing south, watching as his new army was assembled. Pudge and the other Demons were marshalling the un-dead. Under their direction, they had constructed siege engines, adding to those why had stolen from the armouries of Knight's Hearth. The walking corpses not already equipped with made to bear arms and armour. Many bodies had been fused together to make hell-engines and homunculi. Terrorblade had summoned as many dragons as he could, using the power of the Eldwurms he had consumed. There were more out there, too far away to be of us, but what he had would be more than enough.
At the last count, his army stood roughly one-hundred thousand strong. Dragon Keep was manned by a force roughly one-thousand five-hundred strong. If the Fathers had called for a Great Hunt, as Terrorblade suspected, then they would have an army too, maybe seven-thousand in total.
The Dragon Knights would not be easily defeated. Dragon Keep was a mighty fortress, meant to repel dragons. A Dragon Knight equipped with dragon scales and a weapon from the Forge would be worth dozens of un-dead. It was just as well that he had the numbers. And it was not just the Dragon Knights he had to contend with. He knew what Slyrak would have in mind.
They both knew that this would be their final confrontation. Too many Eldwurms had fallen, and hiding would not help the others. They would join this fight, with as many dragons as they could summon in time.
He had Vylgranox's corpse and power, and dragons of his own. He had his army. One-hundred thousand against seven-thousand. He had the Direstone. Every foe who fell would become a part of his army.
'Bring them forth, Pudge.' Terrorblade ordered. 'It is time.'
The gates opened. His army marched out, un-dead, enthralled dragons, corpses fused into twisted new forms, possessed bodies. An army without banners or uniformity, but all bound by one purpose. His purpose.
The bleeding moon would not discourage him. It meant nothing to him. Mene could not stop him. No god could stop him now. Their limiting Covenant would be their undoing, and soon he would be truly free of his prison, and the sole ruler of all of Creation. His kindred could not stop him now.
His army did not need to rest. Two days, maybe three, and they would reach Dragon Keep.
Terrorblade took flight, soaring above his army. The dragons under his command flew behind him. He imagined that the Dragon Knights were aware of the fall of Knight's Hearth by now, and were preparing to defend themselves. Perhaps Davion had reached them by now and warned them.
That was good. This was how he wanted it to end. It had to end with war, with blood, with death.
Before anybody asks, Carliven is not Davion's father. "Son" is simply how the Fathers sometimes address lower ranked members of the Order, just as Dragon Knights call each other "Brother" at times. It seemed fitting.
