Seven Days

By Ben Hale

Text
Copyright © 2012 Ben Hale

All Rights Reserved

To my family and
friends, who believed.

And to my wife,
who is perfect.

Table of Contents

World Map of Lumineia

Prologue: The List
Unseen

—Day 1—

Chapter 1: Defiant

Chapter 2: Plague

Chapter 3: Silver Mine

Chapter 4: The East
Tunnel

—Day 2—

Chapter 5: Behind the
Lines

Chapter 6: A Mother's
Love

Chapter 7: Pride

Chapter 8: Master
and Servant

Chapter 9: Imprisoned

—Day 3—

Chapter 10: The Sweeper

Chapter 11: The Deep

Chapter 12:
Healing and Remembering

Chapter 13: Unbound

Chapter 14: Deep Dragon

—Day 4—

Chapter 15: Breach

Chapter 16:
Reinforcements

Chapter 17: Family

Chapter 18: Allies

—Day 5—

Chapter 19:
Choice and Consequence

Chapter 20: The
Gates of Azertorn

Chapter 21: Council of
Fire

Chapter 22: Plan of
Sacrifice

—Day 6—

Chapter 23: Healing

Chapter 24: Retreat

Chapter 25: Heaven's
Might

Chapter 26: Parting
of the Ways

Chapter 27: Secrets

—Day 7—

Chapter 28: The
Essence of Fire

Chapter 29: Diversion

Chapter 30: Hope's End

Chapter 31: Xshaltheria

Chapter 32: The
Power of Peace

Chapter 33: An
Oracle's Stand

Chapter 34: Mirror's
Edge

Chapter 35: A Light
in the Dark

Epilogue: From the
Ashes

Author Bio

World Map of Lumineia

Prologue: The List Unseen

"Did we
do it?" Mazer asked.

"I
believe so," Ianna said with a sigh, opening her eyes. The future was rarely
clear, but in this case she felt marginally confident that their effort would
lead to success. She took a slow breath, steadying the swirling images until
the dim cave that had become their home came into focus. It still surprised her
at the sense of freedom that permeated the place, contrasting sharply with what
she had felt at the Oracle's home.

Mazer flashed
a loving grin as he sank into a seat across from her. "Have I ever told
you that your farsight is incredible?"

"More
than once," she said, smiling.

"Do you
think Siarra will be as talented?"

She shook her
head, her smile turning wry. "As I have been gifted with enchanting and farsight,
she will be gifted with power. I'm afraid the future will not be as clear for
her as it has been to me."

"I am
sure that will be frustrating for her."

She gave a low
laugh, wishing she could have spent more time with her fiery daughter. Although
she had not realized it at the time, her departure with Mazer had been the
first of eleven tasks revealed in her visions.

Ambiguous,
shifting, and unreliable, farsight was a unique ability of Oracles. Fortunately
for the races of Luminiea she had been gifted with a greater portion of the
skill, and her dreams had lead to the list. Eleven items, each more difficult than
the last, comprised their efforts to prepare Lumineia for the second Draeken
war. Collectively, they would give the world its sole chance at survival.

She shuddered
as she remembered the images of the bloody battle at Azertorn. Death would
touch the life of every soul in every kingdom—in just the span of seven days.
Even if the races were compelled to gather, would they be capable of setting
aside their traditions of hatred? Would they stand united as one people? Even
with her ability she did not know the answer.

But their
efforts would provide a sliver of hope if they did.

"Do you
really think the thief will be able to get it?" Mazer asked, crossing out
number nine on the parchment in front of him. "We could barely get
in."

"Siarra
will die without it, so I certainly hope so," she replied, returning her
mind to the present.

He grunted.
"I still wish we could have killed the guildmaster. That one has hurt more
people than I would care to think about."

Ianna smiled
at him, grateful that he was by her side—and grateful that she could feel such
love. It was not something she had thought was in her future. As brief as their
time together would be, she did not regret her choice.

He gestured to
the list. "Next we forge the weapon." Then his expression tightened
as he met her eyes. "Are you sure you are ready to do this? We just got
back from Nine."

"I will
have to be. We have less than a month before my magic begins to fade."

He swallowed
against his concern and nodded. "What do you need?"

She settled
into a comfortable position and motioned towards the opening of the cave.
"First close the door. Let's not be caught this close to the end."

As he rolled
the large stone into place she flicked her hand towards the fire pit. The flame
blossomed into view as the natural daylight was cut off, and shadows danced on
the walls of the small space.

"What
next?" Mazer asked, returning to his seat in front of her.

She took a
slow breath. "Now I need your sword."

Without
hesitation he drew the long katsana from his back and passed it to her.
"Is there something I can do while you work?"

"You can
start on Eleven."

His gaze
dropped to the list, his eyebrows pulling together. "I have to admit that I
have never understood that one."

Recalling the
vision that had lead to the final two tasks, she murmured, "Two will fight
on two ends of the earth. One will wield a weapon. The other will wield his
mind. The first must be forged. The last must be fashioned." She shrugged.
"We know The Weapon will be our future son, and The Mind will lead the
defenses at Azertorn."

"So how
does one fashion the mind of someone who has not been born?"

Her smile evaporated
as she remembered the clarity of that prophecy. Although she did not know his
name, she did know what the boy would bear. But his leadership and intelligence
would slumber forever without the right opportunity. She felt a shiver touch
her, knowing what the young man would have to endure because of them. They
would put him on the course to war, and the burden of so many lives would be
supreme. The understanding that it was necessary didn't alleviate her guilt.
Reluctantly, she said, "Young minds are crafted through play,"

"So he
just needs the right game."

Day 1

Chapter 1: Defiant

With fire streaming
behind the great phoenix that he rode, Newhawk soared above the plateau. As the
first wave of spears struck the cliff, his magically enhanced voice thundered
over the joined races.

"People
of Lumineia, for millennia we have fought each other. By magic and the sword we
have slain our neighbors, for they were our foes. Today that enmity dies. Today
we stand as allies!"

Dwarves raised
their swords beside orcs, humans mingled as one people, and even dark elves
stood next to light. As the surviving population of their world, a million souls
stood in defiance of Draeken's legions. To a man they knew it was not enough.

"As
one, we have gathered against the endless night! United, we will withstand the
dark!"

A tremor
shivered through the plateau as another salvo of black shafts sank into the
cliff. Launched by giant skorpian fiends, the missiles soared from their tails
until they pummeled the plateau. Few reached the top of the thousand foot cliff.
The rest embedded into the rock face, quivering from the impact.

"Hold
the line! Prove your valor! Defend the light!"

A flood of
black, human-shaped fiends swarmed up the cliff. With their manes shimmering red
and their teeth bared in vicious snarls, the quare surged upward, bounding from
spear to spear as they sought to reach the top.

"We.
Will. Not. Fail!"

The warcry of
the great phoenix pierced the morning, and his challenge galvanized the army to
raise their weapons and scream against their fear. Pounding their shields, the
din vibrated the air and shook the ground with its power. Bellowing the battle cries
of their disparate nations, all life on Lumineia braced for the assault.

***

Commander
Braon watched the attack through the large magical map, and couldn’t suppress
the shimmer of fear as Newhawk's words ended. Only Braon and those in the room bore
witness to the bombardment in its entirety. Behind him, the others swallowed
and shifted, muttering bleak prayers for salvation.

Although only
fifteen, Braon had been placed in command by the Oracle herself, and charged
with uniting the races against the invasion. In six weeks, he’d gathered them
here, to the plateau known as the Giant's Shelf. Some, like the humans and
dwarves, had come of their own volition, ready to stand and fight. Others, such
as the black elves from underground, had been driven here by the very army they
faced. Some, like the gnomes and orcs from the northlands, had been manipulated
to come. Still others were drawn to glory and battle, such as the dark skinned Azüre,
the barbarians, and the amazons.

Regardless of
their reasons, all of the races had been integrated into a single army. Many
had once been bitter enemies and had been forced, on threat of annihilation, to
ally against their common enemy. Millions now stood against Draeken's army—but
Braon knew it would not be enough. The Oracle had been clear that the best they
could hope to last was seven days . . .

Today marked
the beginning of day one.

Braon watched
the third volley through the enchanted map. Dominating the great hall, its
sheer size was intimidating, but in his eyes it was just an oversized game of
Stratos. Created for the express purpose of coordinating this battle, the map
captured in perfect clarity both sides of the engagement.

Liquid magic
showed the twenty miles of the Giant's Shelf. Anchored by the city in the
center, their army stretched to the mountains on the western end, and to the
enormous Blue Lake to the east. Fluid light, shaped into the various sizes of
vessels, showed the large fleet of allies on its waters. Adjacent to it, the
Lake Road presented the only highway to the top of the cliff, and its slow rise
was dotted with fortifications and the barbarian battalion.

The entire
southern half of the map blossomed with red pinpricks of light, revealing just
a fraction of the fiend army they fought. Roiling with red, their bodies packed
into what had been the great elven forest of Numenessee, pressing forward
through the charred husks of the once great trees.

At last estimate
their enemy numbered into the billions.

Sliding his
hands into the magic liquid, Braon enhanced the image to watch the fiends’
astonishingly fast ascent. Braon knew of only two people who had ever climbed
the cliff, but with the aid of the multitude of spears, the quare leapt upward
with unsettling agility. Satisfied that he had a minute before they reached the
top, he slid the map to the side to look at the city of Azertorn, calling out
orders as he manipulated the atlas.

“Inform all
battalions to prepare for attack,” he said, directing his orders towards the man
standing behind him. Discarding fisherman clothing for ill-fitting armor,
Thacker and his seven children had a unique magical ability. Linked mind to
mind, the family was his best—and fastest—means of communicating with his seven
generals. “Have all archers launch missiles as soon as they have a target. Also
activate the sweeper teams and tell Deiran and Golic that I will be watching
their commands.”

Braon didn’t
wait for a response. He had trained Thacker over the last few weeks to pass on
messages with efficiency. The telepathic father and his children, or Links, as
they had come to be called, had become an extension of his voice that reached
every corner of their enormous army.

A moment later
the thirty-foot, three-dimensional fluid slid to a stop at the center of the cliff.
Etched in perfect detail the enchanted water and light showed the city of
Azertorn, the capital city of the elves and the focal point of their defenses.
With the lowest level only two hundred feet off the ground and over a mile
across, the city had been carved between two towering waterfalls. Each
subsequent level, shaped in a half circle, sank deeper, wider, and higher into
the cliff. Carved by the ancient dwarves as a gift to the elves, the immense,
recessed city had been built vertically into the Giant's Shelf.

At the lowest
point in the cliff except for the Lake Road, the city was one of the most
vulnerable positions—so Braon had built extreme fortifications to protect it.
Thick walls topped with manned battlements separated the city from the horde
two hundred feet below. Sweeper machines and ballistae further reinforced the
wall. More than a barrier for a conventional enemy, the height of the city
seemed to be just a mild deterrent for the mass of fiends.

The skorpian spears
smashed into the cliff all around the city, and streaked into Azertorn
unimpeded. Braon clenched his jaw as he watched countless missiles plunge into
the elven defenders. Even in the map he could see their agony as they flew
backward from the impact.

“Tell Deiran
to do his best to get his men under cover,” he said, hoping the elven general could
get his troops out of harm's way—but knowing he would be unsuccessful. Then the
quare reached the lowest tier of Azertorn and flooded into the elven defenders.
Tiny swords flashed in the magical map as the battle was joined with a
fierceness that stole Braon's breath. Swallowing, he issued more orders for the
elven general.

“Deiran, watch
the left flank, and make sure you . . .”

***

“. . . have
your battle magi use the water to push them back.” Daq said, passing on the
order from Commander Braon.

Deiran, elven
general and leader of the city’s defenses, barely spared a glance at the eight-year-old
son of Thacker. “Understood, Commander,” he said, accepting the orders.

Darting to the
side of his command structure, he grabbed the senior water magi. “Get the
reserve magi to reinforce the left flank!”

The elf raced
from the top of the building and Deiran turned back to watch as a few hundred
feet in front of him the black mass of fiends crashed into the defenders. With
difficulty, he suppressed the desire to sprint to the front and lead his elves
into battle. Commander Braon had trained them to direct from behind the lines,
and only his hard won respect for the young commander kept him from breaking
his orders.

“Seron,
reinforce the center!” he shouted, seeing the middle group begin to falter and
give ground. The elf captain leapt forward and joined the fray with his
specially trained warriors. Unbidden, an intense anger flooded through the elf
general, pounding in his ears as he watched his people die, torn apart by the
powerful dark fiends, but with the anger came a streak of grim satisfaction.

With
tremendous courage, his elves held the line. A moment later he saw blasts of
water streak skyward from the pond that surrounded the great tree Le Runtáriel.
Twisting in midair, they lanced into the thickest knots of black forms. In
moments the elves managed to drive the fiends back over the cliff. Even from
his position he could hear the screams of the dying fiends mingle with elven
cries of triumph—and agony.

“Tell
Commander Braon that it looks like we are holding the line,” Deiran said to
Daq, without taking his eyes off the battle. When he didn’t hear a reply, he
glanced at the normally impetuous youth. The young boy's mouth hung open as he
stared, white faced, at the brutal battle.

Deiran's heart
leapt into his throat as he reached out to the kid. “It's okay Daq,” he said,
drawing the young man to his side. “Everything will be fine.”

“B-but, there
are so many being hurt,” his young voice quavered.

“I know son,”
Deiran said, suddenly wondering when this kid had managed to get such a hold on
his heart. Then he realized it was around the time his wife had shared she was
with child. It made him wonder again what kind of father he would be. “We have
to trust Commander Braon to get us out of this.”

Daq's wide
eyes blinked up at him, and Deiran was glad to see hope mixed with his fear. “I
do trust Braon,” he said, jutting his chin out.

Deiran smiled,
but spared a glance at the battle before answering. “So do I, so pass on my
report and let’s do what we can to win this war.”

The young
man’s face took on a firmness that seemed odd in one so young, and he gave a
curt nod before closing his eyes to pass on the report. Deiran inwardly sighed
and turned back to the battle, already issuing other orders to the soldiers
around him. He recalled thinking the elves alone could defend the city against
any adversary. Now it took all his strength to hold on to his hope.

One day would
be a lifetime.

Seven days
would be an eternity.

***

“General Deiran
reports the breach is closed, sir,” Thacker said. “And that he is confident his
command can keep them from gaining a foothold in the city . . . for now.”

Braon barely
acknowledged the comment. In front of him, the map was focused on the Lake
Road, the only route with direct access to the top of the plateau. Over five
miles in length, it had once been devoid of anything but a low wall that kept
travelers from inadvertently plunging into the Blue Lake. Now it boasted seven
newly constructed walls and the protective fence had been taken down.

Barbarians and
Amazons, once mortal enemies, now fought desperately to defend the first
wall—but their enemy was too strong. Whereas quare had been sent up the cliff,
the giant krakas were attacking the wall. Topping ten feet and armored in white
bone, the fiend captains wielded massive obsidian blades. Although they dragged
the heavy weapons behind them, Braon knew that they could whip their swords
through men like a scythe through summer wheat.

By sword and
sinew the mighty fiends attacked, and through the map, Braon watched men and
women die. One after another the huge warriors threw themselves at the
defensive wall, which shuddered in response.

Any normal
wall should have already given way, but Braon had asked the dwarven artisans to
construct the fortifications on the Lake Road to be porous, and absorb
impact. Instead of smashing the stone to powder, the furious assault seemed to
sink into the barricade. It would give them precious time.

But even with
Braon’s plans the wall was beginning to buckle. Armored flesh met stone . . .
and the stone was yielding. While spears and arrows rained down on them from
the defenders, the mighty kraka's battered the bulwarks. A moment later,
Thacker supported what he was watching.

“Golic reports
that the first wall is about to fall,” he said, a trace of fear seeping into
his tone.

It should
not be this soon, Braon thought, his heart sinking in despair. It has
only been an hour!

His brow
furrowed and his eyes closed as he cast about for something, anything to delay
the fall of the first wall. Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he slid the map
to the side, hoping. An instant later the Blue Lake came into view, and the
hundreds of ships that bobbed on its waters. Even in the map, Braon could see
thousands of tiny missiles flying from their decks and cascading into the
roiling mass of the enemy.

Braon nodded
fiercely, “Order all ships within range to fire every ballistae they have at
the ones attacking the first wall. It cannot be breached this early.”

Looking back
at the map, Braon waited, praying that the extra firepower would arrive in
time. With practiced fingers, he enhanced the map so he could get a better look
at the battle unfolding below . . .

***

Golic leaned
out over the first wall of the Lake Road and plunged his large sword into the
neck of a kraka just as it had reached the top, feeling a flash of gratitude
that the boy commander had allowed him to fight in the front line. Growling in
satisfaction as the fiend fell, he shouted, “Stand your ground! Do NOT let them
get through!” Barbarians all around him roared their battle cries and renewed
their efforts to stave off the onslaught, answering the call of their clan
leader.

A flurry of
black streaked towards him and on instinct he ducked, barely managing to escape
the spear as it flew past his head. Roaring in anger, he reached for one of the
large, double-bladed throwing axes favored by his people. With his muscles
cording in the enormous effort, he swung the axe back and whipped it over his
head with both hands.

End over end
the axe flew, its twin heads catching the sunlight until it crashed into the
head of the offending skorpian. The crunch of the exoskeleton echoed even over
the din of battle, and the beast reared, emitting a piercing squeal of pain.
Stomping and thrashing, it crushed and tossed the smaller fiends as it clawed
at the embedded axe with its pincers.

Golic raised
his large sword into the sky, bellowing his war cry, and all around him
barbarians joined him.

“Sir!” Someone
called behind him, and he dropped behind a parapet to find Seath, the oldest of
Thacker’s sons and his Link to Commander Braon. Although the young man had
never been in battle, raised as he was among the softer humans, the youth
seemed to be holding up well under the circumstances.

Before Golic
could ask, the seventeen-year-old yelled, “We need to get the ships to direct
their fire at the group attacking the wall.”

Golic nodded
and raced for the descending steps. Without looking he knew Seath would be
behind him, just as he had been trained. Golic's braided black hair billowed
out behind him as he jumped the last few steps and darted to the edge of the
road. From here, he could see the massive Blue Lake stretching into the
distance, its clear water lapping the stone less than thirty feet below.

Hundreds of
vessels bobbed on the surface, and innumerable arrows, crossbow bolts, and
ballistae flew from them, plunging into the black army on the other side of the
wall. Raising his voice, Golic called to the small schooner anchored at the
base of the cliff, “Focus everything you have on the ones attacking the wall!”

The man
disappeared from view, and a moment later rushed to raise a different flag. As
the ships took notice of the new orders the barrage shifted direction, until
thousands of barbed missiles pummeled the force attacking the wall.
Surprisingly, the eight pirate ships under captain Raize were the first to
respond, and their deadly accuracy had an immediate effect.

Roars of pain
and rage from the giant kraka’s announced precise hits, and the sounds of their
armored bodies slamming into the wall began to diminish. Even now, Golic could
see injured and dead fiends being thrust out of the way. Bouncing off the
rocks, they fell to the water below. Grunting in satisfaction, Golic turned to
Seath, “The attack has slowed for now, but I don’t know how much longer we can hold.”

His report
issued, Golic turned to the Amazon waiting beside him . . .

***

Braon wiped
the sweat from his brow as he saw the press against the first wall begin to
subside. Dividing their foes attention as he'd hoped, the fiends launched
themselves into the water as they sought the source of the barrage. Now with
multiple targets, the black spears rained down on the ships as well—relieving
some of the pressure at the wall.

If it fell
this early. . . He couldn’t bear to finish the thought. He listened to
Thacker pass on the expected report and said, “Tell him to inform me when the
first wall is threatened again.”

Taking a deep
breath, Braon expanded the map to show the entire battle once more and began to
hunt for trouble spots. Before he could find one, a shadow fell over the room
and he looked up. Originally the room that he had appropriated for his map room
had been the great hall of the house of Runya, and one of the reasons he had
chosen this spot was because of the view. High and vaulted, the walls and
ceiling alike had been enchanted with magic similar to that used in the map.

Plants had
been imbued with light to make the room seem as if it rested at the very top of
Le Runtáriel. The display was so clear Braon could look out over the enormous
army from a point at the exact center of Azertorn—eight hundred feet off the
valley floor. With the branches from the massive sacred tree swaying in the
wind, it even gave the impression the room moved with the breeze. Adding to the
effect, the darkwood floor lent to the sensation of a tree house.

But Braon only
had eyes for his enemy and the world around him. There were too many lives at
stake for him to be distracted—and if he ever forgot, he just had to look at
the sky. The entire southern expanse of the once blue sky appeared gray,
dimming the light above Draeken’s army. With no end to the dark cloud to the
south, only the sky above the city and to the north remained clear. Even as the
battle raged below, the heavens mirrored the dividing line between the two
forces.

The shadow
crossed over the room again. A massive red bird had just glided into view, and
Braon thought, Reiquen, can you please take Newhawk to strengthen the Lake
Road?

The phoenix
tipped his wings above him and he received a mental response from the graceful
bird. Of course.

Braon felt a
rush of gratitude to have won the loyalty of the phoenix, and his rider,
Newhawk. The druid leader and his intimidating mount had become the figurehead
of their entire army, and many of the commoners were under the impression that
he was their commander. Braon had done his best to foster the belief, as the
ruse had proved useful in many ways. Tall, strong, and charismatic, Newhawk
displayed all the characteristics of a natural born leader. And Reiquen, the
only phoenix to ever bond with a druid, possessed a deep intelligence—and
tremendous fire magic.

As the phoenix
flapped his regal wings, Braon stood frozen as the magic wall and ceiling
showed what he had been watching on the map. Beyond the city, a roiling black
mass stretched to the horizon. Rippling, the black ocean of evil beings bent on
their destruction rolled forward in an unending course, a tidal wave to crash
against their defenses, threatening to wash them away.

Braon
swallowed, and steeled himself for what had to be done. Every race of Lumineia
depended on him and his strategy. He could not afford the time to wallow in
despair. Dipping his head back to the map, he scanned the enchantment to see
what else needed attention. Seeing a break in the line, he enhanced the view
and began issuing commands.

For the next
several hours he perused the map and issued orders. Without stopping to eat, he
crammed food into his mouth as he scanned his magic atlas for any sign of a breach,
any hint of an opening. Again and again he issued orders and watched over his
generals. All seven had grown accustomed to his curt commands, and they
followed his instructions with precision as the sun rose into the sky and began
to descend.

Time after
time, he directed his army to defend their areas, even to the point of
anticipating his opponent’s attacks before they occurred. Although many men and
women died in those hours, their line held, repeatedly throwing fiends to their
deaths. The gathered races defended the top of their cliff valiantly . . . and
dared to hope for victory.

Suddenly
Thacker spoke, his voice filled with dread. “We have a problem.”

Braon had the
map once again focused on the city, and his heart sank as he looked at the man
that had been by his side for more than a month. Thacker’s face had lost all
color and his next words came out in a whisper, “One of fiend generals has been
sighted at the Lake Road.”

Braon closed
his eyes. Of the four generals, one had already been killed. That left War,
Plague and Famine. Famine he believed could be injured, if anyone could get
close enough. He doubted War would show himself, being the head of the army.
Plague would be the worst. He knew of no way to injure or kill him.

“Which one?”
He asked softly.

“General Golic
says he can’t tell yet, but his men are beginning to feel sick.”

Plague,
Braon thought, despair rippling through him. So soon?

“He is getting
closer, and the rest of the army has pulled back. Do you want General Golic to
attack him?”

He opened his
eyes and nodded, “With everything they have, magic and weapon.” He paused to
control his fear. “But be ready to retreat if he gets too close.”

Turning back
to the map he shook his head. How do I defeat a disease?

Chapter 2: Plague

Golic fought
the sudden wave of nausea and forced himself to look over the battlements. For
a hundred yards the enemy had withdrawn, leaving only dead fiends between them
and the first wall. Now a solitary figure crossed the bloody ground, moving
slowly as it picked its way through the torn corpses. A tattered shroud failed
to hide the revolting sores that covered its visible flesh. Mottled tumors, sickly
green and yellow, grew thick and septic all over its body. Under the hood, the
creature’s face had turned sallow and squashed, like an old pumpkin that had
gone soft over time.

As it neared,
Golic signaled for the amazon archers and his barbarian axe throwers to launch
their missiles. Double bladed axes and steel tipped arrows whistled through the
air and struck true—but the impact hardly slowed Plague as gasps of horror
escaped the defenders. As each deadly projectile plowed into the dark general,
it stuck fast for only a moment, until a scabbed and lesion riddled hand
reached up and pulled the weapon free.

Golic felt his
stomach spasm, but he clenched his jaw and forced it down. “Archers, retreat to
the second wall! Magi, begin your assault!”

Amazons and
barbarians alike turned and ran in relief, racing to put some distance between
themselves and the horrid monster behind them. To their credit, only a few
paused to wretch onto the rocky ground. Mages from both their peoples remained,
casting their most powerful spells.

Normally used
to strengthen allies, the body magic of the barbarians attempted to weaken the
disease riddled figure to the point of collapse. Piercing sound from the amazon
sirens blasted towards the horrible creature—but it didn’t slow. Gliding right
through the magical attacks, it paused . . . and then raised a hand.

The nausea intensified
a hundredfold.

Tasting bile,
Golic grasped his stomach and shouted for a retreat to the second wall. Hunched
and stumbling, the magi and the few remaining warriors hurried up the road to
the second wall. As he put more distance between himself and the source of the
magical disease, Golic felt the burgeoning vomit begin to subside. Gasping for
breath he darted through the doors and grabbed Seath’s shaking shoulder as he
followed him through.

“Tell Braon .
. .,” he paused to swallow and take several breaths, “that magic and blade had
no effect.” He leaned against the wall, struggling to contain his stomach and
the desperation from his voice. “What are his orders?”

***

Braon listened
to Golic’s plea without taking his eyes off the magical map. Enhanced to the
maximum degree possible, he’d watched every attempt to slow the general. His
brow crinkled in deep concentration as he puzzled out what to do. In the back
of his mind he knew there was one solution he had prepared, but he had not
anticipated having to activate it this early in the battle. Putting that plan
into effect would cause them to lose the first three walls, and he had intended
on using it only after those barriers had already fallen to the enemy—meaning
it wasn’t quite ready.

But there was
no other solution, so he sighed and turned to Thacker. “Inform General Emeka to
ready the dwarven magi along the lake road. Then tell Golic to retreat to the
fourth wall. We will ignite the cliff on my signal.”

***

Golic watched
Seath blanch in a way that was not related to a magical ailment. “What is it?” he
asked.

“Retreat to
the fourth wall . . . and get ready to blow the cliff on his signal.” Seath
said, his eyes wide.

Leaping into
action, Golic gave fast orders and raced to help the retreat. Wheeling the
wounded and loaded down with extra weapons, the group pushed their way to the
third wall as quickly as they could manage. Crammed to a bottleneck, they
worked their way through as the nausea began to increase again. Finally the
last of the group managed to get through the gate. Golic brought up the rear,
helping a wounded man limp forward as he glanced back in time to see the wooden
gates of the second wall crumble into mold. Gliding through, the diseased
general continued his dogged pursuit.

Growling,
Golic heaved the other barbarian onto his shoulder and sprinted the remaining
distance to the fourth wall. Arriving last, he pushed through and ordered the
gates sealed behind him. With a grunt, he carefully lowered his load into the
waiting arms of healers. Then he darted to the top of the wall with Seath
trailing behind him.

As soon as he
reached the ramparts he directed his report to his Link. “Tell him we are
ready.” Sending a prayer skyward, he raised his eyes to the cliff on his right.

***

General Emeka,
the dark skinned king of the Azüre people, whirled when the soft voice of Jake,
his Link said, “Commander Braon needs you to ready the dwarven magi next to the
Lake Road.” The twelve-year-old's face showed he had no idea what the order
meant, but had dutifully passed on the instructions.

Emeka’s lips
thinned in disapproval. For him to take orders from the boy commander
still rankled, but he had no choice. After he had issued a direct challenge,
Braon had bested him—although he still felt that the child had cheated. Now the
great king of the island tribes had been reduced to accepting orders from
another boy, albeit a telepathic one.

“Adaeze, see
to our commanders’ orders. I will ride to the front line and see how our
defenses are holding.” He took two steps and paused when he heard the quiet
footfalls behind him. Braon had expressly charged the generals to keep their
Links by their sides at all times, protected and available to pass on orders.
The same charge prevented Emeka from going into battle, depriving him of the
opportunity for his due glory.

It further
grated that Braon had allowed only the barbarian leader to fight in front with
his people, spouting something about barbarian culture. Despite Emeka’s best
efforts, the commander hadn’t allowed him the same privilege.

On impulse, he
spun on his heels and said, “Take the boy with you. Braon might need to give
you further information.”

“But—,” Jake
stuttered.

Emeka threw
him an icy glare that silenced him, and then strode from the second story
lookout post without another word.

***

Adaeze watched
her father go with sadness, knowing his pride would be his eventual undoing.
Sighing she turned to the young man, “How critical is this order Jake?”

After a moment
his eyes widened and all color drained from his face. “Braon says there is no
time to deal with General Emeka. We have less than five minutes before the Lake
Road is lost!”

Before she
even knew what she was doing, she’d grabbed the back of the boy’s shirt and
dragged him down the stairs and outside. Ignoring his sputtering, she threw him
onto a horse and leapt up behind him. Kicking her heels into the animal’s
flanks, she picked up speed and ignored the cries of protest from Jake’s
bodyguards.

“What do we
have to do?” she shouted into Jake’s ear over the pounding of hooves, trying to
direct their mount around the thousands of tents and milling soldiers.

“The dwarves
have rigged detonating magic inside the cliff above the road," he said.
"When activated, it should bring down enough rock to block the entire roadway.”

“Why didn’t we
do this before?” she yelled in frustration.

“We can only
do it once, and Commander Braon wanted to wait until he had to use it.”

Growling at
her own confusion, she galloped past the small ridge where their battalion got
its name. Then the edge overlooking the Lake Road came into view. She directed
their mount towards the only group of dwarves in sight and reigned in the horse
at the last minute. Before the trembling steed had stopped she was on the
ground. “Get ready to release whatever you prepared.”

The dwarves
hesitated, clearly not expecting to see her. Then one caught sight of Jake and
nodded. “It’ll take a few minutes to prepare,” he said in a deep, growling
voice.

“We don’t have
that much time!” Jake cried, his young voice full of terror.

All eyes
darted to the boy still in the saddle, and his naked fear galvanized the
dwarves into action. Rushing to a large stack of vases, the dwarves began to
pour containers of shimmering liquid into four holes in the ground.

“Can we help?”
Adaeze asked.

One dwarf
barked a laugh without looking up. “One touch from you lot and it’ll go off
before you can say, ‘we’re dead’! Only fire dwarves can handle stonesap
safely!”

“How much time
do we have?” Adaeze asked, desperately looking at Jake.

“One minute
before . . . something gets past the strike area for the dwarves magic,”
he whispered.

Adaeze
shuddered. If the road is lost . . .

“Is there any
way to get this done faster!” she yelled.

One of them
paused and said doubtfully, “If a fire arrow hits the cliff where this is
leaking out, it will set it off—but it’s probably higher than any arrow could
reach.”

***

Braon listened
to Jake's report through Thacker, and unconsciously began pacing as he rubbed
his forefinger against his thumb. Reiquen, he thought, desperately
calling the pheonix, are you close enough?

A faint
thought echoed in his mind, laced with sorrow. I’m sorry, we are not in
range.

His scattered
gaze suddenly caught the ships in the map and a memory tugged its way to the
surface. Closing his eyes he focused on the thought, sensing that his
unconscious mind was trying to show him something. Then he remembered and his
eyes snapped open.

His words
tumbling from his mouth in his rush to get things moving. “Have the pirate
ships shoot their Ballistae at the cliff!”

“Why the
pirate—,”

“Now!”
Braon barked, cutting through Thacker’s confusion.

***

Braglair
turned the handles of the large ballistae, resisting the urge to release the
bolt. Although barely eighteen, the young man had already been with Captain
Raize and his pirates a year, but in that time he had made several improvements
to the massive weapon sitting on the foredeck of the ship. For some reason, he
had always been able to . . . see how mechanical things should work.

The forceful
pirate captain had been dubious, until he’d seen his reinforcements to the
crossbow machine send a bolt twice as far as before. Braglair had been placed
in charge of the war machine ever since, and had earned his place among the
rest of the villainous crew by striking down many merchants vessels with the
improved weapon. Now as he looked up at the Lake Road, he wondered why the
fleet had been ordered to hold their fire, and how many of their allies had
already fallen. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of so much bounty on the
corpses, unable to be acquired with him placed in the fleet.

From his
vantage point at the front of the ship, he couldn’t see much of the fiend army
except for the ones on the beach farther south. The short cliff between the
side of the Lake Road and the water prevented a better view. Now he was itching
to send more shafts of wood into the army that threatened them. They had
stocked a significant store of the large bolts, and he couldn’t wait to send
more of them to their deaths. If there was one thing he hated more than the
guards at Keese, it was the army they faced now. Although he would never admit
it out loud, they scared the piss out of him.

—Suddenly one
of the order flags dropped out of sight and he perked up. The new flag being
raised showed only the pirate symbol and the order to fire at what? It
looked like the daft old man had added some scraps of large parchment to the
flag, making it look like he was supposed to shoot at the cliff. And with a
fire arrow? Shaking his head in irritation, he cast his sharp eyes at the cliff
above the road, searching for some sign of what he was supposed to target.

Then the sunlight
glistened off some sort of liquid oozing out of the stone. Since it was the
only thing that appeared possible he scowled and adjusted the war machine for
the high shot. Muttering under his breath, he closed one eye and sighted. It
was going to be one beast of a long shot . . .

***

Adaeze leaned
out over the drop off, praying with all her strength that something would
happen in time. As if in answer to her prayers, she saw a fire light on one of
the ships, and a moment later a flaming ballistae bolt launched into the air.
Impossibly, it streaked higher and higher, refusing to return earthward. Her
hope rose with the missile’s flight, until finally it struck the cliff two hundred
feet below her.

—The explosion
rocked the plateau, knocking her to her knees. Gouts of flame and fragments of
stone blossomed across the cliff, sending chunks tumbling to the road. The
dwarves behind her gleefully dumped the last of the stonesap before rushing to
the edge to watch.

By now, the bursts
could be seen moving in a particular order as they tore away great sections of
the rock. One by one, they blew, tossing house-sized boulders to pound into the
ground below. Then the explosions accelerated. Individual detonations could hardly
be discerned as they boomed out, faster and faster.

“Brace
yourself,” one dwarf grunted.

Adaeze grabbed
a piece of the low wall and opened her mouth to ask why. Without warning a
massive blast rattled the ground, followed by a shockwave of sound so intense
she flinched. It felt like the entire cliff was giving way, but one glance at
the dwarves showed them happily watching their handiwork. Looking down, she
watched as huge sections of the cliff, loosened by the previous explosions,
cascaded down like thunderous hail.

By the time
the landslide came to a halt, the entire road was blocked for at least a mile.
Smiling to herself she whispered, “Get through that, spawn of Skorn.”

***

Braon let out
a slow breath as he watched the last of the stone fragments land on the
enormous pile blocking the road. A tingle of satisfaction ran up his skin and
down his back just before a spontaneous cheer rang out from Thacker and the
other elves in the room. They had done it—for the moment. Braon hadn’t even
blinked as he watched the boulders crash on top of the tiny figure of Plague.

But the
elation didn’t last. The retaliation was swift and brutal, crashing onto every
portion of the cliff in a fury. Without hesitation, he jumped to adjust the map
as reports came flooding in. Responding in kind, he sent his orders through
Thacker.

"Onix,
they are going to press your right flank in two minutes."

"Talfar,
watch your line. Your orcs next to sweeper 428 are weakening. Pull
reinforcements from the adjacent commands."

"Val'Trisian,
there is a knot approaching stonesap trap 387. Detonate it in fifteen seconds
and you should catch most of them."

"Have
Adaeze find Emeka. He needs to limit his use of the dwarven traps. At his
current rate, he will use them all in the first two days. We need to conserve
some for the remainder of the battle."

If he obeys,
he thought, but didn't voice it. Of all his generals Emeka was the least
supportive, and gaining his respect had been . . . difficult. He doubted the Azüre
king had let go of the lingering resentment from the challenge—or Braon's order
to refrain from battle. But Braon just needed him to obey his commands for a
few more days.

Then they
would be victorious—or dead.

Time after
time, he helped quell a break in the line, only to hear of a dozen more leaks.
Minutes stretched into long hours, until the sun had set unnoticed and darkness
began to fall across the Giant's Shelf. At last the battle slowed enough for
Braon to call for the reserves to replace the front line, allowing the men and
women that had been fighting all day to get some much needed rest.

The second
reserves vacated the sleeping quarters for them, moving up to first reserve
position. Although he had been conditioning that group to sleep during the day
for weeks now, he wondered how many had lain awake, listening to the sounds of
battle. He would need them fresh at midnight, when they would rotate forward
again and take over the defenses. If they had not slept, it could cause their
entire line to buckle.

Unrelenting
darkness fell across the cliff and city, and elven light magi were quick to
activate their prepared spells. Small orbs of intense light lifted into the sky
along the ongoing battle, casting light over the combatants and allowing the
defenders a chance to survive through the long night. This was the time that
Braon had feared the most, and had carefully marshaled his strongest forces to
fight in the dark. It would be when their foes were strongest, and when their
army would be weakest.

As he
continued to organize and direct his fresh forces, preparing for the difficult
hours ahead, Braon’s mind returned to the enigma of the creature called Plague.
In his gut he knew two things about him; that he was more disease than flesh .
. . and that he doubted even a mountain of stone could kill him.

Chapter 3: Silver Mine

On the other
side of the world Taryn Elseerian eased into an ancient silver mine, listening
for any sound. Of medium height and build, the young man carried the hallmarks
of the elven, human, and the dwarven nations. Thick red hair from his part
dwarf father hung to his shoulders, hiding the slightly pointed ears of a half
elf. His deep blue eyes from his human heritage scanned the darkened mine
shaft, verifying that there were no fiends in sight.

Satisfied, he
slipped out of the ensconced entrance and signaled for the rest of their party
to join him. His long-time friend Liriana came first. Darting over the
intervening space, the lithe elf made no sound as she slid into the darkness
beside him, her enchanted wind bow in her hands.

“See
anything?”

He shook his
head without taking his eyes off the next figure, Trin. Tall and broad
shouldered, he nevertheless crossed fluidly through the predawn light. Taryn
had known him since they had left the training island of Sri Rosen, and their
subsequent battles had proven him to be a formidable ally. With his longsword
on his back within easy reach, Trin dived into the dark.

“I think I was
faster than you Liri.”

She glared at
him but only received a smirk in reply.

Next Maemi, or
Mae, to her friends, glided through the sparse vegetation like a silent dancer
of death. Short for an elf, she more than made up for it with short sword.
Taryn had never seen a faster warrior. Slipping past him, she moved deeper into
the mine and dipped into a darkened alcove.

“Coming Trin?”
she asked as she glided past them.

He grinned and
followed her into the gloom while Siarra, Taryn’s half sister, moved into view.
As the Oracle of Lumineia she carried more power than any mage of any race. Her
expression was intense as she glanced down the mountain at the massive fiend
army in the valley. A moment later she joined him in the small entrance.

Jack Myst
barely waited before he stepped into view. With a brazenness that made Taryn
shake his head, he walked the fifty feet like it was a city block in
broad daylight.

“Fool,”
Siarra said.

Liri glanced
at her. “You have to admit he has nerve.”

“Brave
fool,” Siarra amended.

Taryn watched
the human thief stroll towards them, unable to explain the quandary that was
Jack. With an agility and speed that exceeded even the elves, Jack had joined
them for his own reasons—but even Siarra would have to admit that he had been
an asset on more than one occasion.

“Took you long
enough,” Siarra said as Jack strolled into the mine shaft.

Taryn turned
away from Jack’s scathing reply and watched the last member of their party move
into view. Standing at over nine feet tall, the rock troll drifted into view
with an agility that belied his size. Across his back a jagged sword hung,
ready to slay any who dared its range.

Like the rest
of his race, Kell carried the tattoos on his body to mark his kills. He even
boasted one on the face, which signified a leader or hero, as well as many on
the right arm, showing strong warriors victories. Some of the dark ink was new,
applied by himself after their battle with a fiend patrol. As he ducked into
the dark opening, the space felt much smaller.

“Comfortable?”
Jack asked, but Kell only grunted.

Before anyone
could say anything else, the ground behind them began to rumble and rise,
closing the opening. The wedge of light gradually diminished, leaving them all
in the deepening darkness of the corridor, until the light disappeared and
Taryn lost sight of the surrounding faces. Then a light sparked in Siarra’s
hand, illuminating her face and brightening the mine as if she carried a torch.

“As we agreed,
we cannot allow anyone to surprise us from behind,” she said, her voice resigned.

“But that
doesn’t mean we have to like it,” Jack said.

Siarra grunted
and adjusted her pack before setting off down the corridor. Taryn fell into
step behind her with Liri by his side, and Trin and Mae behind him. Jack and
Kell brought up the rear.

The air felt
chilly and carried the scent of earth and wet stone, reminding Taryn of new
rain. Only the rub of leather on skin or the sole of a boot scuffing the stone
marred the stillness. Descending into darkness, they followed the twisting
corridor as it wound its way into the depths of the mine.

During the
next few hours of silence, Taryn thought about Azertorn. Although it had been just
six weeks since they had departed the elven city, it felt like a lifetime. To
reach their current position they had traveled around the great Blue Lake,
through the dwarven, orc, and troll nations, battled a contingent of fiends,
and had infiltrated the core of the fiend army—but they were still miles from
Draeken's prison.

Known as
Xshaltheria, the ancient forge city of the dwarves lay inside a volcano past
the remains of the human kingdom of Griffin. Millions of fiends separated them
from their goal, and on the surface, there had been no route past them. Blocked
on all side—and with just hours before Azertorn would be attacked—Taryn had
reluctantly turned to the prophetic orb that Siarra had given him. Imbued with sight
of their conflict, it had revealed numerous disturbing images of his future.
Among them he had seen the silver mine in which they now traveled.

He had also
seen Liri's death.

As if she
could read his thoughts, Liri’s hand reached out to clasp his, and her slim
fingers sent lightning up his arm. Unable to resist, he caught her eye and
grinned.

“You okay?” she
whispered. “You look troubled.”

His smile
caught as the image of her prone form, bent and lifeless on stone steps,
flashed before his eyes—but he forced his expression to remain light. He couldn't
bring himself to share that portion of the vision.

“I am fine,
just hoping we can make it in time,” he said, his throat tight. “The battle at
Azertorn must have already begun . . ., so every moment now costs lives.”

“We’ll get
there in time, Taryn,” Liri said. “Braon will do his part.”

He nodded and
looked away, not wanting to reveal his concern. Since he'd kissed her a few
weeks previously, he'd learned (to his chagrin) that she had favored him for longer
than he had realized. Since their youth she had been perceptive. Now was the
first time he saw that could be a double-edged sword.

“Do you know
what this reminds me of?” she asked, her voice reflective.

He caught her
eye and raised an eyebrow.

“The spring
games on Sri Rosen,” she said, a ghost of a smile spreading across her
features.

Taryn groaned
at the memory. The games had been an annual event on the island where they had
been trained. Lasting several days, and culminating in a race for the winners
of the various contests, it had been a much anticipated event for all of the
students—except him.

“Of course
this would remind you of the games,” Taryn said ruefully. “How many times did
you win?”

“Two or three,”
she said with a teasing grin. “I can’t remember.”

“Three,” Trin
said, appearing beside them, “almost in a row.” He shook his head, his eyebrows
pulling together. “I lost quite a bit of gold on your first win.”

“Sorry about
that,” she said, but her quiet chuckle didn't make it sound like an apology.

“You made up
for it in the next two years.”

Jack Myst
sidled up next to Taryn. “So why didn’t you win?”

Before he
could answer, Mae turned her head towards them. “Three things. Always the same
three.”

Liri smothered
a laugh. “He won the fighting rounds easily enough, but he could never win the
race.”

Jack’s
expression was dubious. “Were you slow for your age? When did you grow out of
that?”

Trin covered
his mouth to stifle a laugh while Liri responded, “No, he was faster than
everyone too . . .” She swept her hand at Taryn, indicating he should explain.

Sighing, Taryn
relented. “The race had five parts to it, and each challenge was separated by a
section of trail. Every year the locations and the order of the events were
changed, but the five remained the same. First to pass all five and cross the
finish line, won.”

Siarra spoke
up from behind them, interrupting his story. “So which things did you have
trouble with?”

“The masters
of the island believed that becoming a warrior had more to it than one’s skill
with a weapon, so three of the five challenges were other things.”

“Like what?”
Siarra asked, drifting closer and causing more light to brighten the tunnel
around them.

“Starting a
fire,” Trin said.

“Tracking,”
Liri added.

“And fishing,”
Mae said, glancing back once more.

Taryn grumbled
in his throat, irritated at the memory. “Let’s just say I struggled at all
three.”

“He means to
say he finished first in the fighting rounds, earning him the first slot in the
race—but he finished last in the race almost every year.” Trin grinned and
winked at him. “Actually, you were the most reliable bet on the island for those
years.”

“Starting a
fire just wasn’t my strength—.”

“—or
tracking,” Trin said.

“—or fishing,”
Liri grinned. “But you sure knew how to handle a blade.”

“Without a
doubt,” Mae said, glancing back and nodding at him.

He sighed,
feeling grateful for her comment and reminded once again why she had always
been like a sister to him.

“Did I ever
tell you what my master said about you, Taryn?” Trin asked.

When Taryn shook
his head, Trin said, “After they put you in the preliminary rounds with
students several years older than you, and you still won, he told me that you
were one of the best students he’d ever seen.”

Surprised,
Taryn was about to reply when the normally silent Kell appeared in their circle
of light, his expression intense. “I hear footsteps.”

In less than a
second, they had formed a circle and Siarra dimmed the light. Taryn scanned the
large cavern they had entered, noting the side tunnels curving out of view.
Straining his ears, he listened for the slightest noise.

It didn’t take
long before he heard it too, but by then it was hard not to. Hundreds of bare
feet scuffed the stone, shuffling their way towards them. It seemed like it was
coming from everywhere. Glancing at Siarra, he saw her eyes widen, and guessed
she was using her magic to look through the surrounding rock.

Then she
blinked. “They are coming. Get ready.”

“Who?” Several
of them whispered as they drew their weapons, but she just shook her head.

“They feel
like fiends, or at least krakas and quare, but they are . . . different
somehow.” Her confusion showed in her expression, but before anyone could ask more
she threw her arms out. Magic light arced into the ceiling, flooding the room
and causing them all to shield their eyes.

“Thanks for
the warning,” Jack said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

She glared and
him but didn’t respond, energy beginning to crackle up her arms. “They should
be here any second.”

Just as she
finished speaking, the side corridors exploded with dark forms. Tall and mighty
krakas charged in front, followed by thin wiry quare, their red manes
shimmering red—but their bodies seemed odd, twisted and misshaped. Taryn didn’t
have any more time to wonder why. The next second, they were surrounded and
several lunged for his throat.

Chapter 4: The East Tunnel

Siarra’s magic
flared, launching balls of fire into the snarling fiends, giving the others
time to form a protective circle around her. Then she began to attack. Stone
cracked and sharp stalagmites rained down on the roiling black ranks.

Taryn's two
long katsanas streaked out, cutting fiends down before they could close. Blue
magic flared in his father’s blade as it cut through them, its sharpening
augmentation causing it to slice deep.

On both sides
of him, Liri and Mae fought with the skill and fluidity of their fair race.
Both wielding short swords, they cut their opponents down with deadly poise.
Glancing back, Taryn saw Kell’s massive sword hewing down a crowd at a time.
Jack fought next to him, his long daggers making short work of any that dared come
too close. Between Kell and Mae, Trin’s longsword swung in wide arcs, slaying
many and holding the rest at bay.

“These aren’t
fiends from Draeken!” Mae yelled, gutting a quare in front of her, and then
spinning to avoid a retaliating strike.

“Does it matter?”
Jack shouted over the din.

Siarra reached
out and lifted an entire section of the ground, smashing a score of them into
the ceiling and closing off one of the tunnels they were using. “I don’t know!”
she yelled back,” but we don’t have time for this! We need to get away from
here!”

“Just how do
you propose we do that?” Trin said, darting forward to take down two quare that
had just landed in front of him. “They are coming from every tunnel!”

Siarra’s eyes
closed, and energy sparked around her. An instant later the ground around them began
to shake. Stone snapped like wood, causing Taryn to look down. His eyes widened
and he almost missed the next enemy that leapt towards him. Dispatching him as
he sidestepped, Taryn watched dual cracks appear undefoot. A hands breadth
apart, they arced around their group until it formed a circle.

“Stand close
to me . . .” Siarra’s commanding voice rumbled past him, sounding distorted.

Taryn dodged
back just in time. The ring of stone streaked upward, slamming into the ceiling
with brutal force, crushing several fiends that had been crossing the
threshold.  The furious fiends could be heard pummeling the other side of the
wall.

“Welcome to
prison,” Jack said with a low laugh.

Taryn looked
at Siarra, but her eyes were still closed. A moment later, the ground below
them began to descend. Instinctively, Taryn crouched to get a better footing,
but they only lowered thirty feet before coming to a stop in a new cavern.

“Welcome to
freedom,” Trin said.

“Short stint
in a cell,” Jack laughed.

Siarra grunted,
but seemed unable to respond as she began to sway. Jack was first to reach her,
catching her as she fell.

“What’s
wrong?” he asked, bending close.

She waved at
him feebly. “I used . . . too much energy . . . at once.”

Liri leaned
down and handed her a waterskin. After drinking she seemed to regain some
strength.

“Whew,” she
muttered, “moving that much stone isn't easy.”

“Are you okay?”
Taryn asked, his forehead wrinkling.

“I believe
so,” she said, easing back to her feet, “but it doesn’t matter if I am or not.
We have to move.”

The sounds of
snarls and pounding feet began to echo up the western corridor. Seven heads
turned to look, but Mae spoke first. “They will be here in minutes.”

Siarra
stumbled to a standing position and began to hurry east. “Taryn, why don’t you
take the lead?” she said.

“I will cover
the rear,” Kell rumbled, and the two of them slid into place.

“At least we
are still going the way we need to go,” Liri said, sidling up next to Taryn.

He nodded,
listening to the sounds behind them. Where did these fiends come from? They
bore a striking resemblance to the fiends of Dreaken’s army, but with enough
differences for him to question their source. They just seemed . . . odd. The quare
in particular appeared hunched and twisted, as if they were malnourished. Since
he knew they fed off the dark magic that spawned them, it left more questions
than answers.

His
contemplations were interrupted as they reached a branch in the corridor. One
angled east, where they needed to go, and the other one curved north. He
glanced at Liri, but before she could respond, the unmistakable sounds of more
fiends echoed from that direction.

Shrugging,
Taryn turned up the east corridor, picking up the pace when Siarra said she
felt better. Reaching another branch a few minutes later, they again chose the
path that didn’t contain more of the enemy.

For the next
hour, they hurried from one crossroads to the next, and each time continued
down the only tunnel that was silent. Lucky for them, it also seemed to be the
one that kept them moving east.

The faint sounds
of fiends prowling the mine, and the silence of their own path, left Taryn
feeling on edge, expecting an attack at any moment—but none came. Reaching a
cavern that contained several new branches, Taryn checked the north openings
while Trin listened at the south ones. At each one, Taryn heard the distant
sounds that indicated their hostile occupants. Together they reached the portal
pointing east, directly across from where they had entered the cavern.

Silence echoed
back at them, but despite the reassuring quiet, Taryn felt uneasy. Unable to
explain his concern, he led them into the new corridor and followed it as it
sloped deeper into the earth.

The tunnel wound
downward, indicating where the miners had followed a vein of silver. Bending
back and forth, the passage abruptly gave way to open space. Coming to a halt,
they stared into an enormous cavern. At least a mile across, the cavern was lit
by a castle-like structure at the center. Covered in numerous points of reddish
light, the building rested on top of a massive column that plunged into the
pit.

Their path led
onto a long bridge that spanned the abyss. Although it looked like there had
once been several arches that connected the fortress to the walls of the
cavern, only two remained; the one in front of them, and one on the opposite
side.

“What is this
place?” Taryn asked, glancing at Siarra.

She shook her
head, worry creasing her eyebrows. “I don’t know.”

“You can
barely see the ceiling,” Liri breathed, her eyes lifting upward.

“You can’t
see the floor,” Mae said, her tone dark as she peered over the side.

“What about
that?” Trin said, stabbing a finger in the direction of the crumbling building.
“If the lights are on . . .”

“—Then someone
is home,” Jack said, his scowl deepening.

“Do you think
we should backtrack and go around?” Taryn asked, jerking his head back up the
corridor.

“There was no
other way.” Kell rumbled.

“We could
fight our way through,” Trin suggested, and then gestured at the ancient castle.
“I don’t like the idea of going through that place. I doubt whoever lives down
here is going to be friendly.”

“Something
isn’t right . . .,” Siarra murmured, her gaze lingering on the decrepit fortress.
“I can sense something in there, but it’s like looking into a fog. Normally I
can see objects this close with greater clarity.” Her eyebrows knit together as
she turned back to the group. “But I don’t think there is a way to go back
either. There are too many of those fiends behind us, and the battle at
Azertorn has already begun. We don’t have time to fight our way around this
place.”

“So we have to
go through it?” Liri asked.

“At least it's
going the way we need to go,” Trin said with a shrug.

Mae's eyes
snapped to Trin, “What did you say?”

He shrugged
and pointed across the cavern. “I was just saying that is the way we need to
go—.”

Mae growled
and clenched her hands. “Why didn’t we see it earlier?”

“What? What is
it?” Liri asked.

She grimaced
when she looked at them. “Don’t you think it odd that every time we had a
choice of paths to take, there was only one tunnel unoccupied?”

Jack groaned
and ran his fingers through his hair. “They led us here.” Cursing he spun and gestured
back up the tunnel. "The fiends filled every route except this one."

Taryn closed
his eyes and sighed in frustration. Now that they had pointed it out, he felt
he should have recognized it as well. The fiends had allowed a solitary path
where they could go safely, and had guided them to this cavern. Such a
strategy implied leadership—and intent.

“What do we do
now?” Jack demanded. "Where do we go from here?”

“Can you get
us around it?” Mae asked Siarra.

She shook her
head. “I don’t think so. Not with so many of us. Stone magic is just too
draining. Maybe with enough time I could put together a stone platform that we
could move around the side . . .”

“So the only
path is the one forward,” Liri said. “Let’s quit bickering over who should have
seen what and get this done.”

Taryn stepped
onto the arching bridge. “Let’s go then, before they come from behind and we
have to retreat our way across.”  When no one suggested an alternative, the
others reluctantly fell into step behind him.

Without
handrails, the smooth stone felt unsure and disconcerting, even with the bridge
wide enough for a few wagons. As they drew close to the structure, Taryn began
to make out what had once been a formidable castle. Crumbling battlements lay
empty where tall parapets had once stood. Towers adorned the outer wall and the
high keep, but many tilted dangerously. Devoid of life, the only sign of
habitation was the reddish lights that held back the dark.

As he
approached the structure, the feeling of unease peaked, causing Taryn’s mouth
to go dry. Reaching an open portcullis, Taryn took a fast step under, trying
not to imagine the rusted spikes coming down on him. Dodging to the side, he
stepped into a shadowed alcove and scanned the courtyard. Broken stones
littered the uneven ground, and a layer of dust blanketed most of them. Sensing
movement, Taryn looked upward, expecting to see something in a window of the
keep. Scanning dark openings, he saw nothing.

“Think we can
go around the keep?” Mae whispered.

Siarra pointed
left. “That gate looks broken. Why don’t we follow the wall and see if we can
find a way through?”

Taryn nodded
and led the way, darting from one shadow to the next. As he moved, he had
difficulty suppressing the urge to run. With its red lights and scattered
stones, an intangible darkness permeated the castle. The scent of decay mingled
with the mold, heightening his feeling of panic. Forcing it down, he reached
the last alcove and slid to the shattered remnants of a door. A glance assured
him that no one was on the other side, so he stepped through, motioning for the
others to follow.

The red light
seeped into the ground and walls of the ancient training grounds they faced.
Several hundred feet across, the flagstones were littered with bricks and
rotting weapon stands. Taryn swallowed as he scanned the area, an increasing
dread crawling across his skin. On the other side of the yard, he could see
where the gate to the north courtyard had once stood. With the supports gone,
the entire wall had collapsed, leaving no easy way past.

“Want to
backtrack and try to go around the other way?” Liri whispered, jerking her head
the way they had come.

Siarra
shrugged and turned to back through the opening, but just as she took a step
towards it, the stone under their feet quivered. Taryn darted into the shadows
with everyone else, checking every opening around them, fighting the surge of
fear.

At first
nothing presented itself, but a moment later the ground vibrated again,
stronger than before. As loose stones fell from the keep, Siarra turned to
them, her expression wide as she hissed, “We have to get under cover!”

“Why?”

“What is it?”

“Where can we
go?” Liri asked, her eyes searching the alcoves and dilapidated barracks.

Trin pointed
towards the keep, his voice reluctant as he said, “The door is open . . .”

“That's not a
good idea,” Mae growled.

Without
warning a thundering roar shattered over them, shaking the ground and causing Taryn
to flinch. For several seconds he stood frozen, fighting to contain his fear as
the reverberations faded into a tense silence.

“We have to
get inside the keep!” Siarra barked in a harsh whisper.

“Are you
sure—,” Jack said.

Kell shifted,
his deep voice rumbling with unease, “It feels like a—.”

“We don’t have
a choice,” Siarra hissed. Then her eyes lifting upward. “Go! Now!”

Jack opened
his mouth to respond, but she had already launched herself from the alcove.
Sprinting, she raced towards the keep with the others scrambling in her wake.

Taryn burst
into the open, his question dying on his lips as he saw an enormous shadow
sweep across the cavern roof. Throwing a look up, his breath caught as he saw a
massive black dragon bank out of a curve and plummet towards them.

— a harsh,
high-pitched roar boomed throughout the cavern, rattling stones loose and
causing Taryn's heart to thunder in his ears. Glancing back as he neared the
doorway, he saw the black dragon’s mouth open. Black flames streaked towards
him, closing the distance far faster than he thought possible. Galvanized into
action, he threw himself across the intervening space and lunged through the
door.

Just as he
landed in the darkness, the ground rose up behind him, closing off the portal
and taking the brunt of the attack. Even from inside, the thundering dragon
could be heard, bellowing his rage as he slammed into the ground outside. Clawing
at the keep, it sought an opening. Roaring its challenge, it launched itself
back into the air, leaving the group trembling in the silent dark.

Taryn heard
someone breathing hard, and then realized it was him. Taking a deep breath
against the tingling fear, he blinked as a ball of light flared above them.

“Excellent job,
Siarra,” Liri said, panting, “But that acid fire won’t take long to eat through
the stone.”

“I didn’t
close it,” Siarra said, her voice hollow. “Just as I was about to—.”

Taryn’s eyes
flew to his sister, but her eyelids had begun to flutter. “Siarra!” he yelled, darting
to her side in time to catch her as she collapsed.

“You must . .
. out of . . . here,” she mumbled, her eyes closing. “Sleeping spell . . . too
strong . . .”

Taryn’s eyes
widened in horror as he watched Siarra slip into an unnatural slumber. Then he
heard a thump, and wrenched his gaze from her in time to see the massive body
of Kell strike the ground.

“It was a tra
. . .” Mae said, slumping into the arms of Trin.

Trin eased her
to the ground, yelling and shaking her form. Then his voice cut off as he
collapsed next to her.

Liri and Jack
had drawn their weapons, but they clattered to the floor as first one, and then
the other were hit by the sleeping spell. Laying Siarra down, Taryn managed to
catch Liri as she lost her strength.

“I’ve . . ."
she said before succumbing and going limp.

Helpless,
Taryn bellowed his frustration. Then he felt the tug of sleep yank his mind
downwards. Feeling like he hadn’t slept in weeks, his eyelids drooped, too
heavy for him to hold up. His strength waning, he eased Liri’s still form to
the floor, cradling her to him.

Siarra’s light
spell began to fade and the darkness crept closer. Swaying, Taryn fought the
encroaching darkness, but there was nothing left. Even as he called on his
limbs to respond, they didn’t answer.

As his eyes
closed, he saw a door open and twisted fiends leap towards them, howling in
gleeful delight . . .

Day 2

Chapter 5: Behind the
Lines

“It’s time for
you to get some rest commander,” Newhawk said, approaching behind Braon.

Wearily Braon
turned and blinked at the charismatic druid before looking to the enchanted
ceiling to gauge the time of night. The lines had switched hours ago, and he
had chosen to stay through the transition. By now it would be almost dawn.
Nodding at his second in command, he asked Thacker to inform all his generals
that Newhawk would be in command for the next few hours. Rather than going to
his quarters, he moved to the room that had been his office throughout the
gathering. A small cot had been placed there at his request, and he collapsed
onto it, welcoming the immediate sleep.

Soon after
dawn Thacker roused him, and he groaned as he sat up. “What’s our status?”

“The line has
not broken, Commander Braon,” Thacker said, handing him a small breakfast of
fruit and bread. “But we have lost many of our sweepers.”

Braon nodded
and mechanically began to eat. The sweepers were war machines that he had
commissioned the dwarves to build along the cliff. Comprised of a small hut
that leaned out over the drop off, it carried a heavy spiked weight at the end
of a long, barbed chain. Built to launch the weight sideways, the unusual
weapon sent the ‘ball’ and chain out until it reached the end of its ‘rope’.
Then it sunk downward, close enough to the cliff that the spikes scratched its
surface. Like a large pendulum, it could ‘sweep’ any climbing enemies off the
cliff, sending them falling to their deaths below.

They had been
strategically placed to make it difficult for the fiends to climb past, and
were the first line of defense. Braon sighed; he’d hoped they would last
longer.

“How many men
have we lost?” He asked, forcing himself to keep eating as he steeled himself
for the answer.

Thacker had
prepared for this report, as he’d been instructed to, but he still hesitated to
give the answer. “ . . . Approximately sixty-two thousand are presumed dead,
and almost three times that are injured.”

Sixty
thousand dead in a single day, Braon thought, his heart sinking. Even if
we survive, what will be the cost? Woodenly he forced the bread down his
dry throat. “How many of the injured are critical?”

“Roughly
twenty thousand,” Thacker answered. “As per your orders, the critically injured
have been moved to Azertorn by the women. The healers stationed in the city are
working on them now.”

Braon took a
slow breath, accepting the steep losses because he could not afford to dwell on
them. “Send a runner to check on them. I want to know how many will be able to
fight, and how soon.”

The telepath
nodded and continued with the morning report.

***

Aléthya sat at
the bar of her small tavern, The Drunken Elf, taking the first break
she’d had in nearly fourteen hours. Due to its location on the third level of
Azertorn, directly behind the fierce battle, it had been appropriated as one of
the places to hold the injured. In place of tables and chairs, the room had
been crammed with beds holding some of the worst of the wounded.

The dead were
removed every hour to make room for more.

A tremor shook
the ground, causing dust to settle from the ceiling and the glasses to clink,
but she hardly noticed. At first she had wondered what had caused the shakes,
but no one in her healers station had known the answer. Perhaps the millions of
gathered races made the entire cliff tremble, or the thousands of falling
fiends striking the ground like heavy rain. It didn’t matter. Whatever caused
it just reminded those behind the lines that the battle still raged, that good
people were dying.

Lifting her
tired gaze to the mirror behind her bar, she felt a flash of irritation at her
unkempt hair. Brown and straight, the coloring was decidedly human, but the sky
blue eyes staring back at her, along with the point to her ears, exposed her
elven side. Dirt and dried blood dotted her clothing and skin, causing her to
look away with a frown. If she paused to clean herself, how many would perish
because she didn't heal them? The thought reminded her that her short break
carried the same price.

Blinking at
her exhaustion, Aléthya drained her mug and resisted the impulse to put her
head down. Turning instead to the nearest bed, she knelt by its side and looked
at the unconscious elf. A skorpian spear had nearly torn his shoulder clean
from his body, leaving a ragged hole. Bending close, she examined the shattered
pieces of bone and threadbare flesh that kept the blood tubes from leaking. The
healer on the front line had done this job well, and his work had kept the
young elf alive long enough for her to finish the job.

Satisfied, she
placed both her hands on the white and clammy skin, and braced herself for the
pain. Seconds later, white light gathered where she touched him, spreading to
the open wound. At the same moment she felt her own shoulder begin to sting.
Her breathe sucked in as she pointedly watched the shards of bone begin to
slide together, causing the elf to twitch. At the same time she felt her own
flesh split. Blood darkened her arm, and muscle snapped and tore. Still she
held her gaze on the soldier’s wound, holding back the scream by sheer will.
Then her bone shattered.

Her cry of
agony mingled with several moans around the room, and only the other healers
glanced her way. By now her gasps were hoarse as she finished the transference
of the wound. Close to blacking out, she focused her dim vision on the pink
skin of the elf, watching it come together and seal itself, leaving just a
faint scar.

She allowed
herself to collapse, and finally her own unique magic surged through her. The
sweet relief of numbness seeped into her shredded shoulder, leeching the pain
away. Tasting bile, she felt the slivers of bone slide into place, and then the
muscle began to reattach. At last the skin started to join, sealing until it was
as smooth as before. What seemed like hours passed in minutes before she
wearily rose to her feet beside the bewildered elf.

“What
happened?” he asked, sitting up and massaging his shoulder.

“Nothing,” she
said bitterly “Get a drink of ale and return to your post.”

Without
waiting for a response she returned to the bar and poured herself another
glass, wondering why in the name of Skorn she had chosen to break her vow. She
took a rag and absently wiped blood from her arm.

“You look at
the worst wound with no problem,” a voice said and she turned to see Taneel
striding towards her. “—unless it is on yourself.”

She snorted,
unconsciously moving her hair behind her ear and fixing her dark blue eyes on
the other healer. “I don’t like to see my work.” Her voice held more harshness
then she intended, so she laughed sourly. “It’s unpleasant enough to feel.”

Tan, as most
called him, took a seat next to her, reaching for a glass and a bottle. After
he filled it, he turned a soft gaze on her. “I don’t know how you do it, Thia.”
He took a sip. “I know I couldn’t.”

“You’d be
surprised what you would do when you see someone in need.”

His expression
turned dubious at her voice, prompting her to frown. “You know I vowed to never
heal another person.”

“—and no one
could blame you for that.”

She swept her
arm at the room and let the silence hang. Then she said, “They suffer pain to
protect us, and I suffer pain to heal them. War means pain for everyone.” She
turned back to her mug. “Does it matter the cause?”

Tan drained
his glass. “Probably not—” he quirked an eyebrow at her, “—but most in a war
are injured once, or perhaps twice. I only see one taking on the wounds
of many.” He tilted his glass towards her before turning away as another group
of wounded were carried in, filling the bloody beds of those recently healed.

It had been a
long time since she had felt the joy of healing, and as she watched him work
his way to the door, the ache of its loss clenched on her heart. The
conversation with Tan had reminded her of her wonder when she had begun healing
others, back when she’d been able to use her healing magic the way every other
healer could. Taking the pain from others by using the sufferer’s own strength
had seemed such a blessing. The healer's guild of magic had thought her a
prodigy—and then they learned of her ability to heal herself. That’s when they
began to experiment.

The pain of
those months had been the worst of her life, and she had lost respect for her
craft. Soon after her escape she had tried to heal the queen of the elves of a
brutal disease. Aléthya's desire to heal her had been great, and something
within her had snapped. Somehow, she had taken the queen’s sickness into
herself. The agony had been excruciating, but the queen had been cured. The
change in Aléthya had been permanent. Since that day, she could no longer see
the energy in a person’s body. Without that sight, she could not heal as
she had before.

That is when
she had vowed never to heal again.

But things
change. Looking around the room caused her to give a slow sigh. No matter the
cost, she could not allow the elven people to suffer such loss. Then she caught
Tan’s soft smile in her direction, and she found herself smiling in turn. She
had to admit, he was good looking, and tall for an elf. Maybe after the
war . . .

Shaking her
head, she gathered her willpower and searched the room for the worst injury.
Lives were in need of saving. Not for the first time she heard her mind argue
that she would heal from anything she absorbed. Not for the last time did her
body complain that it still hurt.

***

Wallen sank
onto his bed, causing the small frame to complain at the sudden weight.

“You need to
lose a few pounds, Wall,” Derek said from beside him, mirroring his movements,
right down to the protesting bed.

Wall grinned
despite his fatigue. “I will when you do.” The needling about their excessive
weight was not new, and the reminder of better times brought a brief moment of
levity into the squalid tent, temporarily overcoming the stink of sweat, dirt,
and blood.

“You would
think the guys from the other shifts would clean it for us,” Derek said, not
realizing they were thinking the same thing. Wall grinned again. As sons of one
of the largest men in the south, the two had been close for as far back as he
could remember, all the way back to when they were ‘the two fat kids’. After
that they had been the ‘fat boys’, and then ‘the fat men’, although no one actually
voiced that in front of them.

“I don’t know
how you talked me into this,” Derek was saying, taking a swig of ale without
moving from his prone position. “I have never been so sore.”

“Talked you
into it?” Wall retorted, grabbing the jug from his brother. “You were the one
that said we had to come. As I recall it went something like . . . we have
to go, people need us. If you remember, I was all for fleeing south with
the rest of our village.”

“You know they
are probably dead, right?” Derek said, his tone quiet.

“I know,” Wall
said, taking a swig of the bitter drink and examining the top of the tent. His
mind lingered on the image of a trim young woman he’d always fancied. Her father
had forced their family to flee south.

“We should
have done more to stop them. We should have convinced them to join the
gathering with the rest of the southern kingdom.”

Curse him,
Derek always was the responsible one. Or should Wall say bless him? Derek's
integrity had gotten them out of sticky predicaments in the past. This had been
especially true when they were younger, and Wall’s larger bulk had made him
slower, more likely to get caught and whipped. As they’d grown, the difference
in size had become even more pronounced, meaning between themselves they called
Derek the ‘quick one’. Of course, calling someone as wide as two grown men
‘quick’ was a stretch, but compared to Wall it was true.

“Either way we
are all dead,” Wall said cheerfully, electing for an attempt at humor.

He felt the
bottle pull out of his hand in response and after a moment heard several large
swallows. The silence stretched until Derek whispered, “You are probably
right.”

Wall opened
his mouth to protest and turned his head to look at his brother, but Derek was
already in the process of rolling away. The sheer quantity of squeaks and
groans from the reinforced cot prevented conversation. Any other time he would
have brought back the joke about their weight, but this time it didn’t feel
right.

Sighing, Wall
returned his gaze to the canvas and the corner lacing that was coming undone.
He missed the days when the two of them had practiced a combination of swordplay
and wrestling. True, their fun had made them at least mediocre soldiers, and
their bulk made them intimidating, but to him it had always been a game. Derek
had taken it more seriously. Despite his brother's training, Wall had always
been a little better.

Now it just
seemed to be a waste.

Wall sighed
again and cautiously rolled to his side. This wouldn’t be the first bed to
shatter under him, but he didn’t want it to happen today. In spite of his
efforts, he felt one of the supports crack, causing him to frown and berate
himself for eating double at breakfast. He knew he couldn’t voice his thoughts
because it was the one thing they disagreed on. Derek accepted his size. Wall
did not. Maybe if he was like the other soldiers he could help more in this
battle.

Maybe he could
fly.

Who was he
kidding?

When does a
fat man ever make a difference?

***

Gaze awoke
queasy and in pain, struggling to remember where he was. Through bleary eyes,
he peered upward, wincing at the light.

“Wha . .” he
croaked.

A blurry face
appeared in front of him, and when it resolved into clarity he recognized the
elf warrior Lexi.

“How are you?”
she asked, her voice full of concern as she wiped a damp cloth across his
forehead.

“What
happened?” he managed to ask, trying to sit up.

A wave of
nausea struck him, making it easy for her to force him back down.

“You are
magesick. You need to rest.”

Clearing his
throat, he asked, “What is magesick?”

“I forgot you
were never formally trained by a guild,” she said, reaching for a cup next to
him. “Magesick is when a mage gets sick from using too much magic in too short
a time. You nearly died.”

Gaze took a
sip of the offered liquid, and found the cool water refreshing. “How long have
I been out?”

“Almost four
days.”

He shot to a sitting
position but was once gain forced down by his stomach. Gagging, he breathed
deep to steady the rising vomit, but the scent of urine and sweat didn’t help.
When he had control he asked, “Where are we?”

She swept a
hand the sparsely furnished room. Boasting several cots, and little else, it
looked to be a storage room that had been converted into a recovery room. All
the beds were filled except one. “We are in Azertorn, in one of the tunnels
behind the city. After the forest burned,”—she shuddered and looked away—“the
fiends attacked the cliff. For two days we have been able to hold them off.”

For the first
time, Gaze focused on her. Dirt and spots of blood smudged her cheeks and
clothing. She sat hunched next to him, looking at him with eyes full of fatigue.
Behind her, a bow hung next to an empty quiver of arrows.

“How long have
you been fighting?” he asked, feeling a rush of concern.

She rubbed her
eyes and looked away. “I just got off my second shift in the gardens. Now is my
scheduled time to rest.”

A door opened
down the corridor, allowing the sounds of distant battle to drift in. Cries of
agony and anger accompanied blasts of magical energy. Then the door closed and
silence returned.

“Are we
winning?”

Her look said
it all, and his heart sank.

“How long can
we last?”

She shrugged
and winced, rubbing her shoulder. “I doubt more than a day or two, but we’ve
been told we have to last seven.”

Fighting his
stomach, he eased himself to a sitting position. “When do I get to fight?”

Her features
shifted to soft and she flashed him a small smile. “You don’t. Magesickness
lasts a few days. If you try to use magic in your current condition it would
probably kill you.”

He growled and
looked away, surprised how painful the helplessness felt. Confined to a bed felt
like being shackled. Then an idea sparked in his head and he caught her eye.
“What about Prince Graden? I am sure he would let me fight with his men.”

She chuckled
and pointed to the empty bed. “No he wouldn’t. He slept here for a few hours
last night while I was fighting.  He told me to make sure you were healed
before you were allowed into battle.”

He frowned and
opened his mouth but she put a finger on his lips, her eyes turning serious.
“The war is not for someone as sick as you. But if you heal in time, I will
make sure you are posted next to me.”

The
determination that seeped into her eyes made him smile. “Where are the rest of
your riverguard?”

She broke eye
contact and stood, moving to the table of healing balms. She stopped when she
neared it, but didn’t reach for anything. With her back to him, she said,
“Loken was killed a couple of hours ago. A quare tore him from the cliff. Most
of the rest are dead too. Even Arzai was struck by a skorpian spear. It almost
took his arm off, but Aléthya managed to heal him in time. ”

She turned
around. “I am the only one not dead or injured.”

Gaze wanted to
reach out and hug her, but didn’t know if their relationship was such that he
could. Reverting to a slow smile, he said, “So they don’t hurt the pretty ones huh?”

She snorted
and shook her head, but at least some of the despair seemed to leave her face.
“How can we do this Gaze?” she asked, returning to sit next to him. “So many
have died already, and we still have five days to go.”

An image of
Ander's death flashed to the forefront of his thoughts, followed by the death
of King Drayson. Their loss felt like a physical blow, causing him to flinch.
Shying away from the piercing grief he forced himself to focus on Lexi.

He reached out
and clasped her hand. “I don’t know Lexi. All I know is that we refuse to lie down
and die. Every one of the races gathered on this cliff is here because they do
not possess the ability to quit. Whatever our differences, we carry a kindred
spirit. We will fight for what we believe in. The question is, what do you
believe in?”

Her eyebrows
knit together as she considered his words. Then she said, “I used to believe in
the Riverguard, but we are almost all dead now. I am not sure what to believe
now.”

He tightened
his hand on hers, “Why don’t you believe in me, and I will believe in you.”

"You
huh?”  she said, giving him a shrewd look.

He grinned
wide, wondering where he’d had the confidence to say such a thing, and tried
not to break eye contact. He could almost hear Anders talking into his ear, “You
had to pick a pretty one didn’t you? Don’t you know you were never good with
the pretty ones?”

She started to
laugh, low and quiet, with the first hint of levity she’d demonstrated since he
awoke. “I guess you’ll do,” she said, rising to her feet. “The commander wanted
to know when you awakened. I will make sure he knows. If you would like, I will
return after my rest time."

He nodded and
settled back into his bed, grateful that his stomach had settled a little. How’d
I do Anders, he thought, missing his longtime friend even as he talked to
him in his head. Though he wasn’t there, Gaze still knew how he would have
responded.

Since when
did you start paying attention to how I got the ladies?

Maybe I’m a
slow learner.

He knew Anders
would laugh at that, and the echo of his friend's humor sounded in his mind.

“Just don’t
let her die.”

“I don’t
intend to,” he said out loud, but the words felt hollow, even to him. Stuck as
he was, he knew he was helpless to do anything—and the last time he'd failed.
King Drayson and Anders had both lost their lives because he hadn't protected
them.

This time the
sorrow wouldn't dispel.

“Watch over
her, would you?” he murmured, fighting a wave of exhaustion.

Always my
friend. Just like I watched over you.

Chapter 6: A Mother’s Love

Keri
Greatstride raced towards the west entrance to the Women’s Caverns at the back
of Azertorn, dodging women bearing litters of wounded soldiers. Reaching the
tall archway, she slipped through the slow moving crowd and followed the long
tunnel until it gave way to a massive cavern. High and wide, the chamber was
the first of several that housed many of the women of the gathered races.
Oblivious to the dejected atmosphere, she darted towards a side tunnel and
hurried past hundreds of cots lining both sides of the wide space.

Of medium
build, Keri had brown hair with matching brown eyes. Although curvy, she moved
with precision and grace, slipping through the crowd with ease. A pretty, yet
common dress hugged her figure, allowing her the freedom to move between a knot
of wounded. In her haste, she did not notice the curious glances cast in her
direction. Only one thing occupied her mind, her husband.

Finally she
reached one of the smaller caverns set aside for the villages surrounding Bree
Lake, a community located several days below the southern capitol. Slowing, she
picked her way through the throng of people, giving distracted nods to those
she recognized. At last she slipped behind a stack of arrow crates to find a
makeshift tent. Without hesitation she ducked inside.

“How is he?”
Keri asked as she knelt by the side of her husband. “Has the healer come?” Her
hands sought his hands and clasped them, as if the strength of her grip would
save him. The silence from the other side of the tent made her look at her
sister, who’s eyes conveyed a deep sorrow.

She fought the
wave of tears with all her might, but a few managed to escape. “How much time?”
she asked through a clenched jaw.

Her sister
shook her head. “Maybe a couple of days. He said he was lucky to even survive
such a wound.”

Keri looked
away, feeling her eyes burn. This is so unfair! she screamed silently.
Her husband had been one of the best soldiers in the southern army, and had
been a captain for over three years. He was the youngest ever to carry such a
rank. She had known when she married him that there was a chance he would be
killed in battle, but she’d never imagined an enemy such as the one they faced.

Abruptly the
whole cavern shook, causing dust to settle from the ceiling. The rough movement
elicited a cry from the corner of the tent, and in a single bound Keri reached
her daughter, Sarah. Lifting her into her arms Keri cradled the baby until she
returned to slumber. She crooned as she caressed the small tuft of brown hair.

“Would you
like me to hold her?” Diana asked.

“No,” Keri
said, struggling not to hold her baby too tight.

Diana rose to
her feet and checked the bandage on Jason. Although she was not a healer, their
mother had been, and she had inherited a small portion of the sight. Not
enough to heal, but enough to help care for the wounded. Keri had always
thought of her older sister's gift as a blessing, but now she felt a bitterness
that she had not inherited more.

“Is there
anything you can do?” Keri asked, desperation leaking into her voice despite
her effort.

Diana rose and
shook her head. “He is still bleeding inside. The healer used every ounce of
strength Jason possessed to fix his organs and close the major cut. If he took
any more energy it would sap him to the point of death anyway.”

Keri turned
away, feeling her face tighten as she refused to accept that her strong husband
would die.

Behind her,
Diana sighed. “Do you think we can win, Keri?”

Keri sank into
the rocking chair that Jason had found for her less than a day after they had
arrived at Azertorn. Biting her lip at the lingering expression of his love,
she forced herself to look at her sister.

“I don’t know
Diana, but I believe if every one of us stands together, then Ero will not
allow us to perish." She bit her lip. "If the rumors are true, we
only have to last another five days.”

Diana sank
into another chair. “I just never thought someone as strong as Jason could
fall.” Her voice turned to a whisper. “What if no one takes his place?”

“Someone has
to!” Keri exclaimed, causing Sarah to twitch in her sleep.

Diana didn’t
back down. “Have you ever known someone to fight as hard as him?” Her tone
carried the conviction of one who knows they are right.

Keri opened
her mouth to reply ‘of course’, but the words didn’t come. It would be a lie
and they both knew it. For a long moment, Keri felt despair reach for her soul,
but then a flash of blinding clarity streaked through her mind.

“Yes Diana, I
have,” she said, her chin rising. Surprise radiated from her sister's
incredulous expression, but before she could demand who, Keri added, “Me.” She
straightened. “I will take my husband’s place.”

Diana leapt to
her feet. “Keri no! That is not what I meant.”

“You know I
can fight as well as he could.”

“That is not
the point—”

“And that you
can take care of Jason while I am out there.”

“But—”

“And Sarah.”

“What if
you don’t come back!?”

Her words
echoed into a lasting silence.

Keri shrugged.
“I am a mother. My greatest responsibility is to be an example for my children.
How can I do that if I yield to my fear? Our country needs us—our world needs us—to
fight.”

Diana whirled
and stalked to the tent flap, but stopped short of leaving. Without turning
around she said, “Ero has not graced me with a husband. I don’t know if I can
be a mother to your child if you die.”

Keri returned
Sarah to her crib before striding to Diana’s side. Turning her about, she gave
her a warm embrace. “You will be the most amazing mother I have ever seen,
whether it be to your children, or mine.”

Diana began to
cry, and the soft sobs wracked through her thin body even as Keri could feel
her fighting them back. “I don’t want to lose you,” Diana whispered in her ear.

Keri couldn’t
stop a smile. “I don’t want to lose me either,” she said, causing Diana to
laugh through her tears, and the two separated.

“What do you
want me to tell the others?” Diana asked, wiping her eyes. “Almost everyone in
the village knows how close you are. What reason would make them believe you
are not by his side?”

Keri swept her
hand at her inert husband. “Tell them I went looking for a healer that can help.
They will believe that.”

Diana nodded
sourly. “I would believe that.”

Keri sighed.
“His shift starts in two hours. Help me get his armor ready, would you?”

“What if he
wakes up and needs it back?” Diana said with a ghost of a smile.

“Then I will
be all too happy for him to worry about his armor,” Keri replied, not daring to
hope for that possibility. Reaching for the full chain mail of his rank, the
two sisters began tailoring it to fit—and mending the giant gash in the side.

Time passed
quickly, with each absorbed in their thoughts. When it was finished Keri slid
into the repaired armor and stepped into her husband’s uniform. Stuffing her
hair into the helmet she looked at Diana. “How do I look?”

Diana snorted.
“Like a pretty man.”

Keri frowned
and grabbed a handful of dirt. Rubbing it onto her face, she asked, “Better?”

“Better,”
Diana said, but leaned forward to make a few touches. “But it’s a good thing Jason
had the midnight to eight shift on the front line. The darkness should make it
harder for them to recognize you.”

“And easier
for the fiends to kill me,” Keri said.

Diana looked
away and Keri immediately felt sorry for saying it. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Jason
taught me very well how to use a blade. Remember when we used to practice
before we were married?”

Diana’s
expression softened. “He always wanted someone who could match him with wits
and a weapon.” She chuckled and added, “Didn’t he ask for your hand the day
after you beat him?”

Keri nodded,
her eyes moist at the memory. “He used to tell me he fought hard for me, and
then in the same breath say he went easy on me.”

“Did he?”

“I don’t
know,” Keri shrugged, making the armor clink. “I never could tell. I think he
knew not to let me see him going easy.”

Diana nodded
affectionately, “You would hate that.”

“I know,” Keri
smiled, her eyes on her unconscious husband.

The two
sisters stood there for several seconds, and Keri reflected on better times. Then
Diana spoke, her voice wooden. “I guess it’s time.”

Keri nodded
and bent to kiss her husband. “Wish me luck,” she whispered. “I am going to
need it.” Then she turned and kissed her little daughter on the forehead. “Be
good for Aunt Diana. She needs you to be a good girl.”

Then she stood
and buckled on the sword belt. Ready, she stepped to the door of the tent and
looked back at her family. “Take care of them Diana.”

Her sister
nodded, fighting back the tears. Then she raised a hand. “Wait.” Whirling to a
trunk on the side of the room, she sifted through it until she came up with a
small silver locket on a chain.

“Mother's
locket? But she gave that to you,” Keri protested.

“I want you to
wear it, for luck.” Diana said.

Keri knew what
the offer meant. The pendant represented the sole piece of jewelry from their
mother, and it was Diana’s birthright, small as it was. It had represented
their father's love for their mother, and now represented Diana’s love for Keri.
Reverently Keri allowed her sister to place the chain around her neck.
Swallowing the knot in her throat, she embraced Diana one last time before
slipping from the tent, her mind already turning to the battle ahead.

Just as she
rounded the crates of arrows, she stopped and leaned against them. Closing her
eyes she whispered, “Jason, wherever you are, come back to me, and watch over
me while you are away.” Moments later, she was slipping through the throng
towards the battle above.

It was time
for her to defend her family.

***

Night had
begun to fall, but the activity in the command center had not diminished. Braon
sighed in relief, allowing himself a small moment of hope. They had endured the
second day. It was a small victory, but sufficient to award hope to many of his
troops. Since morning, they had stopped two major assaults, and closed other
severe breaches along the cliff. Each time the cost had been bloody, but
strength of will and sheer courage had helped them survive through the waning
hours of the day.

But night
would be their true test. The darkness would again give their enemies
additional courage and strength, while weakening their own forces in morale and
ability. Braon took solace in the fact that they had already endured one night,
and he hoped they could outlast another—especially when they didn’t have to
defend the Lake Road. General Golic had reported that the fiend army had been
working ceaselessly to remove the massive rock pile, but it would be at least
another day or two before they got through. When they did, the road would be
hit hard.

In the
meantime, the only critical places to worry about were the city defenses, which
seemed to be holding up well, and the cliff edge. His plan to use the various
cavalry units had been effective. They had demolished any group that broke
through the line, and had driven them off the cliff.

At the base of
the city, a massive battering ram pounded the city gates, but Braon wasn’t overly
concerned about that. Fifty feet of solid stone backed the false front doors—but
if the secret side doors were broken into . . .

Surprisingly,
The Deep, with its dip in the cliff, had been well defended by the black elves,
who had lived up to their reputation of expert swordsmen and mages. The black
elf general, Val’Trisian, had only reported a breach once throughout the last
two days, but she had also reported it being closed just as quickly. Braon
hoped the underground race would continue to hold fast throughout the dark
night.

“Commander?”
Newhawk asked, his tone amused.

Braon focused
on his second in command, realizing that he had let his mind get away from him.
“Sorry, where were we?”

The druid
smiled and said, “I was giving you a status on the women’s caverns.”

Braon gave a
curt nod, glad that no one besides Thacker and Rokei were close enough to see
his lapse in attention. He knew he needed more sleep, but also knew he wouldn’t
get it. He would just have to work his way through the growing headache. “My
apologies, Newhawk, please continue.”

The druid
bobbed his head before launching into the rest of his report. “The women’s
caverns are performing well, and the stock of arrows, bolts, and food is all
within expected use. The women are also doing an admirable job of keeping up
morale, to a certain degree, and—”

“What do you
mean?” Braon asked, catching the inflection in his tone.

“In short,”
Newhawk said, “sadness and fear permeate the caverns, and many of the women are
struggling.”

Braon's brow
furrowed, his thoughts distant. “Did you see them firsthand or did you receive
a report from the queen?”

Thacker
interrupted with a minor situation, and once Braon had adjusted the map to see
and give orders accordingly, he turned to his second to hear the reply.

“I saw them
with my own eyes, Commander,” Newhawk said. “It is difficult for them to
maintain hope while caring for a continuous stream of wounded—and watching many
die.”

Braon turned
to the map and enhanced the view until he could see inside the caverns. The
slow pace of the women and the crowded hall of cots told the story. Braon
closed his eyes, wishing there was something he could do to remedy the
situation. He needed the women to help the men heal, and he needed the women
and children to stay safe. Sighing, he decided to change what he could.

“Ask the queen
if we can expand the healing post at her palace for the critically wounded. If
she says yes, redirect all severely wounded to that location.”

It would mean
sacrificing efficiency to improve moral, but he hoped it would be worth it.
Keeping those likely to die out of the women’s caverns would leave only those
likely to heal, and should lighten the spirits in the enclosed space.

“How are the
wounded, overall?” Braon asked, moving on.

“The healers
are, in a word, overwhelmed,” Newhawk said, “but they are doing their job well.
I hear Aléthya in particular is saving quite a few lives.”

Braon nodded
without taking his eyes of map. “She is paying a heavy price for them. I hope
they realize that.”

“She was
always good with the soldiers,” Rokei said from the side of the room, causing
several heads to swivel in his direction. “They know.”

Braon nodded,
turning back to the magical map before him. Something about Rokei’s words
nagged at him, but the thought refused to come to light and he didn’t have time
to dwell on it. Glancing back, he looked at his worn second in command. His
face was drawn and haggard, and the druid leader had dark circles around his
bloodshot eyes. Ash from the phoenix's magic darkened his face and clothes.

“Have you had
any sleep?” Braon asked, his eyes narrowing.

Newhawk
hesitated before nodding, but Rokei shook his head from behind him, causing
Braon to smile. “Get some rest. You have been awake for almost a day and a
half. I will need you fresh for tonight.”

The great
druid appeared on the verge of arguing, but then he wilted and nodded. He’d
done an excellent job of hiding his fatigue, but when he walked away he was
dead on his feet. Braon watched him go until Thacker cut into his thoughts, his
voice urgent. “We might have a situation.”

Braon’s eyes
snapped to the telepath, waiting as Thacker's expression remained unfocused.
Then he blanched and seemed to see Braon for the first time.

"General
Emeka is missing."

"What do
you mean, missing?"

"Our Link
says he just woke up. The general is gone—and so is his second in
command."

Braon's
forehead creased in anger. This was unacceptable. Emeka had been trained
against such behavior, so where could he have gone? Then it clicked. For the Azüre
people, chiefs lead their people into battle—and typically died in battle as well.
Because their quests for glory so often lead to their deaths, Braon had
instructed him to remain behind the lines. Emeka had despised the order.

He would be on
the front line.

Tightening his
jaw against his fury, he blinked at Thacker. "Have Adaeze and Jake find
them. If he doesn't return to his post, The Ridge will fall."

"And our world
will fall with it."

Chapter 7: Pride

Adaeze mounted
her horse and pulled Jake up behind her. Their guards followed suit, and
together they rode through the darkness towards the front line. As the daughter
of the renowned chief-turned-general, she knew her father had hated to stay
behind, but couldn’t imagine what had driven him to do such a thing. Was glory
that important to him?

"Commander
Braon says we must hurry," Jake said in her ear. "There are several
holes forming in our line and no one to lead. We need a general."

She frowned,
wondering what to do. The ebony-skinned Azüre had always been warlike, but
boasted few true leaders. The reason for that was simple. Traditionally their
people had been divided into tribes, and men rose to chieftain by challenge. In
the subsequent duels, the victor was the new chief. The few that survived
defeat were banished.

That had
changed when Emeka had received the orb from the oracle. After gazing into its
depths, he had proclaimed himself to be the king of all Azüre. Then he invited
every other chief to challenge him.

By the end of
the day, fourteen men lay dead, and Emeka was crowned king. Adaeze could still
remember the pride in her father's eyes as he basked in the adulation of the
united tribes. Then he had divulged the truth of the impending invasion.
Exclaiming it to be the ultimate glory of the joined tribes, he'd gathered
their entire population and sailed to Azertorn. Upon arriving, he'd challenged
Braon for leadership.

And lost.

Instead of
banishment, the commander had placed Emeka in a position of command. As the
newly appointed general, Emeka had been tasked with preparing The Ridge for
war. Although he'd trained and prepared their people according to Braon's
orders, Adaeze knew that he'd harbored a growing resentment towards the
commander.

She hadn't
realized it had reached the point of mutiny.

Feeling very
alone, Adaeze sighed, and finally responded to Jake's comment. "Tell Braon
to pass his orders to me for now. I will ensure that they are followed."

She couldn't
tell if the silence from Jake was a positive or a negative response.

Rounding the
mound of stone that their battalion was named for, she came into view of the
front line. Dark bodies glistened with sweat as their army battled. Spears and
barbed clubs crushed and stabbed at the fiends clawing for a hold.

"Our left
flank is weakening," Jake said. "Have the dwarves light traps 18
through 20."

Adaeze nodded,
and gestured to one her guards. "Do as he says, and have Jerek send two
companies from the center line."

The rider gave
a curt nod and departed, but Adaeze caught the reluctance in the man to follow
her order. The look he threw her sent a stab of irritation into her chest.
Despite her skills with both weapons and tactics, she was still viewed as a
woman. Grunting at the perception of her people, she nudged her horse forward.

Ordering her
guards to split up in their search, she rode towards the center of the line. If
he was anywhere in the battle, that is where he would be. Weaving through
weapon racks and tents, she arrived at the front and dismounted. She did her
best to ignore the screams of the dying.

Striding
through the ranks, she began her search. Pausing to answer Jake and dispatch
another rider, she scanned the battling warriors until she spotted a knot of
men rallying behind a tall figure.

Emeka's
expression was suffused with a wild glee as he plunged his spear into the
fiends below him. On all sides, his men fought like lions for their king,
driving the fiends from the cliff. Torn and bloodied, their enemies were thrust
from the battlements, repelled by the ferocious defenders.

Adaeze came to
a halt, wondering if perhaps the commander had been wrong. The heightened valor
of the men at the defenses bore testimony to the will of their chief, so maybe
it was best if he remained to lead them . . .

—A roar pulled
her from her thoughts. Spinning to the side, her breath caught as she saw four
of the fiend captains climb over the wall. Tearing the men apart, they gained a
foothold.

Then the
slaughter began.

The spears and
clubs of the ebony warriors were no match for their bone armor, and the obsidian
swords of the hulking fiends shredded the men who tried to attack them.
Whirling as one, they charged a sweeper post nearby. The first to arrive ripped
the roof of the hut off like it was the shell of a nut. Then he reached for the
occupant and tore him free. The man struggled in the kraka's grip, but the giant
fiend killed him and discarded the body.

Bellowing, he launched
his giant sword through a charging horseman. Then it reached for the spiked
chain of the sweeper and yanked it free. As his companions hacked at the
sweeper supports, he twirled the ball and chain like an enormous flail. Sending
the spiked ball into a knot of defenders, he roared in triumph as it crushed
several men.

Jake yanked
on Adaeze's arm, his voice screaming into his ear. "Get some mages and
archers before it turns into a rout!"

Jerking into
action, she snapped an order to the man next to her. "Summon Jerek and
have him bring the mages of his command. Be certain his son comes with
him."

The man
galloped west as Adaeze turned to another soldier. "Get every spearman to
distract them. Draw them into our camp without getting too close. Then close
the breach behind them. Also, have the dwarves light the traps below this
section to keep them from stopping us." Turning to the last of her guards,
she said, "Go get the mages from . . ."

Then she
spotted her father.

Leading a
charge of cavalry, he raised his spear and launched it at one of the krakas.
Flying true, the tip of the spear sank into a gap in the fiend's armor. The
hulk whirled at the strike, and wrenched the spear free with a snarl. Snapping
it like a twig, he tossed the pieces aside and swept his sword like a scythe.

Emeka swerved
and sent his horse leaping over the blade—but not all of his men were as quick.
Cutting a third of them down with a single strike, the kraka twirled his sword
and charged after Emeka.

Adaeze saw
what was coming and shouted to her father—but it was too late.

With his head
turned to watch the pursuing fiend, Emeka couldn't see the makeshift flail
soaring towards him. Even a glancing hit from a weapon the size of a small
wagon would be fatal—and it didn't miss. Aimed to strike him from above, the
strike was timed to intercept the general's speeding mount. In a single brutal
blow, the spiked ball crushed both horse and rider.

Horrorstruck,
Adaeze could only watch as the giant kraka removed the flail and picked up the
lifeless body of her father. Roaring its triumph into the dead general's face,
he flung him from the battlements.

Too late,
Jerek appeared. Leading a legion of mages and archers, they took down the two
kraka's at the decimated sweeper. The third died under a hail of missiles. Last
to go down, the flail-wielder received an arrow down his throat, launched by
the best archer of their army, Jerek's son.

The stonesap
traps exploded then, preventing other fiends from filling the gap before
Jerek's new forces could close it. Surging to fill the hole, men braced
themselves for another assault. As before, men fought and died, but the spark
of hope had been extinguished. Their king, their leader that had united their
people, had been slain.

Oddly, Adaeze
felt anger rather than sadness.

The commander
had explicitly ordered Emeka not to do what he had just done, and it had cost
him his life. In that moment she resolved never to doubt Commander Braon again.
Then she realized that their people lacked a leader. Of all the men, Jerek
would most likely attempt to assume command—but he had only a fraction of
Emeka's ability, and his appointment would lead to widespread fighting. The
gathered races would be defeated because the Azüre people had fallen . . . to
pride.

She refused to
let that happen.

In minutes she
found a sound mage, and the amazon amplified her voice throughout The Ridge.

"People
of Blue Lake, our king has fallen. For his memory, and our glory, we will not yield!
Now fight as one army! As one people! And as one nation!"

By spear and
club they held the wall, inspired by her words.

***

“General Emeka—and
his second in command—have been killed,” Thacker said, his voice full of
horror.

Braon closed
his eyes, feeling a surge of emotions as he listened—anger at Emeka for
disobeying his orders, frustration that he had lost a general so early, worry
that he had chosen the wrong person to lead, and finally, fear that it would
cause their defenses to unravel. It further grated that he'd ordered Emeka to
stay off the front line to avoid this precise consequence. Their people's quest
for glory was legendary—as was the death of their chieftains because of it.
He'd known what was going to happen if the azüre chief had fought. Why couldn't
he have listened?

Tightening his
jaw at the avoidable death, Braon set aside his tumultuous feelings and forced himself
to deal with the situation.

“Is the line
currently secure?”

“Yes, Emeka’s
daughter, Adaeze, took control and has closed the breach before it could
widen.”

“Does she need
reinforcements?”

“No, Jake says
the line is holding.”

Braon let the
slip slide. Thacker wasn’t supposed to use his family names during a report,
but now was not the time to remind him of that. By his tone, it sounded like
his son felt guilty enough already. Returning his gaze to the magical map, he
studied it, thinking.

There were
several ways he could fill the gap in leadership, each with advantages and
disadvantages. Newhawk, one of the other general’s seconds, or even Emeka’s
daughter could replace him. He sifted through the various choices, but delayed
enough to make sure he made the right choice. Twice he came up with the same
person, so he voiced his decision.

“Have Adaeze
take the place of her father as general,” he said, already letting go of his
emotions. Time to grieve—and second guess his choices—would come later, if he
survived.

Glancing at
the enchanted ceiling and walls, he watched the sun set. “Get all commands
ready for nightfall—and make sure they know it is going to be worse than
yesterday.”

Chapter 8: Master and
Servant

Siarra awoke
with a splitting headache. With her eyes fluttering open, she tried to focus to
see where she was. Bleary and gray, the world came into view enough for her to
see that she lay against a wall in a small room that reeked of decay. A moldy,
rotted desk sat askew in the corner opposite her, and the remains of drapes
hung on the only window above it. Across from her, a door clung to the frame by
a single rusty hinge. The stone walls and floor were layered in dust and debris,
broken only by the mark of where she had been dragged across the floor.

She clenched
her eyes shut as pain lanced through her head, causing her to feel a flash of
irritation. The moment the sleep spell had struck she’d known what it was, but
with the preceding distraction of the deep dragon—and the sheer power of the
spell—it had taken her by surprise. Growling, she eased herself to a sitting
position, ignoring the throbbing in her head as she heard the sound of clinking
metal.

She looked
down and saw her wrists in heavy shackles that were bound to the wall. Annoyed,
she slipped into the sight and examined the metal. Old and rusted, it
held no trace of magical enhancements. Fools, she thought. You can’t
bind an oracle with ordinary chains. Delving into the metal, she sought to
break its bonds.

Nothing
happened.

Shaking off
her headache, she focused and tried the simple spell again. Once more, nothing
happened. Swallowing against the bubbling panic, she focused with all her might
. . . only to fail again.

“Don’t
bother,” a voice spoke, and her eyes snapped to the figure that had appeared in
the doorway

“What did you
do to me?” she said, her voice furious.

He chuckled
from the shadows of the hall. “Once you were asleep, I bound your magic into
this.” He swept a glass ball out of his robes. The orb pulsed with blinding
white energy before he slipped it out of sight.

Siarra’s brain
whirled, trying to figure out how he had done it. Binding magic was the one of
the rarest magics, and almost exclusive to oracles. Withdrawing her power and
capturing it would have required several hours of supreme effort, and it only
could have been done with a compliant victim. Then it dawned on her why he had
used the sleep spell. Now that she understood the how, that left the—

“Who are you?”
she asked, her eyes narrowing.

Chuckling, he
stepped into the light, revealing a hunched, stick-like figure shrouded in gray
robes. White, thinning hair protruded from the top of his head, wispy and
unkempt, while his face showed wrinkles and age spots. A hooked nose and the
piercing gray eyes were the most distinguishing features.

“I am Zorik,
and I was once the servant of the great Lord of Chaos, Draeken.”

Siarra fought
to control her breathing. “How are you still alive?” she asked, grateful that
her voice didn’t betray her fear.

He chuckled
again, a low menacing sound that made her skin crawl. “Oh, Draeken taught me
the dragons sleep.”

“What other
magics did he teach you?”

“I will admit
that before I served my master, I was adept at several magics, metal, darkness,
and fire being the foremost.” He sighed. “Although I did manage to learn some
of the other types, mind magic was never my strength. Although powerful, my
sleep spell only works if the person is distracted.”

He started to
chuckle, but it turned into a cough, a hoarse, rasping sound. Fighting for
breath, he moved towards the broken chair by the desk. With a flick of his
hand, the chair righted itself and repaired, allowing him to sit. Chuckling
once more he added, “Even with the dragons sleep, I believe my end is soon to
come, but I will live long enough to see my Lord Draeken be freed from his
prison.”

“Then why am I
still alive?” Siarra asked, feeling fury rising within her.

Zorik cocked
his head to one side. “I want your power of course. With your quite extensive
magic added to my own, I will be nearly as powerful as my Lord, giving me the
strength I need to serve my master once more.” He chuckled again, but it ended
in another hacking cough. “We still have Skorn, and then Ero to conquer.”

Siarra’s
chains shook as she pulled against them. “You may take my power, but you can’t
absorb it without my aid!”

His gray eyes,
young despite the rest of his appearance, pierced hers. “I know, young Oracle.
That is why your friends are still breathing.”

Siarra felt
the shackles tearing her skin as she leapt to her feet, fighting the manacles
and snarling profanities.

Zorik shook
his head. “Such language for one of your standing. If I had more time, perhaps
I would teach you some manners, but alas, I do not. Our time will be taken up
with the torture and death of your friends.”

Siarra
abruptly stopped struggling, recognizing that the anger coursing through her
hadn’t allowed her to think. With an effort, she calmed herself, glancing away
to not reveal her intention. The cooling of her fury also allowed her mind to focus,
and she realized that she had to delay Zorik as long as she could. If Taryn and
the others could escape, then perhaps all would not be lost.

Feigning
worry, she said. “Will my friends live if I submit?” A picture of Jack’s
arrogant expression flashed before her eyes, and she felt her feigned worry
become real.

His brow
furrowed and his eyes sparkled with greed. “I will have to consider that. With
your aid, I might even gain your power quick enough to help the army in
victory.” A disturbing hunger flashed across his face and the old man lapsed
into silence.

Wanting to
keep the conversation going, Siarra asked. “When did the deep dragon join you?”

Shaking his
head as if to clear it, Zorik looked at Siarra. “He found my home a few
thousand years ago, seeking a refuge. He is the last of his kind, and I will
admit, a kindred spirit.”

Siarra
suppressed a shudder. Deep dragons were vicious and evil, yet Zorik spoke of
him with the fondness of a childhood friend. “What about this castle?” she
asked, trying to land on another topic where he would keep talking. “This was
not built by a mortal race.”

He smiled in a
condescending expression. “Observant of you. No, it was not built by mortal
hands. I built it for my master before he was imprisoned.” He looked around him
affectionately. “It used to be much more grand, but my magic has waned without
the strength of my master. The upkeep has been more than I anticipated.”

Siarra
frowned. “You are more honest than I would expect.”

Zorik pursed
his lips. “I have always detested intrigue, despite my master's passion for it.”
He shrugged. “Besides, I have not had someone to talk to in quite some time—and
since you will be dead soon anyway . . .”

Siarra shied
away from that topic. “The fiends that drove us here, are they yours?”

He smiled
wickedly. “Of course. They have become proficient at ensnaring people in my
trap. They used to slay anyone that ventured into the tunnels.” He sniffed at
the waste and added. “They aren’t much for conversation though.”

“Why are they
. . . different?”

“The fiends we
created were never meant to exist for so long. Inside the realm where we placed
them, they were—to a certain extent—suspended in time, keeping them ready for
battle.” He sighed. “Without constant infusions of dark magic, my servants
would have perished within a few hundred years of coming through the portal.”

Zorik began to
cough once more, so Siarra waited until he was finished before she asked. “What
about Draeken’s generals?”

His wrinkled
face glowed with pride. “The riders of the apocalypse we called them. Lord
Draeken aided me in creating them after he was imprisoned. In his wisdom, he
knew that the rabble needed leadership in destroying the races. Chained as he
was, it was a leadership he couldn’t provide, and he believed I was too weak to
serve in that role. Without them, some of the races could have conceivably
escaped or survived long enough for the fiends to expire. My Lord did not want
to leave any alive, no matter how slim their chance of survival.”

Siarra’s head
tilted upward. “We slew the assassin.”

Zorik
chuckled, raspy and hoarse, as he waved airily. “No matter. The forerunner
killed many leaders before he was slain. Even if he didn’t manage to keep the
kingdoms divided until they were conquered, he still performed well.” Then his
eyes narrowed, a hint of danger seeping into his eyes. “Out of curiosity, who slew
him?”

Siarra’s mind
flashed to Jack, no doubt imprisoned in the same keep she was in. “No one important,”
she said, not liking the trace of revenge she’d seen flit through his look.

After a moment
where their eyes locked, he looked away and rose to his feet. “My master’s war
will soon be over. I must prepare for your friends.”

“When’s the
last time you saw him?”

He swiveled
and looked at her. “Several months. It is only three days journey to him
through the tunnels, but it is still taxing.” He paused, and added, “I have
considered your request, and I will grant you one day. If you do not give me
your power by then . . .”

Siarra must
have looked more relieved than she meant to, because he chuckled once more. The
sinister sound echoed around the small chamber as he said, “And don’t think
they can escape. I am quite good at seeing metal, and I took every piece
off them. One in particular had several sets of lockpicks.”

She couldn’t
contain the horror that seeped into her expression. Jack . . .

“Enjoy your
stay,” he chuckled again as he turned to exit the room. “Short as it may be.”

Siarra, alone
and bereft of her power, fought back the despair that threatened to engulf her.
Despite her efforts, several tears darkened the dust below her bowed head.

Chapter 9: Imprisoned

Taryn jerked
awake, nearly backhanding Liri as he lurched to his knees.

“Watch it!” she
said, ducking to avoid his swinging arms.

“Sorry,” he
mumbled, stabilizing himself into a sitting position. Groaning as pain washed
over him, he closed his eyes to keep from blacking out. “I thought we were done
for. What happened?”

Liri shifted
to sit next to him. “I am not sure. I awoke a few minutes ago and have been
trying to wake the two of you.”

“The two of
us?” he asked, gingerly opening his eyes.

He caught
sight of the still form of Jack nearby at the same time she said the thief’s
name.

“Oh,” he said.
“What about the others? Siarra? Mae? Trin? Kell?”

As he said
each name she gave a tight shake of her head, her eyebrows knitting together until
she said, “I don’t know.”

His sharp
intake of breath must have given his emotions away, because he felt Liri’s hand
find his.

“I’m sure they
are all right," she said. "If we are alive, they probably are too,
right?”

Although it
sounded like she was trying to convince herself, he latched onto the glimmer of
hope. “So where are we?”

“See for
yourself,” she said, her tone rueful.

Blinking away
the last of the odd headache, he took a look around. Three square stone walls
greeted his view, and when he swiveled his head to look behind, he saw thick
iron bars forming the last side. The remains of a wooden cot lay in one corner,
looking beyond unsanitary. On the outside of the bars, a single red flameless
torch cast a dim glow on the empty corridor.

“Welcome to
our prison,” Liri said with a wry smile.

On reflex, he
reached back for his father's sword, but encountered empty air where the hilt
should have been.

“All of it is
gone,” Liri said with a sigh, leaning back against the stone wall. “They took
all our weapons, even Jack’s lockpick set.”

Taryn
swallowed against the surge of panic, not so much in their predicament as the
loss of his parent's weapons. The weapons had been with him for his entire
life, and always close at hand. Without them, he felt stripped and alone.

“I think they
are enchanted, but do you think you could bend the bars?” Liri asked, tilting
her head towards the doorway.

He shrugged
and rose to his feet, pulling her up next to him. “It’s worth a try.”

Striding to
the iron bars, he wrapped his fingers around two of them and began to apply
pressure. Gradually he increased the force until he was pulling with all his
might—but the metal did not give. Frowning, he moved to the side of the room
and braced his back against the wall. Placing both hands against a single bar,
he again built up the pressure until beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

Liri released
a deep sigh and said, “I believe nothing short of the key will open it."

Unwilling to
give up on escape so easily, Taryn turned to the walls, but after several
attempts to find an egress proved fruitless, he sat next to Liri with a grunt.
“It seems we are stuck, doesn’t it.”

She shrugged
and nudged him with an encouraging smile. “Perhaps, but we are still alive. If
anyone comes to let us out, they will have a real fight on their hands.”

He grinned and
put his arm around her. “You always know how to cheer me up, you know that?”

She snuggled
into his arm, and after a moment murmured, “I wonder how long we were asleep?”

He started to
shake his head, but an idea flashed across his mind and he lifted his left arm
to his eyes. Peering at a dark line of crusted blood he exclaimed, “No more
than a day. In the tunnels, one of them got close enough to scratch me.” He
showed her his forearm and said. “It hasn’t even begun to heal yet, but the
blood has dried.”

“Good,” she
said, blowing out her breath. “I was worried that it had been a few days . . .
and we were too late.” Her deep blue eyes found his and the relief was
palpable.

Taryn smiled
at her, reaching out to wipe some of the dirt from her cheek where she’d been
laying on the floor. Then he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. Just
as the first time he’d kissed her, a blast of heat flooded through him, taking
his breath away and making him dizzy.

When they
parted, he smiled, both from the kiss and to comfort her. “It’s not too late,
Liri. We still have at least four days.”

For a moment
the two of them leaned against each other, taking solace in the feeling of hope.
But it didn’t take long for it to fade, replaced by the view of a dark stone
wall.

“Would you
have noticed me if this war wasn’t going on?” Liri asked, catching him by
surprise.

“What do you
mean?” Taryn asked, turning to look at her.

Her expression
shifted into exasperation. “Taryn Elseerian, do you have any idea how long I have
favored you?”

He shook his
head in chagrin.

She chuckled
at his expression and looked away, her eyes seeing past the walls. “The first
time I knew I cared about you was when we were training with the longbow
together. Every day we would meet and practice, and every morning you would get
there early to set up my targets for me.” Her eyes found his. “Do you remember
that?”

His brow
wrinkled in confusion. “Of course, but I set up everyone’s targets, not just
yours. Murai taught me to be considerate of others. Why would that make such a
difference?”

She laughed and
the expression of mirth shook her thin frame, yet carried a softness to it that
made her appear vulnerable.

“Did you know
that all masters teach their students to be considerate of others?” Her gaze
pierced his, but he shook his head, still confused. “It's part of the standard
training, but so few of the students were genuinely thoughtful of those around
them.”

“What about
Firel?” Taryn asked. “Mae once told me he cared for you, and he did try to
serve you, didn’t he? He was always jumping to retrieve your arrows and
inviting you to share a mug with him and his friends.”

She chuckled
and tilted her head at him, raising one eyebrow. “Do I like to have
others retrieve my arrows?”

After a
moment’s thought, he realized the answer. “No. You like to get them yourself,
so you can check them for damage.”

She smiled in
satisfaction and asked, “Do I like to drink ale?”

Again he
answered from experience, “No, you don’t like the after effects.”

She laughed.
“Firel was a fool, Taryn. He was attracted to me, but never took the time to
get to know me. You took the time to ask if I would like you to place my
targets. When I said yes, you did it every day, without complaint—and without
ulterior motive.”

Taryn was
still confused, but he hated to admit it. “But I asked everyone—.”

She placed a
finger on his lips, grinning. “Can we both agree that you are absolutely
horrible at seeing certain things, like what a person does when they favor
someone else?"

He allowed a
small smile and nodded, so she added, “Good, and can we agree that I am, shall
we say, fairly adept, at seeing when people care for someone?”

His grin
widened, and he nodded again, deciding then and there that he shouldn't
question her when it came to the emotions of others. Taking her hand in his, he
intertwined their fingers. “Now that I know when you first favored me, would
you like to know when I first felt something for you?”

Her eyes
sparkled, giving him all the answer he needed.

Sighing, he
looked at the ceiling before answering. “Do you remember the games two years
before my Acabi?”

She nodded, so
he continued, “It was the first time I had seen you in a while, and it was one
of the years you had made it to the final round. Do you remember what
happened?”

“I remember
doing well, but I got hung up on one of the events.” She paused to think. “I
think it was fishing. I just couldn’t get the blasted thing to hook . . .” Her
eyes lit up with understanding and she smiled. “I had forgotten about that.”

He grinned,
wanting to finish. “That was the year they added a surprise attack for
everyone. One of the masters tried to surprise me at the river, and after I
disarmed him, I came back to find a fish somehow hooked on my line.” He
looked at her shrewdly. “You wouldn’t know how it got there, would you? You
were, after all, just upriver when I was attacked. Did you see anything . . . suspicious?”

Her expression
held only innocence as she said, “I don’t know what you are talking about
Taryn.”

He laughed
again and hugged her. “That was the farthest I ever made it in the games,” he
said into her ear.

“You lovebirds
got any water?” a voice said from the other side of their cell, causing them
both to turn and see Jack sitting up, massaging his head.

“Jack!” they
exclaimed in unison, moving to his side.

He winced and
waved them to silence. “How long have we been out?”

“We think
about twenty-four hours, but we don’t really know,” Liri said.

Jack nodded,
blearily opening his eyes again. “By Skorn that sleeping spell stings!”

Taryn smiled
sympathetically. “It doesn’t last long.”

“I know,” Jack
said. “It’s not the first time it has been used on me.”

Taryn snorted,
wondering again how many tales the thief could tell. “We already checked the
room for escape. We believe the bars are magically enforced. Any ideas?”

Jack shrugged,
blinking away the last of his headache and getting to his feet. “Pick the lock
of course.”

Liri shook her
head at him. “They took your lock picks, Jack.”

His eyes
widened in a manner that made her flush. “My lady, you searched me while I was
out?” Chuckling at her response, he dug into his tunic searching first one
pocket, and then another before he grunted in irritation.

“Blast it,
they did take ̓em,” Jack said.

“So what are
we going to do?” Taryn asked.

“They took my
metal picks, but not my wooden ones,” Jack said with a sly grin, withdrawing a
small, flat leather pouch from a secret pocket.

“Wooden?” Liri
asked before Taryn could.

Jack moved
towards the door and reached through the bars, slipping something into the
lock. “Metal mages always find the normal picks, but never the wooden ones. I
had ̓em especially made for just such an occasion.”

The door
emitted an audible ‘click’ and swung open, causing him to sniff. “Such a poor
design too,” Jack said, glancing back. “Shall we find the others?”

Noticing their
astonished expressions, he blew out his breath. “Honestly. It’s like you don’t
even know me.”

After releasing
Trin, Mae, and Kell from a cell down the corridor, Taryn led them through the
twisting corridors of a dungeon and up into what he guessed was the second
level of the keep. A glint of steel caught his eye, and he paused to look into
an ancient armory. Joy warmed his body as he saw a pile of weapons had been
dumped onto the floor. Among them he saw two long-bladed katsanas, as well as
several throwing knives.

“Hello,
beautiful,” Jack crowed, darting past him toward the horde.

Retrieving his
parents’ swords, Taryn checked them for any damage before sliding them into the
sheaths on his back. The ‘thunk’ of the hilts reaching the scabbards sent a
comforting tingle down his spine. Turning to search for the throwing knives his
uncle had given him, he almost burst out laughing as he saw Trin kissing his longsword.

“What?” Trin asked,
when he caught his look. “Haven’t you ever seen a grown man kiss his sword
before?”

Taryn shook
his head, suppressing his mirth lest the sound echo and betray their presence.
Stooping, he grabbed two of the knives and slid them into the belt at his
waist. Smiling at the sight of Liri caressing her wind bow, he spotted the
other three knives and reached for them. One by one sliding them home, he
turned to see Kell kneeling and bowing his head against the hilt of his
enormous blade. Then the son of King Tryton rose to his full stature, towering
over Taryn and sliding the five foot sword onto his back.

“I am ready
for battle,” Kell said, his dark eyes sparking.

“Me too.”

“As am I.”

“I’ve got
everything.”

“I even have
my lock picks,” Jack said, smiling as several bags disappeared into hidden
folds of the man’s cloak.

Taryn found
himself grinning, despite their situation, and bent to pick up the last
remaining weapon on the ground, Siarra’s katsana. “Let’s find my sister and get
out of here,” he said, his voice full of determination.

Armed and
ready for battle, they stepped back into the hallway and continued their
search. With all six of them tuned to the slightest hint of detection, they
crept through dark hallways in search of Siarra, and a way out. Ducking into a
room strewn with broken furniture, Taryn slipped to the window and peered out
into the cavern.

Scanning the
shadowed cavern, he tried to find anything that would give him some bearings—

—he yanked his
head back from the opening before he’d fully registered the massive form,
feeling his heart pounding so hard it threatened to burst from his chest.

“What is it?”
Liri asked, drifting towards him while others slipped into the room behind her.

“See for
yourself,” Taryn said, his voice tight.

She eased her
eyes over the sill and peered into the gloom, but it was obvious when she saw
it.

“Skorn's blade,”
she cursed under her breath, ducking back. “That is one big dragon!”

Taryn nodded,
impulsively rising to get another peek at it. The dark dragon lay stretched out
on one of the bridges that lead to the subterranean castle. Its huge horned
head rested on its forelimbs, while the ebony wings lay folded back onto its flanks.
A long, spiked tail hung into the abyss, swinging slightly. Like a giant
predator crouching on a branch, it lay perched, ready for the hunt.

Glancing
around the beast, Taryn managed a good look at the cavern. Satisfied, he knelt
next to Liri. “I believe it’s sleeping, or at least resting, but there is a
problem.” Liri raised an eyebrow so he continued. “If you remember, there are
only two arches that lead to this structure, and that thing”—he jerked a thumb
in the direction of the window—"is laying on one of them.”

Trin, who had
drifted close enough to glance out the window, scowled. “Let me guess. He’s on
the one we need to use.”

Taryn nodded,
grimacing. “Do you see the pieces of the railing? The bridge we took to get
here didn’t have any. That means we will have to backtrack to get out of here.”

Mae was
already shaking her head. “We can’t go back. Those fiends, wherever they came
from, had that trap ready. They will just funnel us back in this direction.”

“I think she’s
right,” Jack said, jerking his head towards Mae. “I would also put odds that
this side doesn’t have any fiends at all.” He gestured towards the dragon. “Why
would you need ̓em?”

“So we slay
the dragon?” Kell asked, a trace of eagerness seeping into the rock troll’s
voice.

Feeling all
the eyes turn towards him, Taryn felt a flash of unease at the prospect.
Shrugging, he said. “By its size, it is quite old. But if we take it on, it
will be a miracle for any of us to survive.”

“So let’s
distract it,” Liri said, pulling her bow from her back. “If we can get it away
from the bridge, maybe we can get across. Once we are in the tunnels . . .”

Trin grinned.
“If you and Taryn can use some arrows to draw it from the bridge, we might have
a shot.”

“There are
some things you should know about dragons,” Kell cut in, “just in case.” Once
he had everyone’s attention, he rumbled. “Our people have fought more than a
few of the beasts, and even hunted them at one time. It is still considered the
ultimate honor to mark one’s face with the dragons’ brand.” He slid a large
finger down his cheek in emphasis.

Taryn’s gaze
slid to the other tattoos that spiked and curved on the rock trolls torso, arms
and face. Young as Kell was, he still boasted many victories on his body. Despite
the ink, Taryn wondered if the son of King Tryton had ever faced a dragon.

Kell finished
tracing a dragon’s shape in the dust at their feet and pointed at a place
behind the forearm, “There is only one spot that we know of to slay a dragon.
It is difficult to reach, and will require a powerful blow from an enchanted
weapon to break through its armor.” His voice rumbled to a stop. After a pause
he nodded towards Liri. “I know Kythira gave you that wind bow, and with it,
you can make long range shots, but your arrows will not be strong enough. As
far as I know, only Taryn and I carry weapons capable of piercing its hide.”

“Are you sure
yours can do it?” Jack snorted, his expression dubious.

Kell flashed
the thief a wry smile. “Every rock troll carries a weapon that is specially
forged, and then imbued with the magic of our race, but some are more powerful
than others.”

“Sand or
wind?” Mae asked.

“Sand,” he
replied, “usually. It is unlike the earth magic of the human race, and is made with
the purest of raw material. Extremely rare but very powerful, the sharpening
augmentation is the most powerful enchantment of our race.”

Taryn started,
recalling something his sister had said about his father’s sword. “And tricky,
isn’t it? Siarra once told me that a sharpening augmentation is difficult to
perform.”

Kell bobbed
his head. “Of all the weapons in our clan, only my fathers and mine carry it.”
He touched the bracer on his forearm. “I also carry a hidden battle shield. It
is imbued with wind magic and can deflect a dragon’s breath, but only for a
short time.”

“Then I might
have an idea how to find Siarra and escape,” Mae said, her voice soft.

Taryn leaned
close as she detailed her plan, wondering more than once how they could perform
what she was suggesting.

Day 3

Chapter 10: The Sweeper

Keri turned
away when her husband’s commanding officer, Dumont, rode into view. Without preamble,
he bellowed, “I know your captain has fallen, so you now report to your
sergeant. We move to take the front line in just a moment. Prepare yourselves.”

With his
orders given, he wheeled his horse and rode to the next group in line. Keri's
husband had mentioned once that his colonel had been the captain of the guard
at Keese, and that he was very perceptive. Lucky for her, he had been placed in
charge of several captains, and rarely came to check on Jason’s command.

“He’s gone,
cap’n,” a voice rumbled from behind her. Even before she looked, she knew it to
be Aron. She could hear the smile in his voice.

“Thank you,
Aron,” she replied, not bothering to deepen her tone. Aron had known the moment
she’d walked into her husband's place that she wasn’t Jason, but then again, he
was his second in command and knew him best. Aron had even given her the thin
sword at her waist, so of course he would recognize it. Perhaps that is why he
had not reported her to Dumont.

What he had
done was spread the word through Jason’s men that she was taking his position.
After that, she had caught several encouraging smiles and curt nods of respect
in her direction. The men knew she could fight, and under such circumstances,
not a single one protested her ‘volunteering’. It warmed her to feel close to Jason’s
men, but didn't dispel the lump in her throat.

All around
her, Keri watched the men, dirty and unshaven, ready their weapons. Most wore
stony expressions, and didn't seem to be aware of the conspicuous gaps between
them. Few demonstrated the fear that she felt. She found herself wondering if
she would feel the same after two days and two shifts, resigned to her fate.
Then she wondered if she would survive that long.

A sudden blast
of magical light exploded and streaked into the sky, slowing until it hung
suspended several hundred feet off the ground. The glowing orb illuminated the
entire cliff-top better than its predecessor, already darkening and sinking
towards the ground. It also marked the shift of lines.

Armor clanked
against wooden shields as thousands of soldiers from the southern kingdom stood
and began to march towards the cliff. Keri, her heart gripped by fear and
anticipation, prepared herself for the sights at the front line.

In moments the
dull background of battle and pain increased—and
then it came into view. Topping a small rise, the Eastern Falls night command advanced
towards the war being waged at the cliff’s edge. From their right, the roar of
the eastern waterfall of Azertorn mingled with the cries of wounded soldiers
and the shrieks of pain from dark bodied fiends.

—A blast
exploded out from the cliff, only seen by the fireball rising above the ramparts
and felt by the tremor underfoot. Keri’s heart fluttered but she held her
ground, keeping her stride even with Aron's.

“You’ll be
alright ma’am,” he said, nudging her. “It’s just dwarven stonesap. Their traps keep
us from being overrun.”

“Am I crazy to
be here Aron?” she murmured, worry breaking through her confident façade.

“No more than
the rest of us,” he replied with a lopsided grin.

“Are we going
to survive?” she asked, noticing several other men tuning into their quiet
conversation.

“You
will, if that’s what you are asking.” Aron’s lips twitched but he held them in
check with visible effort.

“Why?” she
asked, raising her voice over the increasing din of battle.

He snorted.
“If anything happens to you, Jason will kill me.”

Several men
around her hid smiles as they overheard his comment, and she got the impression
they were thinking the same thing.

She smiled
wryly at the grey-haired sergeant. “You don’t expect me to just hang back, do
you?”

He snorted. “I
know you better than that. Just stick by me until we reach the edge. Then I
will show you where you need to stand and fight.”

Further
conversation proved impossible as someone in their own group bellowed a battle
cry. In seconds their entire command roared their fury, fighting their fear by
their very voices. Then they began to speed up.

The walk
became a trot, then a run, and then a sprint. Keri joined in the scream and
drew her sword, sprinting towards the edge of the plateau. Every solder still
on the cliff’s edge melted sideways, like water being split by a rock. Finally
all that remained was the last thin line of human men between Keri and the mass
of fiends flooding over the edge. Even as the line began to crumble, a barked
order issued their retreat, allowing the roiling mass of quare to pour over the
top—but Keri's line was too close for them to get far.

Like a
pounding battering ram, the entire line smashed into the wave of quare before
they had gotten twenty feet from the edge. Keri watched the man in front of her
trip and go down, and she just managed to leap over him and take his place. An
instant later a snarling fiend burst into view. Driven by desperation and
training, she leaned into her shield and plowed right into him. For a split
second, she slowed, and then someone slammed into her from behind. Together
they drove the fiend off the cliff, stopping short before they followed him
over.

Left and
right, thousands of fiends screamed in hate and anger as they were thrust off
the plateau, left to hurtle a thousand feet to their deaths. Keri froze, her
chest heaving as she looked out over the rumbling mass of fiends at the bottom
of the cliff, spread out as far as she could see in any direction, illuminated
by a haze of fires and magical light. Skorpian spears were slivers of dark,
slamming into the cliff with such force that they penetrated the solid rock,
providing a makeshift ladder for the nimble quare, who had almost reached the
top again.

Gasping for
breath, she felt Aron snatch her arm and pull her towards a massive machine
leaning out over the cliff. Black bodied fiends reached the top and bounded
into the waiting throng of soldiers in front and behind her. Men cried out as
they died. Then fiends shrieked, sharing the same fate. Archers leaned over the
low wall, launching arrows at the creatures climbing towards them. Her blood
thundering in her head, Keri watched one archer lean out and take aim, only to
see him get yanked from view before he could fire. A spearman took his place
and impaled the attacking creature, only to be also pulled over by the fiend’s
death throes.

Finally they
reached the sweeper machine. Aron spun her to face him, his gray hair wild and
his eyes fierce, “Watch this side of the machine. Don’t let anything get close.
We have lost too many of the sweepers already. John will watch the other side.
Whatever you do, don’t let them get behind it to the supports, or they will
pull them loose. Don’t—”

Keri saw a quare
climb up behind Aron and instinct took over. Brushing past him, she darted in,
leading with her thin sword. The fiend tried to dodge out of the way, but
became trapped by the thick wooden beams of the machine. Furiously, it charged
towards her. Keri braced herself and felt her arm jar as the point of her sword
sank into its chest. Even in death, the creature clawed her shoulder, drawing
blood.

Aron strode to
her side and dispassionately sunk his own sword into its neck, and then tipped
him over the wall. Looking at her, he added, “Don’t underestimate them. I have
seen too many men get killed by one they thought was dead.”

He nodded in
encouragement and whirled, stepping into the housing of the sweeper. A moment
later, a haggard man stepped out and headed towards the rear of their line, his
shift completed. Keri, her nerves raw from slaying the fiend and the chaos
around her, took her position.

Before
anything came close enough to strike, she felt the ground underneath shake and
a massive ‘whump’ echo as the sweeper launched its huge spiked ball. Flying
sideways, it knocked several fiends off before it began to plunge downward,
casting black bodies aside like twigs as it snapped Skorpian spears. In
moments, the war machine swept the cliff clean of nearby attackers, leaving
fiends plunging to their deaths.

But the tide
filled the empty space, racing upward during the time the sweeper pulled its
chain in. Then she had to fight. In a flurry of desperate attacks and thrusts,
she battled numerous fiends that tried to get to the machine, only to die by
her hand. It quickly became clear that her position, dangerous as it was, still
carried relative safety, for the simple reason that few fiends made it past the
machine. It was up to the soldiers that manned the wall outside of its reach who
suffered—and died—as the climbing mass of attackers sought to flank the
sweeper.

Man-sized, but
with manes of red fur shimmering in rage, the quare clawed their way to the
top, tearing men from the battlements even as they were slain. Sometimes a
thick knot would press forward enough to gain a foothold, but the cavalry, led
by Dumont, were quick to ride them down and force them back over the edge.

Keri fought
until her arm ached, and then kept going. Time after time, the black creatures
would dart behind the sweeping chain and make it to her position before it
swung back. Each one, although stronger and more agile than her, died before
they could reach the top, struck down as they sought for her throat. She gritted
her teeth against the creeping exhaustion.

Two hours into
the haze of fatigue and adrenaline, a kraka reached the top.

Hidden behind
a pack of quare, it climbed slowly behind its quicker companions, who died just
shy of the top—but the kraka was too strong to be taken down by an arrow or
spear. At the last moment, Aron sent the sweeper ball streaking towards it, but
the beast had chosen its ascent well, and the ball could not reach it before
its enormous hand grasped the wall at the top. With a heave it pulled itself
over. Ignoring the hundreds of desperate pricks from blades and spears, it
spread its arms wide and thundered a roaring challenge. Then it charged.

White bone
armor protected it as it picked up speed, crashing through crowds of shouting
men, knocking them aside like they were sticks in the path of a falling boulder.
Men tumbled away or flew over the wall, screaming as they fell. A moment later
it changed direction, headed towards the sweeper. It roared again, freezing
Keri’s blood like ice.

“Get out of
here Keri!” Aron bellowed, climbing from the sweeper, trying to escape before
the hulking beast smashed into the supports.

As Keri
watched the armored kraka thunder towards her, she felt only fury. Aron would
never it make it out in time and she knew it. The older man had been like a
father to both her and Jason, despite his lower rank, and images of his
presence in their home flashed before her eyes. Aron, teaching her to hold a
sword, Aron, scratching his gray hair as he laughed, Aron, holding her baby
girl . . .

She screamed
as black rage coursed through her, destroying her fear by its very intensity.
Darting forward she grasped a massive, ironbound halberd leaning against a
rack. With a strength fueled by wrath, she plunged the shaft into the ground
behind one of the log struts of the sweeper—then tilted it towards the kraka as
she leapt sideways to avoid its charging path.

Unable to
avoid the weapon, the behemoth ran into the halberd, which had fallen until it
angled into his knee. The double snap of the weapons shaft and a broken bone
caused everyone within earshot to flinch. Roaring in agony, the kraka’s leg
buckled, sending him tumbling forward—but he couldn’t stop himself. Tripping
over the beam, the hulk stumbled and bounced over the wall, catching itself at
the last second.

But Keri
hadn’t stopped. She rolled to her feet and grasped a heavy warhammer. Dragging
it behind her, she raced to the edge and swung it in a full circle, bringing it
down onto the krakas fingers with a scream of triumph. Another bone snapped,
followed by a bellow of pain even as the fingers involuntarily let go of the
wall, leaving the fiend in the hands of nature’s inexorable pull.

The wrath left
as quickly as it had come, dropping Keri to her knees as fatigue took its place.
A moment later a hand settled onto her shoulder.

“I’m supposed
to save you, not the other way around.” Aron’s voice was sad, devoid of his
characteristic humor.

Suddenly
overwhelmed with emotion, she stood and looked at him, fighting the tears. “I
couldn’t lose you too.”

He smiled
crookedly, too choked to speak, and embraced her. An eternity of emotion
somehow compressed into a few seconds, but all too soon the call to battle came
again.

Both of them
answered.

Chapter 11: The Deep

Braon watched
the map, feeling his eyes going blurry from straining so hard. He’d managed to
catch a few hours of sleep at the start of the midnight shift, but it hadn’t
been enough. From where he could see, day three had begun in a fury, with
multiple small leaks threatening to break through their lines.

He sighed,
sliding the map sideways to check on Eastern Falls command. With the exception
of the waterfall, the view was almost identical to the rest of the cliff top. Quare
bounded up the spears until they reached the top, only to be forcefully
repelled. Whether they were dead or wounded it didn’t matter. Either way they
fell.

It is barely
day three! he thought, feeling a rush of anger. How can we survive until
daybreak, let alone the end of the week?

If it were only
the quare, they might have had a chance. Although strong and fast, they just
weren’t big enough to break through the defenses at the cliff-top unless they
crowded together. Massed tightly, a group would push back the defenders. Then
they were destroyed by magic or cavalry, the second line of defense.

But they
weren’t the only ones to climb the cliff.

Since
yesterday the kraka had begun the ascent. Huge and armored, more fell than
reached the top, but the few that succeeded wrecked havoc on his army. Even as
he watched, a giant kraka reached the battlements. Plowing through the
defenders like or horse through a field of grass, it trampled many, tossed
others back over the cliff, and then killed more with its bare hands. Turning,
it headed towards one of the few sweepers remaining. Arrows flew towards its
back, but were no match for the bone armor. Braon shook his head, knowing the
sweeper didn’t stand a chance.

Then a small
soldier did the unthinkable. Without thought for himself, he jumped in front of
the charging beast and buried a halberd into the ground. Tilting it towards the
kraka, he dived out of the way. Unable to stop, the huge fiend impaled its leg
on the long weapon.

Braon flinched
as he saw the weapon and leg shatter from the impact. Tumbling to the edge, it
managed to catch itself—but the brave soldier wasn’t finished. Appearing with a
large war hammer, he crushed the fiend's fingers, leaving it to fall.

Transfixed
throughout the incident, Braon blinked, coming back to reality. He had rarely
witnessed such bravery, and this time he felt it pull on his heart, augmenting
his own courage. The surge of hope felt unfamiliar, but its warmth suffused his
frame like a crackling fire in the depth of winter. Then he realized he had
allowed despair to overcome him. The soldier's desperate effort reminded him
that thousands of nameless men and women were fighting for their lives—and that
heroism was not exclusive to heroes.

Clenching his
jaw, he straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath.

I will last
another day.

His strength
and faith renewed, Braon allowed his mind to take over and his fingers flew to
take in every section of the enormous battle. A moment later he began issuing
orders to Thacker.

“The line in
The Gray is weakening. Talfar must get the gnomes to reinforce the western wall
of their division. Also the orcs on his right flank appear to be losing heart.

“Tell Graden
to detonate trap number 178, there are two kraka’s almost to the top.

“Send some of
Golic’s men that aren’t working on the road defenses to Adaeze at The Ridge.
Their night shift has lost too many men.

Another move
in the map and he saw there was trouble in the black elf division, The Deep,
causing him to pause and consider his options. Marked by the lowest point in
the cliff besides the city, the dip in the cliff top had been filled with a two
hundred foot wall to bring it to the same height as the rest of the plateau.
Since the battle had begun, the fiends had torn at the stones in an effort to
demolish the barrier.

Now half the
wall was gone. Quare and kraka had been concentrating on the wall even more
since yesterday afternoon, tearing it down stone by stone. At this rate it
would be gone by midday today. He would have to keep an eye on it.

He had
prepared something special for them when they got past it.

***

Wallen heaved
a spear into a knot of quare climbing over the wall, growling in satisfaction
as he saw it impale one. Reaching for another spear, his hand brushed against
the arm of a dark elf reaching for a weapon. He hardly noticed. By now, halfway
through day three, skin color just didn’t matter.

The need to
survive has a way of doing that, he thought, palming another shaft.

Flexing his
arm and looking for a target, he saw Derek’s large form thirty paces in front
of him. His bulk made him easy to locate, even among the other humans clustered
around him. Not as good with a spear or an arrow, the black elf general,
Val’Trisian, had placed him closer to the wall after he’d almost struck one of
her own soldiers.

Wall felt a
twinge of guilt. He should have volunteered to go with him, but at the last
moment his fear had frozen his tongue. Now he threw from the relative safety of
fifty paces, a distance at which he had become quite good. Spotting another
group that had managed to push back the dark skinned defenders and were tearing
at the bricks in the wall, he threw his spear with deadly accuracy. Another quare
went down, this time toppling into another as it fell from sight.

The soreness
of his arm had gotten worse, and he paused to take a swig of lukewarm water
before picking up another weapon. Even as he took a break, he saw Derek
throwing spear after spear into the fiend attackers.

Where does
he get the energy?

Uncomfortable
with the sight of his little brother besting him, despite his poorer aim, he
looked away and watched a group of black elf cavalry mounted on their armored
lizards fly by on their way to reinforce a hole farther west. The odd mounts
had taken almost as much to get used to as being around the underground race.
One thing he had to admit though, they sure could fight.

Each of their thin
blades danced like miniature lightning, striking down fiends so quickly that
several humans had been requisitioned to toss the fiend corpses over the cliff.
They also fought like a single unit, flowing together like water rather than
separate beings. Watching their tight formation, he wondered how much training
they went through to fight like that.

Despite the
degree of tolerance that had been forced upon the black elves and the humans
assigned to The Deep, there was one thing that Wall still found disconcerting.
Glancing skyward, he watched the sinister shadow that hung everywhere above the
black army. Its dark mass grew thick straight above him, stretched as far as he
could see in either direction, and extended south to the horizon. At the
brightest part of the day, the light struck the cloud and stopped cold.

And the black
elves fought better in its shadow.

Wall still saw
something wrong with that, but he rationalized that they were just used to the
dark. It had certainly taken them weeks to get accustomed to even the early
morning light. Now they fought like lions in the dark shadow. Their equally
dark forms battled furiously alongside the lighter-colored humans.

He sighed, a
deep rumble that shook his wide frame, and stepped back to his post. There were
fiends to slay and the wall had gotten lower and lower all day. They just
couldn’t keep up with the buggers. Swigging the last of the bitter water, he
reached for another shaft.

—A shout rang out, echoing
louder than the oppressive din of battle. He froze, still reaching for the
spear and watched as three of the large kraka’s climbed over the wall in the
center and dropped to the ground, landing no less than a hundred paces from Wall's
spear stand.

Stunned, he
stood frozen as terror clawed up his legs and held him fast, leaving him to
watch helplessly as the armored hulks turned and ripped into the remains of the
wall. A veritable shower of missiles rained down on them as they punched and
clawed at the crumbling rubble. One went down, felled by the sheer volume of
arrows and spears. Then another collapsed. Alone, the last kraka roared and
crushed the last stones to powder before finally succumbing, leaving a ragged
hole in the fortifications.

Dwarves rushed
to use magic to plug the opening, but hundreds of black hands tore at the edges
before they could. An instant later a tidal wave of fiends flooded through the
widening gap, crying out in glee as they slew the scattered defenders. In
seconds there were hundreds rushing onto the battleground, sweeping aside metal
and magic with ease.

The Deep had
been breached.

Before he had
fully registered what was happening, Wall had turned and bolted north. A moment
later the order came to retreat. Black elves streaked past him, sprinting and
riding up the slope towards the reserves. Cursing the fleet footed elves, he
huffed his way to a terror driven run. Then Derek appeared at his side,
breathing hard.

“How did you
know to retreat?” he gasped.

Wall shrugged
without slowing, unwilling to admit his cowardice, even to family. Glancing
backward, his breath caught and he almost stumbled. The great phoenix, ridden
by the druid leader, was the only thing between them and the enormous
collection of fiends that had already come through the breach. Slowing despite
his desperation to flee, he asked, “What do you think—”

—The enormous
bird screamed a war cry, echoed by its rider, before his wings swept downward
and a wall of flame erupted skyward. Faster than his eyes could follow, it sped
west and east, encircling the fiends in a barricade of pure fire, hemming them
in.

“Come on Wall!”
Derek yelled. “They are already pouring the oil!”

Wall turned
and watched in horror as thousands of barrels of oil were dumped ahead of him,
and the two of them were the only ones left in its path. Galvanized into
action, he turned east and barreled his way behind Derek’s retreating form. The
hot oil flooded downhill in his direction, and the wall of flame leapt high on
the other side of him. Heaving his sore body at the diminishing window between
the two, he fought to go faster, cursing his weight.

Smaller and
smaller the gap became, until Wall reached the edge of the expanding oil and
threw himself the remaining feet to safety. Landing beside Derek, he scrambled
to his feet and hurried to put distance between himself and what was coming . .
.

—The blast
wave shook the ground, knocking them sprawling away from the searing heat.
Rolling onto his back he sat up and watched the explosion of flames detonate
into a raging inferno. In seconds, the entire area they had been defending
became an oven of deadly fire. Then a large bird erupted from the fifty foot flames,
soaring skyward and away from the smoke, ash trailing behind it as it screamed
its piercing cry of victory.

“Will you look
at that,” Derek breathed. “There is no way they can get through that for at
least a day.”

Wall found
himself grinning. “So what do we do for the rest of our shift?”

Derek reached
out and slugged him in the shoulder. Then laughed like he thought it was a
joke. “Look around you, we are inside the dwarven battalion of Western Falls.
Looks like we are finishing out the rest of our shift with people half our
size!”

As Derek
laughed and stood to brush himself off, Wall looked at the black elves mingling
with the dwarves.  With the exception of a few suspicious looks, most of them
were preparing to help fight with the stocky surface race. He shook his head
and sighed.

I wasn’t
made for this, he thought, wearily standing and following his brother to
find their captain.

Chapter 12: Healing
and Remembering

Aléthya had
never felt so tired, but it still annoyed her that she was getting sloppy.
Nearing the end of her third 12-hour shift, she felt like it had been a week
since she’d slept. The last one she’d healed stumbled towards another healer,
holding a bandage at his side. Some time yesterday, Tan had told her to stop completely
healing them. He’d reasoned that if she healed the critical wounds, then he or
the other healers could finish up.

It was a sound
idea, but one that she was grateful had been suggested by someone else. Rubbing
her aching side, she moved to the next cot. Positioning herself at the old
elf’s wound, she examined the seeping gap in his leg, preparing herself for the
expected pain. Just as she placed her hands on his leg, she glanced at his face
. . .

With the
transfer already begun, her eyes closed at the same time her mind recalled
where she’d last seen him. An image of him standing guard at the door while she
lay strapped to a chair flashed before her. In that moment the pain from the
wound peaked, and the memory enveloped her—

The restraints
dug into her wrists and ankles, but were too well fashioned to budge. She
struggled anyway, biting the strip of cloth that prevented her from voicing her
anger. Aside from the two guards, the only other person in the cell was the
Matron.

How can you
do this to me? she screamed into the gag.

The Matron
smiled at her. “I am sorry Aléthya, but this must be done.” Her voice carried
the same silk it had always carried, mirroring the tone of a mother—but without
the love. “Your sacrifice means so much to our guild, and will bring us more
wealth than we have ever had.”

The glint in
her eyes as she described the gold caused Aléthya to tear at the bindings, but
the Matron shushed her and withdrew a dagger from her robe. Without another
word, she plunged it into Aléthya's constrained arm, and then withdrew it, slowly.
Even as Aléthya screamed, she watched the Matrons eyes glint in satisfaction as
she watched the wound heal.

Gasping,
Aléthya felt the wound knit and close, giving blessed relief to the pain.
Within moments it was over, but the Matron’s eyes never blinked from the cut
until it had disappeared. “Interesting,” she said. “Did you know that the
healing time is consistent, and as I see it, it looks exactly as if
another healer had performed the task.”

Murmuring to
herself, she moved to the side of the room and made notes in her journal. While
she wrote, Aléthya looked to the two guards, her eyes pleading. The older one
stared at her, unmoved by what he’d just witnessed, but the younger one
swallowed and looked away.

As the Matron
turned back the memory shifted to one several months later . . .

“Why do you
force me to keep you gagged?” the Matron asked, her silky voice carrying a
trace of irritation, making Aléthya feel a grim satisfaction. “It would be so
much more helpful if you could contribute to our studies.”

Aléthya
growled, her eyes burning with the emotions she felt. The memory of the most
recent pain was bright, and she used it to fuel her hate.

The Matron
continued to talk, but Aléthya withdrew, sinking inward and away from the
trauma. The healer in her knew she would be fine, but the person in her felt
only rage. That—and the desire to escape—consumed her. It surprised her to
remember that at one time, she’d thought of the Matron as a mother.

Now she knew
the truth.

The Matron
cared about three things, prestige, power, and gold. Everything she did was an
effort to further those ends. Even the current torture of the guilds “brightest
student” fit into her designs. Throughout the last several months the Matron
had dropped too many hints, revealed too much in her excitement to discover all
that Aléthya’s body could do.

The Matron
wanted to replicate the power in herself, and charge an enormous amount to
grant it to others. But until now she had been unsuccessful. Perhaps Aléthya
could hold out, perhaps not, but for now she had a plan.

The young
guard had become her friend, her ally, and soon, very soon, she would escape .
. .

—Her eyes
fluttered open to see Tan’s worried expression. “What happened?” she asked,
blinking as the pain in her leg receded.

“Are you
alright?” he asked, his voice tense.

She mumbled
something and tried to sit up, but Taneel pressed her back down. “You screamed
like a banshee being killed. Was the wound that bad?”

Aléthya shook
her head as she rubbed her forehead. “It wasn’t the injury, it was a memory. Snapping
to alertness, she looked up and saw the elf she’d healed was awake and sitting
up, concern spreading across his face as he looked down on her. Then she
spotted the angle of his chin, and the curve of his eyebrows.

It wasn’t him.

She sighed in
intense relief. Although the resemblance was uncanny, the older elf was not the
older guard from her past. For the first time in a long time, she thought of
the young one’s sacrifice, and felt an echo of what she’d felt for him.

Tan opened his
mouth to say something but she cut him off. Rising to her feet, she looked at
the soldier and pointed towards the door, repeating the words she’d said a thousand
times, “You have been healed. Return to your post.”

Without
another word, she spun and worked her way towards the back of her bar. Stepping
through the swinging door, she strode into her storeroom and grabbed the
strongest liquor from the shelf. Yanking the cork out, she raised it to her
lips and took several swallows of the burning liquid.

“That’s not
going to help,” Taneel said from the door.

“How do you
know,” she growled. “You don’t know what I went through.”

“Does anyone?”

His words
stopped the bottle on the way to her lips. Had she told anyone what had
happened? Even her father before he died? Then she realized she’d never
revealed to anyone the details of her confinement, or escape. Although she’d
told close friends the superficial information, she’d never managed to explain
the whole truth.

She hadn't realized
that the pain of those months still haunted her. Shaking her head, she thought
of all the ones suffering around her. The enormous battle raging outside, with
many dying to keep her alive, and she didn’t even have the courage to admit
what had happened to her. For some reason, she felt ashamed, as if she were
dishonoring their sacrifice. If she survived this war, shouldn’t she try to be
a better person?

Trying to
stall the difficult question, she said, “We need to get back to work Tan.”

“It was the
end of our shift anyway,” he shrugged, his eyes never leaving hers. “It is time
for us to eat and rest . . . and talk—if you’re up for it?”

She tried, but
she couldn’t stop it. The wall that had been up for so long crumbled in the
face of her need to share, and just like that the words tumbled from her mouth.
Trembling, she gave voice to her time in the guild. The exciting beginning, her
quick rise through the students, her early mastery, and finally the Matron’s betrayal
and her imprisonment—she told it all. Then she shared the young guard’s effort
to help her escape, giving his life in the process.

The pain and
ache diminished as she spoke, until she felt the last of it evaporate upon the
tale's conclusion. A weight she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying was gone,
and with its absence she felt a sliver of peace enter her heart. Her eyes met
Tans and she felt like a child worried about what a parent would say.

The silence
lasted a moment before Tan said, his voice hoarse with emotion, “I need a
drink.”

Wordlessly,
she handed him the bottle and he took a swig, coughing at its strength.
Clearing his throat he returned it to its rack and said, “So that is why you
take the pain of others into yourself. I had always wondered why that
happened.”

“What do you
mean?” she asked, her tone sharp. “I never figured that out.”

His expression
turned to one of surprise. “You are one of the most talented healers in our history,
but you never realized why?”

She felt a
rush of irritation mingle with pride at his words, but the irritation won out.
“Spit it out Tan, what do you mean?”

“Don’t you
remember one of the first lessons of healing—” He winced as he realized he was
referring to the guild, and then came right to the point. “A healer’s ability
is tied to emotion. Your emotions have been so bottled up with pain, you began
to absorb the pain of others. I suppose your healing ability made the transfer
possible.”

Her eyes
widened as the knowledge clicked into place, but he wasn’t finished talking.

“If you could
resolve the issues from your past, perhaps you could stop transferring the
pain. I bet if you—”

“No,” she
said, her voice firm at the rising excitement in his voice.

“But I’m
right—”

“I know,” she
said, causing him to deflate. “But if I stop being able to absorb wounds now,
how many more will die in this war?”

The hurt in
his eyes pierced her heart, but she held firm. “I will do my duty for my
people. If we survive, I will have time to finish my own healing.”

“Thia, if we
leave this room, you might never have another chance to do it,” he said, his
voice tinged with an earnestness that she couldn’t explain. “Your wall might
rebuild and you’ll never let . . . anyone . . . back in.”

She closed the
gap between them, drawn to his worried expression. “Perhaps, but that is a
sacrifice I am willing to make. The world stands on the brink of annihilation,
so how can I shirk from the responsibility I bear. If I do, and then others do
the same . . . then we are all lost.”

He looked
away, unable to maintain eye contact, but she reached up and turned his head
back towards her. “Will you help me?” Her whisper brought a smile to his lips.

“Of course
Thia, you know that—”

Her kiss
stopped the rest of his words, but it didn’t take long for him to crush her to
him. Passionate, deliberate, and full of sparks, the kiss took her breath away,
and sent warmth into the deepest part of her soul—

She pushed him
away before her heart could heal any more. With her hand on his chest and both
of them breathing hard, she said, “In four days we will finish this.”

A grin blossomed
across his features. “I look forward to it.”

Chapter 13: Unbound

Twenty minutes
after Mae had laid out her plan, Trin was following Mae up a turret staircase.
Jack brought up the rear of their small party, keeping an eye out for anyone
happening on them from that direction.

Although he
would never admit it to anyone, Trin felt much less safe without Taryn, Siarra,
and Kell around. Not that he doubted his ability with his longsword, he just
considered them the leaders of their expedition. Without the three of them, the
area around them felt empty. Despite that, Trin considered his position to be
the best since they had left Azertorn. In their cell she'd made a comment that
implied she favored him, and he'd always felt drawn to her. Her silence
intrigued him, and he wanted to be the one that she opened up to.

He'd always
thought of her as beautiful, and right now he had an excellent view of Mae’s
posterior . . .

Mae paused and
spun, her mouth open to say something—but she froze as she caught him staring.
For a brief moment she appeared indecisive on how to respond to his obvious
peek, and he took the opportunity to feign a look of puzzlement, clinging to a
hope that she hadn’t noticed. Then she flashed a rare smile.

“You should
draw a sketch,” she said, her voice sweet. “It will last longer.”

He flushed,
but Jack stepped up beside him before he could say anything. “Can you stop
flirting long enough for us to find Siarra?”

Mae’s smile
evaporated and her voice turned crisp. “There is a door around the corner that
looks different.”

Jack slipped
past Trin and peeked around the corner. Ducking back, he said, “I’d wager it’s
our host’s private quarters.”

“And what
gives you that idea?” Trin asked, still feeling the sting from the thief’s
comment.

Jack’s
expression became scornful. “May I remind you, this isn’t my first time doing
this.” He caught Mae’s eye and swept his hand out. “Mind if I . . .”

She gave a
curt nod and the thief led the way around the corner. Trin stepped in to follow
him, allowing Mae to bring up the rear. He didn’t want to get caught looking
again. Once into the cross corridor, he noticed the door that they had been
talking about. Although just as old as any of the other doors they had passed,
this one was obviously protecting something. Thick bands of iron strapped the
door in place, and the hinges were sturdy and well built.

Jack slid into
place next to the door and bent to examine the lock, with Trin and Mae taking
up position on either side of him. Trin glanced down at him. “Can you do it?”

“Of course,” he
replied with a snort, "but it will take a minute. The pins are magically reinforced,
and someone added an acid trap.” He threw a smug look up at Trin as his fingers
worked. “Don’t worry. I already disarmed it.”

Trin looked
away, deciding to swallow his concerns and let the thief work. Everything about
this place left him on edge. Swallowing his unease with difficulty, he focused
his attention on the hall, listening for any hint of danger.

A soft click
brought his attention back to the door, and he turned in time to see Jack
dribble oil on the hinges before he cracked it open. Stopping as a line of
light appeared, he eased a thin rod through the gap and peered into the end.

“Looks like
some sort of anteroom,” Jack whispered. “Empty, for now.”

Withdrawing
the rod, he cautiously worked the strongdoor open, stopping when the hinges
squeaked. Adding oil to the protesting metal, he again eased the door until it
was wide enough for a body to get through.

Rising to his
feet, he indicated for Trin and Mae to bend close. “Get inside the room and
hide. I will close the door behind us. Sit tight until we can be sure no one
heard the door.”

Trin waited
for the slighter Mae to enter the room, and then followed her in. Catching
sight of a large, gilded case of dusty weapons, he darted behind it and
crouched out of sight. From his position, he could see Jack as he stepped
inside and relocked the door. Before he knew it, the thief had disappeared from
sight behind some large curtains.

Controlling
his breathing, Trin listened for any sound that they had been detected, trying
to calm his thudding heart. Then he heard a low whistle, and he looked out from
behind the case. Jack had already begun to search the room, so Trin began his
own exploration. The room was large, perhaps thirty paces from side to side and
shaped like a square. Littered with rusted suits of armor, weapon cases, and
shields, the room was surprisingly organized. Rather than make it feel more at
home, it left Trin fighting to control a sense of dread. Without exception,
every other room they had passed had been layered in dust and debris.

Unable to set
aside his discomfort, he stepped out onto a wide covered balcony and looked
over the stone railing. To his surprise, he saw that the courtyard below was
not there, leaving a ragged hole to the bottom of the cavern's pit. Even though
he knew the dark dragon would be out of sight around the corner, he still
peeked in that direction before stepping back into the room.

The moment he
entered, he saw Jack disappear into a side room, so he turned and began to work
his way towards Mae. Moving from one stand of armor to the next, he wondered
where it had all come from. Although most appeared old and corroded, some of
the steel had not yet begun to rust. Catching sight of a longsword not unlike
his own, he had the uncomfortable thought that the gear had come from other
intruders.

Mae whistled a
high-low that drew Trin’s attention from the weapon. Moving to her side, he saw
her looking into an open cabinet. Glowing in the center, an orb of glass pulsed
with blinding white light.

On impulse,
Trin reached out and picked it up, hardly noticing Mae’s exclamation to stop.
He did feel her thump his arm though. Wincing he turned to her and shrugged—

—A sudden
crash from the other side of the room caused them both to whirl and see an old
man dressed in a gray robe. His gray eyes sparkled with fury and he screamed at
them, raising a hand in their direction.

With the orb
still in his hand, Trin dodged to the side not a moment too soon. Rusted swords
lifted from their cases and began to streak towards him. His breathing ragged,
Trin bolted down the wall, flinching every time he heard a blade strike behind
him. The last two came too close for comfort, and they exploded into rusty
shards that rained down around him.

Without
warning he felt an impact from behind, knocking him sprawling. Rolling onto his
back, he was astonished to see that Mae had tackled him to floor. A long metal
rod quivered in the wall where he’d been just a moment before. Leaping to his
feet, he yanked her up beside him to see the old man growing a massive fireball
in his hands. Yelling at Mae, he threw himself sideways, knowing it was too
late.

The ball of
flame streaked across the room and struck a cabinet behind Trin, so close he
felt the heat sear his back. Shattering the old wood and a large section of the
stone, the impact threw Mae and Trin sliding out onto the balcony. Clawing for
a hold, Mae tried to stop herself as she sped towards a gap in the railing.

Grunting with
the effort, Trin rolled towards her, snatching her hand and stopping her before
she reached the edge. Smiling at her, he began to pull her up, but she froze,
and Trin watched as another fireball reflected in her bright blue eyes, growing
larger. Just before it struck, he felt her yank them towards the drop.

Detonating
hard, it threw both of them towards the gap. In desperation, Trin dropped the
glowing orb and snagged a broken piece of stone as his body fell off the ledge.
Reaching out, he caught Mae’s arm with his other hand as she flew past him.
Falling several feet, she came to an abrupt halt, almost jerking his shoulder
out of place. Gritting his teeth, he tried not to look into the plunging pit
below.

Straining against
the weight, he watched as the pulsing ball rolled off the ledge and fell into
the abyss.

With only the
empty darkness of the yawning hole beneath them, he held on for dear life. Then
he heard the crunch of feet on gravel above, and felt his heart leap into his
throat. Looking up, he saw the old man glare down at him, his expression
haughty.

“Fools,” he
said, his voice as cold as ice, “you will die painfully for what you have done.
Now give me the . . .”

The man’s gaze
twitched and looked past Trin, gazing into the depths with an expression of
horror. Turning his head to see what had happened, Trin looked past the hanging
form of Mae and into the inky depths. Despite the distance, the bright spot of
light looked like a single star at night.

Then the orb
struck the bottom and shattered.

White light
exploded upward, illuminating the entire cavern in a rush of shrieking wind and
light. Accustomed to the darkness, Trin winced, looking back at the old man in
time to see his expression shift. Lit by the whirlwind of piercing light, his
wide eyes showed only one emotion, fear. Whirling, he looked further up the
keep. Without a word, he disappeared back inside.

The moment his
hurried footfalls faded into silence, Jack burst into view, already uncoiling a
rope.

***

Siarra’s head
snapped up the moment she heard sounds of a commotion below. The muffled sounds
of crashing glass and splintering wood were unmistakable, causing a grin to
blossom across her features. Her friends had gotten out.

Listening
intently, she felt a flash of worry as she heard the blast of a fireball,
followed by a yell. Another fireball detonated, and then silence. Her heart
sounded loud as she listened for the slightest hint of her friends’ victory. A
moment later, a streak of white light flew past her window, and her head
snapped to look at the opening.

An instant
later, the white light brightened and flooded the room like water, reaching out
and collecting on her skin. Unable to stop herself, she began to laugh as the
magic of her birthright flowed into her, infusing her body with pure energy.
Breathing deep, she drew the power in, feeling it touch every part of her as it
reattached to her mind and soul. Gradually the light outside began to fade,
until every bit had flowed into the room and sunk into her. The room went dark
at the same moment that Zorik burst through the door.

Siarra’s head
tilted upward as she met his widening eyes.

“My turn,” she
said, throwing her arms forward in a ringing clap.

Shackles
shattered, chunks of stone exploded from the wall, and a furious blast of wind
punched Zorik through the door, smashing him into the corridor in a crunch of
broken stone.

***

Taryn ducked
deeper into the alcove when the odd light illuminated the cavern like a midday
sun. Crouching next to the large form of Kell, he glanced at Liri, who shrugged
at him. Frowning, he peeked around the corner, hoping the dragon was still
asleep, but the instant the massive beast came into view, he saw its head was up
and snaking left and right, as if it were sampling the air. Even as Taryn
pulled back he saw that the light had begun to diminish, to be replaced by the
shadowy glow of the red torches.

“What is going
on?” he whispered to Liri, blinking at his loss of night vision.

Next to him, she
rubbed her eyes, her expression bewildered. “Is the dragon awake?”

He nodded,
wondering if their plan would still work. They were supposed to wait until they
had some sign that Siarra had been freed. Hidden inside a recess of broken
stone in the eastern courtyard, they had an excellent view to the north and
east, allowing them to keep an eye on the dragon, as well as a part of the
northern side of the keep.

Glancing up at
the stone citadel, he felt a flash of worry streak through him. What if she
is dead already? The thought lanced into his mind like a hot iron,
threatening to overwhelm him. In his heart, he knew that losing her would mean
losing the only family he had. Clenching his eyes shut against that idea, he
sent a fervent plea to Ero for her safety.

“Did you hear
that?” Liri asked, her voice intense.

“What?” Taryn
asked, unwilling to admit to his inattention. “Did it sound like that commotion
a few minutes ago?”

She cocked her
head, ignoring him as she waited. Then a dull crash echoed throughout the
cavern, causing Taryn to lift his eyes to the keep on their left. For a long
moment, silence reigned, as if every creature held their breath at the same time.

—Then the
north side of the keep exploded, sending large chunks of stone raining down
into the courtyard. Surprised by the sudden detonation, Taryn was even more
stunned when a figure fell out of the tower, plummeting towards the ground. At
the last second, a plate of rusted metal rose up and flattened, catching him
and sending him tumbling to the ground.

Then another
figure appeared. Standing on a broken door held aloft by a tornado of wind, the
unmistakable figure of Siarra glowed reddish white as she floated downward,
gathering fire in her hands.

Joy flushed
through Taryn as he saw his sister, alive and well, and he half raised a hand
to call out to her. Then he remembered their role in the plan. Leaning out of
the recess, he saw the black dragon already on its feet on the bridge,
unfurling its wings.

Liri stepped
out beside him. “We have to do it now! Before it gets to Siarra!”

Leaping up the
stairs next to them, they both raced up to the battlements, the sounds of the
magic battle thundering in their ears. Taryn sped into the lead as soon as they
reached the top, glancing down to see Kell bolting across the courtyard towards
the gatehouse that led onto the bridge.

Movement
caught his eye, and he turned to see the dragon arching his back and spreading
his wings. Extending his neck, the great creature bellowed a thundering roar
that shook the parapet beneath them, sending stone tumbling to the ground
below. The snap of fear that followed caused Taryn to pick up the pace,
allowing him to arrive at the turret at the same moment the dragon launched
itself into the air.

Drawing Ianna,
his mother's katsana, he morphed it to a bow and dropped to one knee. Already
in place, an arrow of solid green light sat notched and ready for use. Drawing
it back, he tracked the dragon's course before sending it streaking away in a
snap of enchanted wood. Like a beam of light, it flew across the dark space,
striking just behind the horned head. Bellowing in pain, the dragon banked away
from the two combatants in the courtyard, angling its flight to swoop around
the tower.

Liri slid to a
stop next him and sighted on the retreating form, her enchanted bow enhancing
the view. Releasing in a hum, the bow used wind to guide the arrows’ path in an
impossible arc, striking the wing joint where it was weakest. The accompanying
roar of rage was deafening, and they both ducked behind the wall before the
dragon could spot them.

“Do you think
we hurt it?” Taryn asked, listening hard.

“Does a bee
hurt a man?” she asked, notching another arrow.

“Not really,
they just make him mad,” Taryn replied, his voice grim as he added, “I knew I
didn’t like this plan.”

Nodding to
each other, they both rose to their feet, sighting at the spot where the dragon
would appear after circling the tower. Counting the seconds as he waited, Taryn
began to worry after five . . . and then ten seconds went by.

“Where did he
go?” Liri asked, sweat beading on her forehead.

“I don’t
know,” Taryn replied in a tight voice.

Then Taryn
heard the sound of stone being crushed to powder, so loud it reverberated over
the blasts of fire, wind, and ice coming from the northern courtyard. Whirling
to locate the source, Taryn darted to the opposite side of the turret and
looked down. He withdrew with a jerk of his head, stunned to silence as the
dragon’s head exploded into view, reaching upward as the armored behemoth
climbed the tower in front of them. Stone crumbled and walls fell as its
massive claws grasped ramparts on either side of their turret, hemming them in.

Angling its
head towards them, it roared a thunderous challenge that nearly blew them from
their feet before sucking in, preparing its acid breath.

Chapter 14: Deep Dragon

Siarra glided
down on her makeshift sled, manipulating the wind holding her aloft until she scraped
to a stop. Striding forward she gathered the stone around her, readying another
strike to her crippled foe. But Zorik rose to his feet, blood dripping from an
ugly gash on his arm. The sight of the furious and still powerful man stopped
Siarra in her tracks.

“I will have
to be satisfied with destroying you,” Zorik exclaimed, anger thickening his voice.
“Draeken will still reward me well for eliminating such a pest!”

“This castle
will become your tomb old man!” Siarra said in a voice that caused him to
flinch. “I swear it!”

Zorik struck
first, lifting hundreds of metal fragments out of the rubble around him. An
instant later, they leapt for Siarra’s heart. Already tuned to the stone around
her, Siarra lifted her arms in a cross, hands clenched tight as she ducked
behind her wrists. Stone erupted around her, answering her call. Exploding
upward, the shards of rock collided to form a shield—just in time.  Rusted
metal shattered upon impact as the streaking missiles pummeled the unyielding
stone.

Then Siarra
struck back, sending her shield sliding forward. Diving to the side, Zorik
managed to evade the blow, launching a fireball towards her at the same time.
Siarra lifted a chunk of stone and angled it, deflecting the missile away. The
explosion struck behind her, and she took a step forward and lifted her hands.
Moisture began to bead on Zorik’s body, drenching him as if in rain.

An instant
later Siarra clenched her fist, freezing the layer of water to solid ice.
Knowing it would only hold him for seconds, Siarra gathered her own fireball,
waiting for the right moment to strike . . .

The ice
shattered, blown apart by the layer of heat that Zorik had brought to bear. He
blanched as he saw Siarra with a massive fireball churning in her hands, twice
the size of the one he’d launched. She raised her arms, aiming so regardless of
which way he turned, the detonation would still get him—

—Movement caught her
attention, and her gaze flicked to the side. The sight of the great black
dragon towering over Taryn flashed before her eyes, breaking her concentration as
her heart leapt into her throat. Too far away to give aid, she could only watch
as the dragon roared and gathered itself to launch its deadly breath.

Distracted and
afraid for Taryn, she nearly missed the metal rod that streaked towards her. On
instinct, she sidestepped, sending what remained of her fireball into the rod
to deflect it, but Zorik was back in control. Striding forward, the servant of
Draeken sent missile after missile towards her, so quickly she could only block
and dodge. With half her mind on Taryn and Liri, she couldn’t gather her
scattered focus enough to present a defense.

Struggling to
bring her thoughts together—she stumbled backward and tripped, sending her
sprawling on her back. Zorik then appeared above her, a long metal shard in
both hands as he said, “Fool. Friends just get you killed.” Raising it
high, he brought it plunging downward—

—As a spinning
knife thudded into Zorik’s arm. He cried out in pain, causing the weapon to graze
Siarra as it sank into the ground beside her. Siarra grunted as the weapon
scratched her side, but looked to see Jack Myst launching another weapon. Zorik
yelled at the thief in fury and his hand flew out to swat the throwing knife
aside, but instead of deflecting it away as the simple metal spell was meant to
do, it did nothing. Instead, the short blade sank into the old man’s hand, causing
him to bellow in surprise and pain.

The next
instant, Jack was by her side and yanked her to her feet. “Let’s go!”

Still
confused, Siarra gasped, “Why didn’t his spell work?” Her gaze lingered on
Zorik, who had begun to withdraw the blades and heal the small wounds.

“They aren’t
metal knives,” Jack said, his voice smug, even now.

Her head
swiveled back to face him, her expression incredulous but he shrugged and kept
pulling her away. “What did you expect? Of course I had something.”

Resisting the
insane desire to laugh, she looked back at Zorik, already healing the second
wound. In perfect clarity she understood that Zorik would find a way to hurt
her friends or delay their quest, unless he was defeated.

She needed to
focus.

She yanked
herself free of his grip. “No,” she said. “His time in Lumineia is at an end.”

“He almost
killed you!” Jack yelled.

Her gaze
flicked to him and he let go as if she was a branding iron. Pulsing with focus
and energy, she turned and gathered the energy around her, fashioning a spear
of lighting in her hands. Zorik must have sensed the danger, because his head
snapped up. Desperately, he lifted the stone into a shield as she had done, but
the spear of crackling energy had already left her fingers . . .

***

Taryn cast about
for something, anything to get them out of the trap. The parapet behind them
was too tall and thick to get through in time, even if he cut it with his father's
sword. To the left and right, the top of wall was blocked by giant open claws,
which he might be able to jump, but only by leaving Liri behind . . .

—A dark light
was already sparking in the dragon’s mouth—

Beside him,
Liri was launching arrow after arrow at the dragon, fearless even with only
seconds left . . .

—Sparks in the
dragons throat ignited, and tongues of dark flames leapt across the intervening
space towards them—

At the last
second the great beast stopped its fiery breath and reared back, bellowing in
pain. Grateful for the extra time, Taryn morphed the bow and sheathed it as he
exploded into action. Snatching Liri’s hand, he yanked her down the wall
towards one of the great claws that had lifted off the battlements. Below, he
saw Kell bring his great sword up and down, sending it biting into the hind leg
of the dragon, slicing deep a second time.

A rush of
gratitude washed over Taryn as he saw the massive rock troll, out of his
appointed hiding place to protect them. Then he saw the claw in front of him
shift direction.

Lifting
overhead, the armored claw sank towards Taryn and Liri's sprinting forms,
dropping far faster than he would have thought possible. Then he caught sight
of a wall of stone that had fallen against a pillar. Diving for the slide, he
yanked Liri after him as he jumped, feeling the rush of air as the sharp claws
crushed the stone where they’d been running.

The dragon’s
breath reached out towards them, melting the stone slide behind them as they
skidded downward, mere feet ahead of the torrent of flames. Stone scraped their
backs as they clung to each other, sending clouds of dust puffing away from
their boots.

“I got left!”
Liri cried, her tone a mix of desperation and determination over the roar of the
dragon's breath.

“I got right!”
Taryn shouted, trying in vain to ignore the searing heat and the acrid smell of
melting stone.

The next
instant they struck the bottom and dived in both directions, barely managing to
roll away as the raging inferno detonated against the bottom of the makeshift
slide. The explosion of black flame sent a geyser of stone and shattered rock
in every direction. His heart thundering inside him, Taryn sprinted away,
glancing back to ensure that Liri had made it. Relief flooded him as he saw her
lithe figure leveling out into full speed.

—Out of
nowhere, an enormous spiked tail whipped towards him, scraping the ground as it
snapped. Bellowing for Liri to look out, Taryn leapt towards a piece of stone.
Using it to launch himself, he flew over the dragon’s tail, twisting in midair
to avoid the sharp shards of bone. Landing in a roll, he came to his feet and
spun to see the very tip of the tail smash into Kell, crushing him through a
stone wall in a blast of dust and gravel.

Then the tail reversed
direction. Streaking back towards him, it gouged lines in the courtyard—but this
time Taryn felt rage course through him. Drawing his father’s sword, he
sprinted towards the barbed tail. Roaring a battle cry, he dived to his knees
and slid under the tail, raising the enchanted sword as the black armor sailed
above him.

Blue flame
erupted along the swords length as it touched the dragon’s skin, splitting it
and cutting deep. Once again, the dragon thundered its pain and fury. Dark
blood spattered the dust as the nearly severed tail flailed. Then the deep
dragon leapt off the stone, diving into the abyss and out of sight.

Taryn raced
towards Kell, anxious to see if he had survived the incredible blow. Skidding
to a stop at the same time Liri arrived, he saw the large rock troll’s hand
burst from the rubble. Snagging an unbroken section of wall, he dragged himself
into view. Blood coursed down his thick skin from multiple lacerations,
darkening the dirt as it pooled below his crouched form.

“Give me my
sword,” he wheezed, sounding like he had at least one broken rib.

“Kell, you
can’t—” Liri began, but the rock troll grabbed his chest with one arm as he
dragged himself to his feet.

“Where’s my
weapon!” he bellowed.

Taryn crouched
and lifted the glittering great sword, surprised by its lightness. Striding
forward, he placed it into the troll's hand.

“Taryn . . .”
Liri said in a worried tone.

“I know Liri,”
Taryn said.

A thundering
roar reverberated throughout the cavern, and the dragon reappeared in sight,
soaring upwards before alighting back on the long bridge that was their only
escape.

“You two
distract him long enough for me to get close,” Kell growled, leaning against
the shattered wall. “The plan is useless now, so just buy me time.”

Taryn nodded,
and dragged a reluctant Liri away, heading towards a defensible spot where they
could strike.

***

Siarra’s
energy spear struck the shield of stone, detonating in a storm of crackling
magic. Chunks of rock exploded outward, and Zorik was knocked sprawling.
Skidding to a stop, the old man struggled to his feet and brought up another
shield. Once again, his body went tumbling backward as another energy rod tore
through it. Sliding to a stop with his back against a broken wall, Zorik raised
a trembling hand and gathered another metal spear. Bent and weak, it flew
towards her.

Siarra reached
out and caught the metal magic, drawing the power into her before throwing it
straight back at Zorik with an angry flick of her wrist. It struck his
shoulder, and plunged through it to embed into the stone behind him. Zorik
screamed, but Siarra had closed the distance.

Reaching out,
she grasped the end of the spear. Using it as a conduit, she began to withdraw
Zorik’s power. His evil gray eyes flew wide as he realized what she was doing.
Then he began to resist. Ancient will fought against youthful determination,
with each refusing to yield. The conduit of metal shimmered as the power
radiated out of it, throbbing and pulsing as they fought for dominance. Then
the magic began to flow out of Zorik and into Siarra. Faster and faster it
moved, draining Zorik for several seconds before his eyes began to dim. At last
the magic was gone, drained into Siarra and leaving Zorik nothing but a shell
of an old man.

“What . . .  have
you done?” Zorik mumbled, clawing feebly at the smoking shaft.

Crouching down
to face him, she said, “I have only done what you intended to do to me. Now
your castle will be your grave, and you will die knowing that your power will
be used against your master.”

“You can’t do
that!” he coughed, anger making his voice sound raspy. “Not without my yield!”

“Perhaps an oracle
has power you are not aware of,” she said, unable to keep the grim satisfaction
from her tone.

Zorik began to
cough, deep and hacking as he fought to speak again. “You fool!” he managed to
wheeze. “My fiends will no longer answer to me. They will even now be returning
here.”

“Then we will
leave you to them,” Siarra said, rising to her feet and stepping away from his
horrified expression. Directing her path eastward, she hurried towards the
sound of battle. Joining Jack, she spotted Trin and Mae running ahead of them.
Together, they sprinted towards the roaring black dragon.

***

Taryn and Liri
were out of time. Down to their last few arrows, they sent each streaking
missile towards the furious dragon, but the flailing of the ancient beast left
little opportunity. Many arrows stuck fast, but few did significant damage.
Despite their inability to hit anything vital, Kell had worked his way halfway
across the bridge, moving slowly as he readied himself for the charge that
would bring him close enough to strike.

Then the black
dragon caught sight of the rock troll.

Its deafening
challenge shook Taryn’s bones, and a split second later, its head dropped to
the surface of the bridge, sending a deadly inferno streaking out of its maw.
With nowhere to turn, Kell touched something on his arm and an enormous oval
shield shimmered into place. Bellowing a battle cry, the giant rock troll
charged into the flames.

The acid flames,
so intense they could melt stone in seconds, burst apart on contact with the
wind shield, cascading in every direction as the troll picked up speed. Charging
into the dark blaze, Kell split the fire like a stone in water.

Liri rose to her
feet, her voice ringing with resolve as she said, “Give me an arrow Taryn.”

“It’s my last
one,” Taryn yelled, plucking the arrow of solid green light and tossing it to
her.

Catching it
deftly, she notched it and drew it to her ear. With a snap, the wind bow
launched the enchanted arrow, sending it curving towards the dragon’s fierce
head. Flying true, it pierced a great eye, eliciting a tremendous roar of pain.
The flame cut off as it arced its neck skyward. Struggling to dislodge the
biting shaft that had blinded it, the massive dragon raised its fore claw in an
attempt to reach its eye, exposing the spot behind its fore leg . . .

The moment the
dark flames evaporated, the giant troll came into view. His shield was
misshapen, melted and steaming. His skin boasted burns in dozens of places,
leaving red welts and raw wounds dotting his body, but he was still driving
forward.

With sheer
willpower keeping death at bay, Kell stumbled close and raised his greatsword
high. Roaring the ancient battle cry of his people, he plunged it deep into the
dragons’ side. Sparks flew as the shimmering weapon sank to the hilt, scraping
the powerful scales as it delivered the killing blow.

In an instant,
the earsplitting roar shifted to a high pitched keen, rending the air with its
intensity. Then the death knell cut off, and the great dragon sank downward,
slipping from the bridge as it plunged into the dark abyss. Several seconds
later, the tumbling crash at the bottom signaled the final resting place of the
black dragon.

Taryn and Liri
bounded together towards the courtyard, and caught sight of the rest of their
friends. Joining them, they raced towards the body of Kell. Unable to restrain
his fear, Taryn sped ahead, reaching the bridge first. Sprinting onto it, he had
to dodge pools of licking flame and melting acid as he sped towards the still
form. Skidding to a halt beside him, he crouched, relieved to see that the rock
troll was still alive.

Then he began
to see the extent of the great warrior's wounds, and despair flooded him as he
saw the truth written in the troll's dark eyes. Pounding footsteps surrounded
him, and a moment later Siarra slid came to a halt beside him.

“Can you heal
him?” Taryn asked, desperation thick in his voice.

She shook her
head, her voice soft. “Dragon’s breath is damaging enough, but the acid will
prevent healing.”

Kell coughed,
the sound deep down as he struggled to speak. “Did I . . . did I . . .”

Liri crouched
by his side, choking on her words. “You did it Kell. You slew the deep dragon.”

Mae leaned
over and whispered something into Siarra’s ear. With a nod, she bent forward,
her finger reaching out to the trolls’ right cheek. Touching it, she traced a
fierce dragon, leaving a dark tattoo shimmering on his tough skin. In a soft,
yet ringing tone, she exclaimed, “Kell of the tribe of Tryton, you will forever
be known as Dark Dragonslayer, protector of the races.”

Trin reached
for the weapon that still lay in the trolls grip. With a grunt of effort he drew
it to Kell's chest. “You will be remembered for centuries my friend.”

Kell smiled
one last time before slipping into death.

The remaining
six stood rooted in place, frozen in silence until the faint sounds of snarling
fiends began to echo from the other side of the cavern. Without a word, Siarra
indicated for them to cross the bridge. Reluctantly, Taryn moved away until he
stood at the entrance to the eastern tunnel.

As he looked
back at his sister, she picked up the twisted shield that had kept the rock
troll safe. Touching it with a hand, it flattened and stretched, wrapping
around the still form until it became a smooth, rounded coffin. Lifting her
hands, a small tornado of wind picked it up, sending it soaring upward until it
embedded into a giant stalagmite at the very top of the cavern. Dropping her
arms, she worked her way over the bridge until she joined them.

“Shall we go?”
Trin asked.

Siarra shook
her head. “There is one more thing to do.”

Taryn waited,
his gaze lingering on the final resting place of Kell. For several minutes the
sounds of fiends became louder, until a piercing scream echoed throughout the
cavern.

“Zorik, the
servant of Draeken, is no more,” Siarra said. Raising her hands, she clenched
them each into a fist. The sound of snapping stone boomed loud, and a moment
later, the bridge in front of them crumbled, falling into the abyss. By the
similar sounds, he could tell that Siarra had dropped the western bridge as
well.

“Zorik’s
fiends are trapped in his tomb,” she said, her voice sad rather than
triumphant. “They won’t be able to hurt anyone else.”

For several
minutes they stood, until finally the red lights of Zorik’s fortress began to
dim. Casting an orb of white light above them, Siarra muttered, “Let’s go.”

One by one,
they followed her into the tunnel, knowing they had just four days to reach
Draeken and destroy him. Taryn brought up the rear, glancing back one last time
at Kell’s grave.

Day 4

Chapter 15: Breach

“The landslide
on the Lake Road has been cleared,” Thacker said, his dawn report sending
chills down Braon’s spine. “They are moving to assault the fifth wall.”

Please
don’t let Famine or Plague attack them. Braon thought, rubbing his
forehead. “How long can they hold out?”

A moment later
Golic’s reply came. “A few hours with his current forces. Should he bring in
the first reserve?”

“Not yet. They
must hold out as long as they can,” Braon replied, furrowing his brow as he
struggled to find any way to hold the Lake Road.

If he called
in the first reserve, they could last through the rest of the first watch, but
at eight when the first reserve replaced them for the second watch, they would
have little strength, causing him to bring in the second reserve ahead of their
time. The effect would just mean he would lose more troops, and lose the wall either
later today, or tomorrow. Drawing extra forces from any other battalion would
have the same result.

But he would
have no other choice soon enough. If the Lake Road fell, he would have to
withdraw his entire army into Azertorn, and he doubted they would last longer
than a day once they were surrounded. It was imperative that he find a way to
fortify the Lake Road for at least two more days.

“Do any of the
other commands have forces to spare?” Braon asked. Even a few might make a
difference.

Turning to the
map he slid it from group to group as he listened to the reports. Nodding to
himself, he enhanced the view to each section of troops and issued appropriate
orders to redistribute what he could to the Lake Road.

Suddenly a
piece of the map shimmered.

Braon withdrew
his hands like he’d touched live coals, his expression frozen in horror, but
the section of the magical map flickered and went dark. Rokei and Thacker were
immediately by his side.

“What
happened?” Thacker asked, his voice laced with worry.

“The receiving
plants must have been damaged,” Rokei exclaimed. “Should I send someone from
the mage guild to attempt to repair them?”

Braon nodded,
fighting to alter his expression to not betray his fear. Swallowing hard he
slid the map to a different division, ashamed that his hands shook.

“Inform
General Onix that the west side of his area has gone dark. He will need to post
watchers.”

Out of the
corner of his eye he saw Thacker nod and return to his post while Rokei departed
to send a messenger to the mage guild. Fear rose like bile in Braon’s throat,
but he forced himself to return his gaze to the map. Shifting it back to the
dark spot, he again felt a sliver of terror claw up his spine and stop his
heart.

If I go
blind, we are lost.

Before despair
could take root, he flicked the map to another break. Despite his rigid self
control, doubt managed to plant itself deep within him.

Another piece
went dark an hour later.

***

As the
telepathic link to the dwarves, Brynn mentally listened to her father’s orders
and passed on the request to General Onix. “Another piece of the commanders map
has gone dark, so from now on you are under strict orders to report any breach
on the cliff, no matter how small.”

The taciturn
dwarf grunted and passed on the orders to his lieutenants in his own gruff
tongue. Brynn suppressed a sigh as she listened to him direct the dwarves in
his command. Intelligent in strategy and smithing, General Onix commanded
respect from every member of his race, and his bluntness was legendary.

“We are moving
our command tent closer to the front lines,” General Onix said, and began
marching in that direction. Brynn caught an amused expression from her personal
bodyguard, Murai. “Something funny?” she said, sidling up to the katsana
wielding elf.

His lips
twitched. “Dwarves are so . . . direct,” he said. “They see what needs to be
done and head right for it.”

“So why are we
moving closer to the battle?”

Murai winked
at her. “While commander Braon could see the battle, he could watch our front
line for us. With that no longer possible, we must be able to see it for
ourselves.”

They crested a
small hill and the battle came into view. Brynn stopped, stunned at the sheer
volume of moving people. For the last three days she had listened and felt the
effects of the battle, but had never been close enough to see for herself. Tens
of thousands of dwarves as well as a smattering of the other races fought to
defend their four mile stretch of cliff, dying by the hundreds. Snarling fiends
leapt over the cliff and launched themselves at the stockier dwarves, perishing
on their braced axes.

A series of
explosions went off as stonesap detonated, tossing fiends into the air and
causing Brynn to flinch. From the river on her left, to the edge of the still
burning black elf contingent, the dwarves bled and died to keep the black
creatures from overwhelming them.

Feeling sick,
she tore her eyes away from the battle, only to see a line of heavily laden
wagons wending their way through weapon stands and barricades. Limp figures had
been piled high, and even as she stared, the wagon stopped to add to its load. Nauseous,
she took a deep breath to steady herself—but immediately regretted it. The air
reeked of death and blood, causing her to gag when the wind swept past her.

“It gets
better,” Murai said, touching her shoulder.

She looked at
him with wide eyes and her hand on her mouth, muffling her desperate question,
“How can such a thing ever get better?”

Murai looked
away, his expression full of sorrow. “Your heart will begin to harden, until it
no longer shocks you to see someone bleed and die.”

Brynn tilted
her head back and looked skyward, desperately trying not to vomit. The sun,
partly eclipsed by the vast cloud above the black army, seemed to be willing
her to not relinquish her hope. Then the images of what she had just witnessed,
magnified by her other senses, assailed her with crushing force. She closed her
eyes and fought against them, struggling even as her resolve weakened.

Brynn, it
will be ok.

Her father’s
mental voice rose up and slid between her and the gaping dark.

How do you
know?! she wailed.

Because I
trust Braon, he thought to her.

At the mention
of the young commander a lifeline appeared, as strong as iron within her mind. From
the moment she had met him he had exuded confidence, and even in her memory of
him, that confidence seeped into her. Drawing as much strength as she could,
she opened her eyes and looked at Murai.

“Are you
ready?” he asked, his voice full of compassion.

She nodded and,
without a word, began striding down the slope towards the new tent being
erected for Onix. Murai fell into step beside her and said, “Unless I tell you
to, do not leave my side. Understood?”

She glanced at
him and saw an intensity to his eyes that she had not seen until that moment.
Forcing a smile, she said, “Worried I might get killed up here?”

He raised his
thin eyebrows and nodded.

She gulped
down her fear and hastily agreed. A moment later they arrived at the tent
amidst a bustle of activity. Joining in, Brynn did her best to avoid looking at
the bloody battle less than a hundred feet from where she stood. It was
unsettling how quickly she became numb to the sounds of the dying.

She stopped
for a break around noon and gulped down water, pausing in her efforts to bind
the tent flaps when Onix and Braon needed to communicate. Then she continued
using rope to tie the canvas to the thick wooden poles. Several times she
refused the help of others, focused on her task almost to the point of
forgetting where she was.

—A roar
shattered her false serenity, causing her to jump.

Sprinting
around the tent, she saw what had occurred. Several of the giant fiend captains
had gotten a foothold on the cliff—directly in front of the command tent. Six
were already in view, with more climbing into sight. Brushing aside the
desperate attempts to slay them, they formed a phalanx before any of the magic
users could mount a united defense.

A callused
hand yanked on her shoulder, causing her to spin and face General Onix.

“Tell Braon we
have been breached!” his rough voice barked.

She passed on
the message and within seconds received new orders. “Summon the druid
contingent to attack from the left flank, and place your mages on the right.
You hold the center and rally your dwarves.” She struggled to keep her voice
calm as she had been trained, but the sounds of the crumbling line were
deafening.

In seconds
Onix had called the orders and begun marching towards the front, gathering his
forces into a tight spear with shields facing front. Dwarves added to the group
on all sides, answering the bellowed call from their commander. The spear shape
swelled, forming a solid mass of armored dwarves, surrounded by overlapping
shields, headed by Onix.

Movement from
the right drew her eye, and she turned to see several druids, mounted and
riding towards the foray. She gasped as she saw the grace and ferocity of
several tigers and lions, a couple of armored rhinos, and one elephant.
Compared to the dwarves, their formation seemed scattered. Then one of the
lions roared, and the ferocious sound carried over the din like a battle cry,
galvanizing even more into action.

At that
instant, chunks of hard stone launched towards the black blot on the cliff that
had swelled to over fifty fiends. Dwarven mages waited until the stones struck,
then detonated the stonesap hidden inside the boulders. Torn fiends flew in
every direction—but the rest merely snarled and began to charge.

The four
groups collided in a titanic crunch of flesh, metal, and bone. Fiends roared in
pain, animals bellowed, and dwarves sang their battle song. The defenders had
numbers and courage. The attackers had strength and fury.

After an
eternal moment where both sides refused to yield, the fiends began to give
ground, until only three krakas remained. Brynn breathed a sigh of relief as
she watched the allied races regain control of the defenses . . .

—The remaining
fiend captains bolted . . . straight towards her!

Plowing
through defenders, they were struck on all sides. The elephant druid managed to
catch one, its tusk shattering its armor and crushing it to the ground. A well
aimed fireball and hundreds of axes managed to take down the other, but the
last kraka shrugged aside every attack.  Passing the last of the defenders it
picked up speed as it streaked towards her, a titan of tattered flesh bent on
her destruction.

Brynn started
to turn and run, but the creatures’ roar held her fast, her terror freezing
every piece of her frame, shivering across her skin and fluttering her heart
into immobility.

—Without
warning a solitary figure darted forward, a katsana appearing in his hands. Ten
paces from the charging behemoth, Murai leapt upward and launched himself off a
weapons stand, his thin form lifting into the air in front of the massive kraka.

Impossibly
fast, the beast lifted an enormous obsidian sword into Murai’s path—but the elf
was even quicker, twisting in midair to fly a hairsbreadth to the side. In a
flash of lightning steel, the long katsana struck just once as he sailed over
its shoulder, but it struck true. The mighty kraka tumbled to the ground and
rolled to a stop less than ten feet from Brynn’s frozen form.

In seconds
Murai had landed and returned to her side. “Are you alright?” he asked.

She nodded,
oddly aware of the dark blood still on the long blade and the unmistakable
voice of Onix bellowing at his forces to reform their ranks. “I’ll be okay,” she
mumbled.

Murai’s soft
smile caught her eye as he said. “I’ll make sure you stay that way.”

Watching him
casually wipe his sword clean, she didn't doubt his words.

***

Gaze eased
himself onto the old horse, suppressing the urge to vomit as the animal
shifted.

“Are you up to
this?” Lexi asked, already astride her own mount.

His lips
tightened and he willed his stomach to settle. Then he forced a smile. “I have
been stuck in that hole for too long, listening to people dying. I want to
help.”

She eyed him
for a minute. Then she shrugged and swung her steed towards the northern gate
of Azertorn. Gaze nudged his horse to ride next to her, and heard the remaining
Riverguard fall into line behind them. The four survivors had suffered various
wounds, but had been healed enough to fight. It made him wonder if anyone would
survive the war unscathed. Unable to resist, he looked back as they went
through the gate.

Smoke and ash
rose from the city, obscuring the view and tingeing the air with its scent. The
distant cries of the dying mingled with the clash of metal as the elven people
defended their city.

“It’s hard to
listen to without wanting to join them,” Arzai said, where he too had stopped
to look back.

“You have no
idea,” Gaze murmured, feeling an ache that did not come from being magesick.

Finally he
couldn’t bear it and turned away, directing his steed to follow Lexi onto the
patch of ground outside the gates. A hundred paces across, it was bordered by
the two branches of the river that wrapped around the city. Together, they
formed an ever-flowing moat that protected Azertorn on top of the cliff.

Their small
group rode towards the eastern bridge that spanned the river, passing the few
guards that had been stationed there. Half-way across he caught up to Lexi and
said, “I’m glad we were able to get the horses. I thought we were going to have
to walk.”

She reached
down to pat the neck of her aging mount, “Our rides come from the stock of
older animals, too slow or sick to use in battle. They have been carrying
supplies or extra forces to battalions along the cliff.”

Arzai spoke up
from behind them. “How many archers are being sent to reinforce Eastern Falls?”

“Four hundred
or so,” Lexi replied, throwing a look back at the ranger. “Prince Graden
reported a shortage of ranged soldiers, so we have been sent to help with their
night command.”

Gaze looked
away, hiding a smile. He suspected that Lexi had volunteered the remaining Riverguard
to join the archers of Eastern Falls. Since that battalion was from Talinor, he
hoped it was because of him. He doubted he would get a chance to fight, but
perhaps he would have an opportunity to assist in some minor capacity. Doing
nothing had been agony.

“Can I ask you
a question?” Lexi asked, pulling him from his thoughts. When he nodded, she
asked, “How well did you know the prince?”

“Which one?”
Gaze replied, stalling. The death of Anders had been the last thing he’d seen
before he blacked out from using too much magic.

“Both.”

He sighed,
recognizing he wouldn’t be able to sway her from her curiosity. “I kind of grew
up with the princes. Their father was the only father I knew.” He shrugged and
added, “They were like brothers.”

“What was Prince
Anders like?” she asked.

“Handsome,
tough, and good with most any weapon—and any woman.”

She laughed,
but it sounded odd and out of place with the sounds of war coming from the
clifftop to their right. The tired soldiers around them looked up at the sound,
as if it were something they had never heard.

Uncomfortable
at the attention, he added, “Prince Graden was good too, but in a different
way. Level-headed and smart, he always paid more attention to his studies than to
the girls in the classroom. If our people survive, I am sure he will be a great
king someday.”

Their
conversation paused as they worked their way past a knot of shuffling soldiers.
Once clear, Lexi said, “When we rescued you from Herosian I thought you were
his brother. It wasn't until later that I learned that you were not."

Gaze sighed,
catching sight of a wagon carrying the dead away from the battlefield. Limp
limbs hung from the overburdened cart, and he looked away.

“I can’t
believe he's gone,” he said, feeling the sting of the loss once again.

“His sacrifice
saved your life, you know,” Lexi said. “Perhaps it saved us all.”

“What do you
mean?”

Rather than
Lexi, it was Arzai that responded, kicking his horse to get close enough to
answer. “His cavalry, led by his father, you and him, delayed the fiends
several days. If they had arrived a week early . . .” He shrugged and swept a
hand towards the fortifications along the cliff.

“I know,” Gaze
said. “But it doesn’t change that every single one of them was killed in the
effort. Prince Anders, King Drayson, and two hundred valiant cavalry were all
slain. And I can’t even count how many forests and cities we burned behind us.
Talinor lies in ashes because of us.”

It hurt to
admit what he felt, but the guilt had been weighing on him. With Anders gone,
and Graden leading a hundred thousand men, he had felt alone.

Lexi’s
disapproving glare caught his eye, and when he met her gaze, she said, “Talinor
may be destroyed, but it can be rebuilt—just like our nation. Even the forest
of Numenessee can be regrown. But the dead do not come back. Your two hundred
cavalry gave the people of Lumineia a chance at survival.”

“We couldn’t
have done it without you,” Gaze said, glancing at each of the five elves. “You
helped us escape from Famine, the trap they laid for us, and countless other
battles. It’s because of you that we fulfilled our duty—and the reason I am
alive.”

Arzai touched
his legendary bow and looked skyward. “It’s because of those we lost.”

For several
minutes they plodded forward in silence, listening to the sounds of battle
nearby. Finally they arrived at the command tent for Eastern Falls. General
Graden was already outside, chewing on a piece of dried meat as he listened to
the young woman by his side.

Gaze felt a
rush of gratitude that Graden was still alive. He hadn’t been back to visit
him, and it was good to know that at least someone had survived. Four days of
battle had taken a toll on the prince though. Dirty and haggard, the prince-turned-general
looked like he'd lost weight. Recalling the wagon of dead, Gaze wondered what
it felt like to carry such a burden.

As General
Graden caught sight of them and raised a hand in greeting, Gaze saw the weight
reflected in his eyes. With a start he realized that he had contributed to it.
When Gaze had last seen Graden, the prince had charged him with taking care of
his older brother, a charge he had failed.

What can I
say to your brother after I failed him? Gaze thought, wondering what Anders
would say.

Tell him
that he makes a good general—but that I would have been better.

Gaze couldn't
help himself, he grinned as he dismounted. The expression must have caught
Graden off guard, because his eyebrows twitched in puzzlement.

"Something
amusing?" Graden asked, embracing him.

"Just
thinking about what Anders would say right now."

Graden's
features begged the question, so Gaze told him. Lined with fatigue, Graden's
face split into a grin as moisture glistened in his eyes.

"He would
say that, wouldn't he."

Gaze started
to laugh, but the humor couldn't stop his tears. Graden joined his levity, his
own tears leaving furrows in the dirt on his cheeks, and together they laughed
at the words of their lost brother.

The light mood
soon evaporated, leaving the two of them wiping the wetness from their faces.
Unable to stop himself, Gaze exclaimed, "I'm sorry Graden. I tried to . .
." He couldn’t find the words, so he looked away.

"It's not
your fault, Gaze. Your friend here" —he gestured to Lexi— "told me
how you tried to save him, but we both know he was as stubborn as a goat. He
wouldn't have wanted to be the one rescued."

Well that's
true, Anders voice echoed in Gaze's head, and both statements caused him to
grin. Despite the loss, the pain, and all the death, it felt good to talk about
him. Although Gaze had been adopted into the family, both the princes had been
the best family he could have asked for. Anders would not have wanted them to
feel sorrow. Even in death, he would want the last laugh.

Feeling like a
burden had been lifted, Gaze nodded. Reaching to his hand he removed the ring
that Anders had given him moments before he'd died. They had gone out of their
way to retrieve it from Herosian, and it had been one of the king's most prized
possessions. Handing it to Graden, he said, "He would have wanted you to
have it."

Graden
accepted the gift with a tight smile, controlling his emotions. Rolling it over
in his fingers, he voiced the inscription. "Remember the end."

"What
does that mean?" Lexi asked..

Graden 's eyes
brightened with a determination that had been muted before. "Right now it
means that this war is going to end, and we must not forget that."

"Then
first we must survive," Lexi said, her eyes narrowing. "Where would
you have us stationed?"

Graden jerked
his chin to the side. "The eastern flank has sustained heavy losses. You
can reinforce their ranged line." He reached for a spear on a rack next to
him. Tossing it to Gaze he said, "Since you are magesick, you can use one
of these."

Gaze reached
out and clasped Graden's arm. "We will do what we can."

"It was
good to see you again brother," Graden replied, and then flashed a warning
look at Lexi. "Make sure I get to see him again."

"To my
last breath," she said, her chin rising to accept the challenge.

Let's hope
it doesn’t come to that, Anders voice whispered to Gaze. At least not
before you've kissed her.

Gaze grinned,
feeling a rush of courage that he hadn't known in days. Embracing Graden one
last time, he departed with Lexi at his side. You know she has to kiss me
back, he thought to Anders.

The reply came
with a mocking laugh. She will.

Chapter 16: Reinforcements

“The last wall
is about to fall,” Thacker said.

We will not
survive then, Braon thought, his heart sinking into his stomach.

When he didn’t
answer, Thacker's voice became nervous. “What do you want Golic to do?”

“Call in the
first reinforcements,” he said, unable to keep the sadness from his tone.

Thacker stared
at him, his eyes wide. Braon simply nodded. “I know what I said, Thacker, but
we have no other choice. If the road falls, we die anyway.”

Braon watched
the fisherman’s lips tighten and he looked away. Unable to bear the crushing
disappointment in that expression, Braon looked back at the map and closed his
eyes.

“—Wait!”
Thacker said, his voice full of . . .  hope?

Braon turned
to see the telepath with his eyes wide as he received distant communication.

“Well?!” Braon
demanded.

Finally
Thacker said, “Golic reports that reinforcements are entering his camp from the
north.” Focusing his eyes on Braon he added, “The rock trolls just arrived!”

***

King Tryton
trotted into the tired camp of barbarians, amazons and other humans that had
been tasked with keeping the Lake Road from falling, leading his warriors
towards the clearly marked command tent. At over eleven feet tall, he towered
over the humans, who nervously shied away from him.

He couldn’t
blame them.

Each of his
people bore the marks of hundreds of kills, recorded in barbed tattoos whose
location showed the strength of the opponent slain. Bare-chested to reveal the
fearsome ink, and carrying enormous oval battle shields as tall as their
shoulders, the tight column of rock trolls would have caused even the most
stalwart to fear.

Arriving at
the tent, Tryton stopped and addressed a guard that looked like he had just wet
himself. “Who is the general?”

“Er . . ., he
is close to the front line,” the guard stuttered. “The last wall is about to
fall.”

Without
answering, Tryton resumed his pace and soon came into view of the battle. With
experienced eyes, he spotted the epicenter of the defenses. Although not marked
by any visible cues, the attitude of the surrounding soldiers told him all he
needed to know. In seconds, he stood in front of General Golic.

“King Tryton,
of the northern tribes of rock trolls,” he announced. “We are here to aid the
gathered races.”

Golic's eyes
widened as the men and women around him twitched, betraying their fear. Tall
for human or barbarian, Tryton doubted the man had ever felt intimidated in his
life. Worry, stress—and fear—flowed through his face, but the general recovered
quickly.

“We are glad
to have you,” the general said. “How many did you bring?”

“Five hundred
and sixty-three warriors, plus seventy-six clerics,” he said. Then he asked his
own question. “We heard the last wall is about to fall, is that accurate?”

For a moment
Golic appeared disappointed that there weren’t more of them, but the impression
vanished when he answered. “Yes, we are just now preparing to retreat into
Azertorn.”

Tryton gave a
curt not. “If we clear the road, do you have the capability to re-fortify the
wall, or perhaps raise temporary fortifications further down the road?”

Taken aback,
Golic replied, “Yes, on both counts. Commander Braon placed dwarven masons and
magi with us to strengthen our defenses. We also have sections of wall prepared
that can be put into place, but . . .” He shrugged. “We have just given up too
much ground to use them.”

Tryton reached
to his back and drew his massive, six foot blade, causing several of the humans
around him to suck in their breath and step back. “Prepare your walls. We will
clear the road as far as we can.”

Golic’s
eyebrows shot up, “How are you going to do that with so few?”

Behind Tryton,
his lieutenant Kaber laughed, and the low menacing sound chilled the air like
ice, followed by the scraping of leather as other enormous weapons cleared
sheaths behind him.

Tryton met the
general’s gaze and said, “Open the gates.”

One of the
amazons behind Golic coughed in surprise. “But they will overrun us in seconds!”

Tryton didn’t
move a muscle, but kept his eyes locked on General Golic’s surprised features. Then
Golic nodded and threw a glance at the wide-eyed youth beside him. “Ask Braon.”

The young man
didn’t hesitate. “I have already reported the entire conversation. He says to
do what Tryton asks.”

Golic gave a
resigned shrug and said, “Follow me.”

Striding
downhill he led the rock trolls towards the wall. Tryton took advantage of the
time to assess the situation at the shuddering stone defenses. Men and women
climbed the wall and struck at the unseen opponents on the other side, fighting
for their lives.

The thick
gates were bent inward, allowing Tryton to catch glimpses of the snarling
fiends on the other side. Beside him Kaber chuckled in anticipation, but Tryton
felt only sadness at the death around him.

Golic threw
Tryton a hesitant glance. The king nodded at him and slid his fearsome helmet
onto his head. “Open them, and get ready to strengthen the wall. We will give
you two hours, no more.”

Without
waiting for a response, he began to trot towards the closed gates, picking up
speed. Ten feet away the defenders slid the locking bars out of place, and the
doors burst inward. Leading with his shield, Tryton crushed the first friends
with the force of a rockslide. Behind him, his warriors knew what to do, and
they stepped in to cover his flanks. In seconds twenty rock trolls were on the
other side of the gate and formed a phalanx of overlapping shields. Fiends
threw themselves against the barricade, only to die as huge swords and spears
struck them down.

A second
later, the shields reformed. Starting at the cliff, the last troll angled his
shield, covering the one next to him. Locking themselves together from the
cliff on the right to the drop on the left, the shields formed an impenetrable arc
of metal, backed by iron sinews and unflinching muscles.

“Drive them from
the cliff!” Tryton roared, and the rock trolls began to press forward.

Like a farmer’s
plow, the charge pushed the fiends away from the cliff and funneled them to the
fall on the left. Gradually the massive trolls picked up speed, forcing
countless fiends over the side with every step. Soon the press accelerated into
a driving trot . . . and then became a full sprint.

The fiends
didn’t stand a chance.

Black forms
cascaded off the road in a stream of snarling flesh, unable to break the line
of trolls. Quare, kraka, and the dog-like sipers all tumbled to the rocks eight
hundred feet below. And the charge kept going. A quarter of a mile passed, then
a half a mile, then a full mile. Thousands of fiends died from their advance,
until finally Tryton spotted a counter-attack.

Through a
small gap in the shields, Tryton saw a tight knot of krakas gathering further
down the road, bracing themselves to stop them. Sensing a shift in the battle,
Tryton called a halt and the plow formation reformed into the impenetrable
phalanx. Enraged, the fiends charged at them, furious at the lost ground.

Just as they
reached the wall of steel, the entire formation took one step forward, pounding
their shields into the faces of the snarling fiends. As more jumped over,
Tryton called another command and the formation parted, allowing him and
several others, including Kaber and Solus, to step forward.

Each of their
weapons cut a massive swath through the roiling horde, striking them down
before they could close. Trained for battle his entire life, Tryton allowed his
instincts to take over. Leading with his shield, he darted forward and leveled
several of the smaller quare. Sweeping his sword low, he cut through sipers and
quare alike. In seconds the pile of bodies began to grow around him—

—An obsidian
blade streaked for his head. Tryton countered with his own weapon and stepped
inside the swing of the kraka. The snarling fiend was a foot shorter than him
but better armored, so Tryton ducked under his outstretched arm and came up
beside him, trapping the fiend’s arm between his shield and his shoulder. Even
as the kraka tried to withdraw his arm, Tryton used his leverage to break its
arm.

The black
sword fell to the ground as the hulking fiend bellowed in surprise and pain.
Spinning, Tryton brought his sword down across the fiend’s back. Bone shattered
from the force of the blow, and his weapon split the fiend's flesh from
shoulder to waist.

Turning away
from the crumpling form, Tryton brought the top of his shield up to meet the
face of another charging kraka, crushing his skull and leveling him to the
ground so fast that a siper and two quare were trapped underneath the huge
form. Then he leapt behind a fiend raising a weapon to the back of one of his
trolls. Plunging his sword into its back, he let go of the hilt. Grasping one
of the horns protruding from black skull, he wrenched it down—and then twisted
it. The kraka's bellow of surprise was cut off as its neck snapped, and Tryton casually
withdrew his blade as it fell. Grunting in satisfaction, he turned to other
foes as the slain fiend thudded to the earth.

All around
him, his trolls continued slaying the fiends with skill and speed, carving
through them with an almost effortless ease—but Tryton new better. The enemy’s
numbers would eventually overpower them, so he barked an order and his men
began to retreat.

Howling for
blood, the fiends followed them as they withdrew, feigning injury. Half a mile
back they reformed into the plow and struck. Once again, the black bodies
screamed in rage as they were forced from the Lake Road, unable to stop the
solid charge of the rock trolls. Reaching their earlier stand, they repeated
the same maneuvers, striking back and slaying many, before retreating once
again.

Two hours
passed, and when the report reached Tryton that two temporary walls had been
erected, he called for a retreat. Evaporating uphill, the rock trolls slipped
through the gates in the new wall even as dwarven masons worked feverishly to
finish the fortifications. Seconds later the fiends struck.

The wall held.

Tryton found
Golic standing beside him, his jaw working as he fought for words. For the
moment Tryton ignored him and turned to Solus. “If any were lost, I will be
disappointed captain.”

Solus gave a
curt bow and said, “No losses or serious injuries. The clerics are already
working on the minor wounds.”

Beside him,
Kaber flexed his muscles and added smugly, “Only two hours with the enemy so
weak? What else did you expect?”

Tryton nodded
at his captain's report and faced Golic. He honestly would have been
disappointed if they had lost any—and not just because it would mean losing his
men. In such a surprise attack, the trolls strict discipline and attack should
have been decimating.

“What took
you so long to get here?” General Golic sputtered.

“Most of our
people fled into the mountains north of our homeland. We brought the bulk of
our army and arrived as quickly as we could. There is also some additional
information for your commander. Can your forces hold the wall for half an
hour?”

Golic threw a
look at the men and women fighting from the top of the newly erected wall. To a
man they fought like lions, inspired by the first taste of victory in days.

“After what
you just did, I think they can do more than that!” Golic exclaimed.

Tryton nodded.
“But let’s not make them try. Your men are exhausted and need a rest. Thirty
minutes should be sufficient for us to prepare for the next drive. I will split
my forces in two, with one fighting now and the other will relieve us in twelve
hours. Is that acceptable, general?”

Golic glanced at
the youth beside him who bobbed his head, his eyes bright with excitement.
“Braon agrees.”

Golic grinned,
the expression looking odd on his tired and dirty face. “Then it’s settled.
Now, didn't you mention you had something else to report?”

***

Braon listened
to the stream of information from Thacker, trying not to put too much attention
into the report.

“. . . and the
rock trolls have not lost a soldier yet. Also, there is more that King Tryton
wishes to report.” Thacker paused and blanched before continuing, “The fiend
army has spread across the northern deserts. When the trolls passed through the
dwarven citadels, the fiends were just a few miles behind them.”

“How long did
the dwarves think they could hold out?” Braon furrowed his brow, grateful for
the first time that the king of the dwarves had decided to stay behind with a
small army.

Thacker held
up a finger and concentrated. “Tryton thinks they can hold out for a day, no
more.”

Braon did some
quick math, and then jerked his head. If the dwarves had held for a day after
the trolls had passed, then that would mean that a northern fiend army would
arrive at Azertorn sometime at the end of day six.

Then they would
be surrounded.

Chapter 17: Family

Trin trudged
behind Taryn and Siarra, listening to their muted discussion on where to go.
Throughout the night, they had shared their tales after separating to find
Siarra and distract the dragon. The loss of Kell had hit everyone, and even
Jack had little to say.

Finally Trin
could stand it no longer, and fell into step next to Mae. “You ok?” He asked in
a low voice.

She glanced at
him, her blue eyes piercing through him. “My plan failed.” Her flat tone left
it obvious she felt responsible.  “I should never have suggested we split up.”

“Maemi,” Trin
said, “it’s not your fault. If anything, your plan was the only thing that got
us out of there. You even found the orb that held Siarra’s magic. If we hadn’t
gotten hold of that . . .” He shrugged and looked away, unwilling to finish the
sentence.

After a
moment, he felt a soft touch on his arm. “I never thanked you for catching me
on that balcony.”

He turned back
to see her somber expression. “You saved me too you know—twice if I recall.”

Her lips
spread into a smile unlike Trin had ever seen on her normally inscrutable face.
Soft and inviting, it left him wrapped in a blanket of warmth.

Impulsively,
he decided to voice his feeling. “Mae . . . I’ve always . . .”—Blast it this
is harder than I thought— “felt something different about you. Did you know
that?”

She flashed
him the same smile and flicked her long blonde hair, causing his knees to go
weak, but her reply stunned him. “I have favored you for almost ten years, ever
since I saw you color the bath water of the teachers.”

His eyes
nearly bugged out. “You saw me do that?”

She grinned,
and her fingers slipped down to entwine with his, drawing most of his attention
to the new sensations caused by the contact. “I was in that village for some
special training and I saw you sneaking towards the bath house. I have to admit
I was curious, so I followed you. The next day when several masters woke up
blue, I knew it was you.” Her smile widened, yet still managed to carry the
same vulnerability it had shown before.

“Why didn’t
you say anything?” he asked, curious despite himself. The feeling of closeness
to her was one he’d never experienced with anyone.

“I didn’t have
to,” she said. “When you were accused, you admitted your part.” She paused, her
voice softening, “I thought it was one of the funniest things I had ever seen.”

“You,
thought it was funny? I don’t think I have ever heard you laugh before.”

Her fingers
withdrew in an instant and her voice hardened. “Sometimes people have reasons
not to laugh.”

And with that
cryptic comment the moment ended like the closing of a steel trap. Knowing it
would be fruitless to try to cajole her to explain, he took solace in the fact
that he’d cracked her armor. Brief as it was, their exchange represented the
first genuine glimpse of her emotions that he—or anyone else that he knew of—had
ever had.

What was it
that made her so guarded? Back on Sri Rosen, he’d made a few discrete inquiries,
but it had gotten him nowhere. As far as anyone knew, she’d always been a
mystery. Then he recalled that one person had mentioned that she’d
arrived for training two years early, an oddity that could not be explained. Traditionally,
elves departed for their training at Sri Rosen at the age of twenty, which
meant something had occurred that allowed for the exception. What had happened
in her youth?

His brooding
was interrupted as he realized that Taryn in front of him had pulled up short.
Nearly running into him, Trin stopped and looked around for the first time in
several minutes. Two hundred paces in diameter, the cavern they stood in was
bowl shaped, and the tunnel had led them directly to the center. On all sides,
the stone sloped upward, leaving the only way out the one they had come in.

“Well this is
an odd dead end,” Jack remarked.

Siarra nodded,
her eyes squinted around her. “Something . . . made this bowl, and it
wasn’t human or dwarf.” She flicked her wrist and three more balls of light
appeared, joining the one above her before they scattered, soaring away and
brightening the odd chamber. “Whatever made it used magic to shape the ground,”
she added, pointing to the smooth surface.

“Are they
still around?” Liri asked.

“I don’t think
so,” Siarra said, cocking her head to one side and half closing her eyes. “I
can’t sense a presence nearby, but the entire chamber is made of a very dense
stone, making it difficult to see past.

“Does anyone
see a way out?” Taryn asked, looking around.

Several
negative responses echoed back to him, so he shrugged. “I guess we need to
backtrack then.” Taking a step towards the tunnel that had led them into the
bowl, he stopped when a series of clicking noises sounded. “What was that?”

Jack spoke
first, his tone irritated. “That my friends, is the sound of a trap.”

On cue, the
stone rose up to close off the tunnel and a shimmering liquid began to fill the
bowl.

“It’s
stonesap!” Siarra yelled. “Everyone get close to me!”

Trin took one
step closer and the next moment the ground below them rose upward, lifted by
Siarra’s magic. Trin crouched and peered at the rising pool of liquid. “I
thought stonesap was only handled by the dwarves.”

“Anyone with
fire magic can handle it safely,” she said, distracted by her effort to lift
them to safety.

Another odd
rumbling sounded, and a moment later, a massive ball of flame exploded out of a
hidden tunnel. Rolling down the bowl, it headed towards the bottom of the
incline—towards the
volatile liquid magic.

In an instant,
Siarra stopped raising them up and formed an ice ball around them. Feverishly,
she spun her hands as the ice thickened . . .

The fireball
struck the stonesap and the entire cavern shook from the blast. Trin was thrown
to his knees as their column tilted, but Siarra’s magic held. Liquid flame
landed on every surface, burning and melting the ice ball that was protecting
them.

Trin began to
sweat as the heat consumed the ice, and water dripped onto his back. Stepping
away from the edge, he cast a worried look in Siarra’s direction. Catching
Mae’s eye, he flashed her a grin, even though he felt a mounting fear.

Behind them,
Siarra growled and stomped her foot, lifting the platform higher. Drawing her
katsana, she raised it high, and then she plunged it into the stone at her
feet. Howling wind spun around them into a writhing tornado, whipping around
their column and tearing apart their ice bubble in the process.

Trin sneezed
as the scent of ash and smoke filled his nose. Shielding his eyes, he saw they
now stood in the center of a raging cyclone of sucking air. Even in the great
space, the twister was too strong, and the flaming stonesap was sucked into the
whirlwind. Overpowered by Siarra’s magic, the flames were extinguished.
Gradually the tornado died, until bits of ash and smoldering chunks of stone
rained down around them.

“I thought air
fueled fire,” Trin asked once the magic was gone.

Siarra blew
out her breath as she yanked her weapon free. “Only one part of air fuels the
flames. Other portions don't. The wind magic I used separated the two, leaving
the part for us to breathe. If I hadn’t, the fire would have gone out, but it
would have left nothing for us.”

"If there
was ever a doubt you could steal a man's breath, it's gone now," Jack
said.

Siarra's blistering
look caused his smirk to widen.

“So how do we
get out of here?” Taryn asked.

Before anyone
could respond, the sound of sliding stone echoed in the chamber, and a large
door slid open at its top. Voices, deep and rough, drifted down to them, the
language sharp and accented.

To the
surprise of everyone, Jack began to translate.

“How many
fiends . . . we caught this time?”

“. . .  last
time we killed at least two hundred . . . one trap.”

At the five
stares he received he shrugged. "It's giant, not an overly difficult
language."

"Could
they be friendly?" Taryn asked.

"Depends
on what kind," Jack said, his eyes on the oversized door. "Some are
more hostile then others."

Trin turned
his gaze towards the portal, holding his breath as he waited for the makers of
the trap to appear. It didn’t take long for the large figure of a giant to step
into the opening. With gray skin laced with glowing red lines, the giant wore
breeches and a dark colored vest.

“Aiden, we
didn’t catch any fiends. Them be humans and elves!”

Siarra stepped
forward. “I am Siarra Elseerian, Oracle of the races. Who are you?”

The giant
stabbed his thumb into his chest. “Name’s Dulnak, head smith of the tribe of
Royl.” Although the ground still steamed from the heat of the fire, the giant
stepped into the bowl and strolled down it like it was summer grass. “How did you
get way up there?” he rumbled, gesturing with a hand the size of a horse's head.

The ground
shifted and began to lower as Siarra brought them down, stopping when they were
still ten feet off the ground. “Stone magic,” she replied once they were eye
level with the giant.

The giant
rumbled a belly laugh and called up to another one that had appeared in the
portal. “Reset the trap Aiden, I will take them to the others.”

“Others?” Trin
blurted. “What others?”

Dulnak shifted
to peer at him, and Trin resisted the urge to step back. Up close he realized
the giant’s skin was dark gray, rather than black, and the lines of red curved
and snagged all the way from his fingertips to his neck, disappearing under his
tunic. With a head the size of a small boulder, the giant made Trin feel
uncomfortably tiny.

Catching sight
of Trin in the group, Dulnak said, “We have another group of humans camping
with us. We have been fighting the dark things together for the last several
weeks.” Leaning his head back, he yelled upward again, “Oi, Aiden, send down
that leader human to guide this group in, and tell Kadel we can trust ̓em.”
He turned back to Siarra and winked. “She is the Oracle af’er all.”

Trin saw his
friends glance back and forth, and he was grateful he wasn’t the only one that
felt uneasy. The giant was odd, and unlike any hill or stone giant he’d ever
heard of. He obviously wasn’t an ice giant. Did that mean he was a fire giant?
If the stories of his youth were true, fire giants were born with the ability
to perform fire magic. Intelligent and powerful, they were unlike the rest of
their kind, and rarely came out of their hidden villages. Realizing it was
probably what he faced now, he felt a rush of very youthful excitement for
having seen one with his own eyes.

Siarra had
finished lowering the stone platform that had kept them safe, and with a small hand
gesture, she cooled a path towards the portal at the top. Steam rose from the
safe track as the heat was pulled from it and into the air. Ignoring their
group, Dulnak had already moved aside and lifted a hidden panel halfway up the
side of the bowl. Kneeling down, he began working on the mechanics of the trap.
Small blasts of flame accompanied his mutterings as he worked.

Trin almost
laughed, realizing that the tales that described them as baby killers were most
likely false. Turning to follow his friends out of the bowl, he had to pick up
the pace because he’d fallen behind. Reaching the portal opening, he passed the
one called Aiden working on another section of the machine.

The tunnel
ahead of them was spacious and large, and had obviously been carved with magic.
Trin knew that the higher level fire spells could melt stone, and suspected
that such was the case here. Ahead, he saw that the rest of the group had
stopped and were speaking to a couple of humans that he couldn’t see.

Drawing close
enough to hear a reply, he froze as a voice from his childhood sent chills down
his spine. With a pounding heart, he dodged forward, catching the tail end of
the man’s introduction as he slid through his friends.

“ . . . name
is Aroet, or Captain Arrow as my men call me.”

Trin burst
through his friends and caught sight of the weary looking figure. “Arrow!” he
yelled, leaping forward and embracing his older brother.

“Trin!” Aroet
cried, wrapping his arms around him. “I thought I would never see you again!”

Trin felt
tears leak down his face as he pounded his brothers back, clinging to the
family that he’d thought lost.

After a long
moment they separated, and Arrow burst out laughing as he caught sight of
Trin’s expression. Wiping the tears from his own eyes, he said, “You are a
sight for weary eyes little brother. How in the name of Ero did you end up
here?”

“I might ask
the same of you!”

Arrow’s
expression, although still humorous, faded. “We have a lot to tell you.”

“As do we,”
Siarra said, stepping forward with a faint smile on her lips.

“Then follow
me. You can join us in our quarters and we can share our tales.” He nudged Trin
with a sly grin that didn’t quite hide the layer of concern in his eyes. “How
does a hot meal sound?”

Trin smirked
and fell into step beside him. “As long as someone else cooks. We both know you
don’t have the talent.” Their joint laughter echoed down the corridor, and Trin
allowed the feeling of joy to wash through him. However brief the moment might
be, he knew his brother had survived. Even if they perished tomorrow, he had
gotten to see him one last time.

It was one day
more than he thought he’d ever get.

Chapter 18: Allies

Taryn listened
to Trin as he finished relating the tale of their journey, taking advantage of
the time to eat. It felt like weeks since he'd had a well prepared meal, and he
wolfed the food down with abandon, only partially paying attention to the tale.
He was more interested in what the captain had to say, so he examined their surroundings
as he ate.

Surprisingly,
the village looked far newer than he would have expected. It seemed as if the
village had been built in just the last few months. Constructed as a series of
three large caverns, the village boasted a hundred or so large structures, most
of them familial dwellings.

With every
makeshift building only one story, it gave the impression of a ramshackle camp,
rather than a permanent village. The walls were rough hewn and of varying
thicknesses. Doorways weren’t entirely straight, and few buildings carried a
roof of any kind. As they’d moved through the giant village, the only thing in
abundance had been weapons. Large spears and shields were placed everywhere,
piles of boulders were stacked near strategic ledges, and barrels of stonesap
could be seen in abundance.

The numerous
fire giants they passed appeared cordial and curious about the new visitors,
but they left quickly and their expressions lacked warmth. Smiles didn’t reach
their dark intelligent eyes, and everyone was in a hurry. Even the two young
giants they passed were sharpening huge spearheads, their gaze staring after
them until they turned the corner.

When they’d
reached the human camp, the captain led them into a large, square building
adorned with makeshift beds, chairs, and small campsites. Only half of the
fifty odd beds were occupied. The captain had led them to one of the small
smokeless fires, and after Trin had embraced other familiar faces and
introductions had been completed, they shared their tales.

Trin had
started from the beginning, telling of their departure from Sri Rosen, the
battle with the pirates, and everything else they had endured. Siarra
occasionally jumped in to provide details, and briefly took over when they told
of the council meeting where the elves had launched the gathering. It didn’t
take long for every member of Captain Arrow’s command to join them, standing or
sitting as they listened intently to the recent news.

Taryn also
caught several things that bespoke the captain's leadership. Tall and broad
shouldered, Captain Arrow looked remarkably like his brother. Older and more
mature, he carried an air of strength and charisma despite the fatigue lining
his face. His men also waited patiently, rather than mobbing the newcomers for
news. Subtle glances and tilts of the head were all the captain needed to
direct his men.

Taryn noticed
that Trin was nearing the end so he focused on his friend as he described
Siarra’s magic in the fire trap. Wrapping up, Trin leaned back in the makeshift
chair and swept a hand out to his brother. Engrossed as Captain Arrow had been,
he blinked and shook his head.

“I can hardly
believe you survived, Trin,” the captain said. “But I am grateful to your
friends that you did.”

Trin grinned
and indicated that it was his brother’s turn to share. Taking a bite of fried
roots, he settled in to listen.

Captain Arrow
looked upward and sighed. “I should probably start with the invasion.” He shook
his head, his expression darkening. “The tales of the assassin marked the
beginning, but the slayings were rare at first. The king and his advisors
thought it was someone gone mad, and we were one of the commands dispatched to
investigate. Our search was futile, and the killings only became more frequent.
Every few days a new report came in. Soldiers, villagers, and especially
warriors of renown were slain.”

He stopped and
glanced at Trin. “Do you remember Valir?”

Trin swallowed
and nodded. “Big fellow with an enormous sword, right?”

“When he was
killed, there were some that began to suspect the killings weren’t random. To
make matters worse, runners were coming in saying that disease and famine were
spreading in the eastern villages—spreading west towards Terros.”

He stopped and
sighed. “It was a bad time Trin, and I was grateful you weren’t there. Fear and
suspicion were rampant, with thieves and small squabbles sparking minor riots.
People were scared, hungry, and angry. It was around then we caught a break. A
woodsman from the east arrived in Terros. He’d survived an attack by the
assassin, and gave us the first real description we’d managed to get our hands
on. Over the next few days, soldiers were outfitted and preparing for a major
search. Before they could leave, Terros was hit.”

Captain Arrow
blinked and turned away, the evidence of what he’d seen apparent on his face.
Several of his men cursed under their breath and looked away with haunted
expressions. Taryn felt a chill, recalling Trin’s description of the
destruction at Terros. He could only imagine what it would have been like to
witness.

The captain
returned his attention to his listeners, his gaze hollow. “They overwhelmed the
outer defenses in a matter of minutes. The next thing we knew, they were
flooding the city and killing everything in sight.” His gaze met Trin’s, his
expression sobering. “Father gathered everyone he could at the docks. Their
line held just long enough to get the survivors onto the ships in the harbor. I
saw the creatures tear him from his horse with my own eyes.”

Taryn caught
sight of Trin’s face and his heart went out to him. The young man’s gaze was
fixed and his face frozen.

“How did you
escape?” Liri asked.

“My command
was holding the far northern tail of the defenses. When the line buckled, we
were driven north. Skirting the lake, we managed to get out of the northern
gates before they closed the gap. Lieutenant Fisk here,” he clapped his hand onto
the shoulder of the man next to him, a grizzled older man with a full beard,
“had gathered some of our fastest horses. We owe our lives to him.”

Fisk grunted.
“Not all the horses were fast enough.”

“Too true,” the
captain said, giving a sober nod.

For a moment
there was silence, as each man contemplated the friends lost to the war. Then
Trin asked, “What happened next?”

Draining his
ale, the captain said with a shrug, “There was nothing else we could do, we
fled north, trying to outrun the fiends to get there first. We arrived a day
ahead of the dark army, giving us time to discover a little about what happened
prior to the attack at Terros. A scattering of survivors had fled to the
northern forts, and from them we learned that Draeken’s army had slaughtered
the eastern villages first, driving west so fast that no one managed to warn
us. Nearly all the ones who made it out in time were the ones on the ships. I
doubt very many managed to escaped north or south.”

“Wait,” Siarra
said, raising her hand. “How did you know they were fiends, and about Draeken?”

“We didn’t,” the
captain replied, “not until we met up with the fire giants, but I will get
there.”

Nodding her
understanding, Siarra indicated for him to continue.

“The next day we
were attacked. Our commanding officer had us stationed on one of the eastern
forts. We were driven from our fortifications like we were children defending a
fort made of blankets, and before we knew it, we were surrounded in the keep.
Lucky for us, that particular fortress had an escape tunnel. Razing the city behind
us we fled, but the exit let out onto a mountainside east of the fort. From our
vantage point, we could see the vastness of the army that had destroyed us, and
now blocked our way north. With nowhere else to go, we worked our way east
along the ridgeline, hoping to find a canyon we could slip through. Each day we
could see the army below growing in size, and by the time we reached this
valley, we thought we were just delaying the inevitable.

“That is when
one of the fire giant scouts spotted us and brought us in here. Upon meeting
with the clan leader, we learned that several centuries ago their clan had
moved into the ancient dwarven forge of Xshaltheria. At the time, they had no
idea that Draeken was imprisoned there, but several months ago something
happened. One of their young ones discovered a secret door that led to an odd
pit. That is where they discovered the Lord of Chaos.

“But they were
too late. Some sort of portal had been opened, and four creatures stood before
Draeken. Those four—alone—drove out the entire clan of giants, slaying over
half of them. One in particular, an armored behemoth almost as big as the
giants themselves, slew many of them, including the clan leader. The leader’s son,
Royl, led his people to escape into the ancient mines, settling them here. They
have been fighting the fiends ever since.”

“When you say
“fighting” what do you mean?” Taryn asked.

Fisk leaned
forward, answering before Arrow could. “We lure their patrols into traps the
giants set. Most of the time we have managed it without casualties.”

Arrow nodded
and swept his hands out wide. “We have been fortunate, and the fire giants are
quite adept at building their traps. I have yet to see a single fiend escape
one.” He inclined his head towards Siarra. “I applaud your success in getting
out, and apologize it caused you any danger.”

Fisk grunted
and added, tilting his head towards Jack. “And I thank you, for slaying that infernal
assassin.”

Murmurs of
approval and nods of gratitude from the other men followed that statement, but
Jack only shrugged. “It was long overdue for that thing to die.”

A chorus of
heartfelt praise followed his statement, and after they had quieted, Arrow
asked. “So you said you have come to slay Draeken and end the war. How exactly
to you expect to accomplish that? We can’t even get close to the forge.”

All eyes
turned to Siarra as she said. “Captain Arrow, today is day four of seven. If we
do not defeat him by the seventh day, the battle at Azertorn will be lost. Then
it will just be a matter of time until every surviving person is killed. By
prophecy, Taryn”—he looked away as she said his name—“is the only one that can
slay him. Together, we must find a way to get him into that pit so he can
fulfill his destiny.”

The
accompanying silence was deafening, and Taryn watched the men wait for
direction from their officer. For his part, Arrow gazed at Taryn without
blinking, and Taryn returned the look with difficulty, allowing the officer to
get a measure of him. After a long moment, Arrow inclined his head. “If Trin
believes you, then I believe you, but that doesn’t change what we have to face.
Short of a miracle, there is no way we can get into Xshaltheria.”

Siarra lips
twitched, but instead of arguing, she asked. “Can you draw the dwarven city? I
would like to get an idea of what we are up against.”

Arrow threw a
look to Fisk and he slipped out of the circle. Returning his gaze to Siarra, Arrow
said. “I can give you an idea of the exterior, and the battlements, but I know
little about the inside. We would have to ask one of the giants if you want to
know more than that . . .?”

Siarra shook
her head. “For now, a rough sketch will do.”

Fisk appeared
with a large piece of parchment and stick of charcoal. Moving a large crate to
the center, he laid both down and resumed his seat, accepting the grateful
glance from Arrow with a nod. Taryn scooted his seat forward to get a better view
as Arrow began to draw, describing the formation as he worked.

“From what I
understand, the fortress is a suspended city in the center of a volcano. Held
up by three massive, enchanted chains, the city hangs above the lava. Above
each chain, a bridge extends from the city to a tunnel that leads to the outer
fortifications.” Spinning the charcoal in a wide circle, he continued.
“Surrounding the citadel, and built a couple of thousand feet off the valley
floor, a wall rings the volcano. I would put the wall’s height at forty feet,
but the cliffs are sheer below the ramparts, making it look much higher. Behind
the outer wall, several layers of ruins are visible, and I believe they used to
be training facilities, as well as barracks.”

Arrow turned
and began to draw a curving line. “The only entrance to the castle is a road
that leads from the south side, and heads down the mountain. It crosses an
ancient bridge and turns west before descending into the valley. Although old,
three gates protect the road, and they appear to still function. We believe the
bridge was at one time rigged to collapse, although we have no way of knowing
if those mechanisms still work. Even without the outer defenses, there are more
than enough fiends to stop an assault.”

Spinning the
parchment, he began to draw squares to indicate enemy troops. “As far as we can
determine, the fortifications above are lined with at least thirty thousand
fiends, mostly the big armored ones.”

“Krakas,”
Siarra said. “They are the captains.”

“Right,” Arrow
nodded at her. “The road and gates have two or three times that number of the
human sized ones, as well as roughly two thousand of the scorpion things,” He
looked up at Siarra expectantly.

She flashed
him a small smile. “The small ones are quare, and the others are skorpians.”

Arrow bobbed
his head and bent to finish the drawing. “The valley below is the problem. A
full contingent fills the entire breadth of it.” He rose to his feet. “We
estimate a million fiends in this one valley. As if that weren’t enough,
another army the same size is camped in the valley west of it.”

Taryn gave a
silent sigh. There were more fiends in this one valley than there were people
in all the gathered races put together. The sobering thought left Taryn feeling
inadequate, and only reminded him of the enormous responsibility of slaying
Draeken.

Mae leaned
forward, speaking for the first time, “How did the giants escape the city?”

Arrow pointed
to the north side. “There are tunnels below the outer fortifications. I believe
there is an intersection point somewhere north of the fortress. It connects to
tunnels that lead down into the valley, and to the southern side of the
mountain. I suspect they were escape passages from the city, and there is
probably a similar junction on the south side. But as soon as Royl got his
people out, he collapsed the northern passage behind them. Until now, it has
kept the fiends from following.”

Siarra didn’t
take her gaze off the sketch, her expression thoughtful. Smiling to herself,
she raised one hand and gestured intricately. Light from the flameless torches
bent and curved towards the parchment, darkening the room, but brightening the
spot over the drawing. At first, Taryn thought his sister was drawing more
light to examine it better—until the light began to take shape.

Bit by bit,
the light separated, until it formed a glittering image of Xshaltheria. Gasps
and murmurs from the onlookers accompanied the magical display, but Siarra
didn’t seem to notice. Flicking her hand, she raised the castle to head height,
allowing her to peer at the ancient dwarven citadel with ease. Twisting her
fingers, she sent the shining image into a slow spin.

To his credit,
Arrow took the magic in stride. Inclining his head towards the Oracle, he gave
a wry grin. “I fear your drawing is better than mine.”

Siarra grinned
and pointed to the three-dimensional map. “Do you have any idea where Draeken
is?”

Arrow pointed
at the bottom of the city, but Taryn noticed he didn’t touch the magical light.
“I think the secret chamber was at the base of the city. Royl described it as
an empty round platform suspended in at the bottom of a pit. He said he could
see lava below it, so I would guess it is at lowest level.”

“How far away
is Xshaltheria from here?” Trin asked.

“A day’s
journey, no more,” Fisk answered.

Taryn looked
at the fortress, wondering how they could get in. There was no way they could
fight their way through the fiends on the surface. There would just be too
many. And with the tunnels collapsed, they couldn't attack from below. The
moment they did strike, all the fiends in the valley would flood up to
them.

Siarra
suddenly gave a deep sigh, and something about the look she flashed him made
him worry. Rather than triumphant or excited, it expressed regret. Turning to
Arrow, she said, “I believe I know what we must do, but we will need the giants
help.”

Captain
Arrow’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t voice his thoughts. “Royl is out scouting.
He should be back by tomorrow. You can speak with him then.”

Siarra frowned
at the delay, but nodded. “Then we have the day to prepare ourselves.” Her gaze
found Taryn’s, and what he saw their sent a sliver of fear up his spine. Rather
than confidence or determination, it carried only one thing . . .

Resignation.

Day 5

Chapter 19: Choice
and Consequence

Wall groaned
and brushed aside Derek’s efforts to wake him, but that just made him try
harder. Then something impacted his shoulder, causing him to wince.

“What did you
do that for?”

“It’s time to get
up big brother. We still have a war to win.”

Growling in frustration,
Wall heaved himself into a sitting position and blinked at Derek. “When do we
start winning, huh?”

Derek grinned
despite his tone and replied, “Of course we will win. Good always does.”

Muttering
under his breath, Wall stuffed a foot into a boot, trying to remember what day
it was. When he managed to string together the different days, he realized that
only four days had elapsed since the battle had begun.

It felt like much
longer.

“Are you ready
yet?” Derek asked, a trace of impatience in his voice.

“Why are you
so ready to fight?” Wall asked, annoyed at his own petulant tone. “We are lucky
to have survived this long—and who knows how long our luck will last. We could
be dead in an hour.”

Derek’s somber
expression eased the sudden anger Wall felt, but it couldn't dispel it so he looked
away. “I’m sorry. I just hate this . . .” For a moment he struggled, searching
for the right words until he shrugged helplessly.

“I know Wall,”
Derek said. “I do too—but something is different about today. I can feel it.”

Wall snorted.
“You think some rock trolls are going to show up and help us too?” The story of
the reinforcements had spread like wildfire late the previous day, inspiring
members of every battalion to stand firm.

“I don’t think
so,” Derek grinned, either not catching or ignoring his sarcasm. “But something
good will happen today, you mark my words.”

Before Wall could
respond, Derek slipped out of the tent on his way to the front line. Sighing, Wall
laced his boots and stepped into the sunlight, coughing as the lingering smoke
drifted past him. Rubbing his eyes against the irritating haze, he listened to
the sounds of soldiers preparing for battle, uncomfortably familiar. Catching
sight of the large retreating form of his younger brother, he sighed and
trudged to catch up.

His eyes down,
he worked his way through the sprawling encampment, heading towards the front
line. Although the screams of the dying black elves and humans grew louder, he
barely heard them. He’d heard it all before.

Soon he
reached the blackened scorch mark that had been a sea of fiery, burning oil
just two days ago. Over half a mile wide, it sloped downward to the soot
covered remains of the wall at the edge of the cliff. As before, fiends poured
over the crushed stones, howling for blood.

Wall stopped
to rub his eyes once more, grateful for the numbness that he felt, but at the
same time wishing he could feel something for the dying. Perhaps that would
make him more human.

Maybe he just
didn’t care anymore.

Derek, fifty
yards in front of him, had already begun laying out spears for the two of them,
readying them for their shift. With their diminished forces, many of the harder
hit commands had been consolidated, meaning the two of them were now posted
together. It was a small boon, but a welcome one. Sighing, Wall trudged his way
down the ash covered stone. Without him, Derek would get killed in a heartbeat.

Arriving next
to Derek, Wall reached for his first spear, ignoring the teasing comment from
Derek, and sought for his first target. In seconds he spotted a victim and took
up a position to throw. Yanking his arm forward, he launched the spear right on
target, smiling to himself as he saw it heading true—but the fiend was no
longer there.

At first he
thought he had missed, or that someone else had killed the same one. It
wouldn’t have been the first time. But then he realized that the other fiends
were dropping from view. One by one, they retreated back over the wall, until
not a single black body was in sight. Dark elves and humans alike looked at
each other in confusion.

“What is going
on?” Derek said beside him, echoing his thoughts. “Did we win?”

Wall shook his
head, unwilling to respond. Something didn’t feel right. The fiends had never
retreated before.

***

“The fiends
have pulled back, Commander,” Thacker said, his tone confused as he interrupted
Braon’s conversation with the head of the mage guild.

“What? Where?”
Braon asked, stepping to the map to see for himself.

“The Deep is
reporting that the fiends have retreated back over the wall.”

“Why would
they do that in the black elf garrison?” Telerial Sur’Magrian asked.

Braon gestured
for the archmage to continue working on the map, his attention focused on the
map before him. Please be wrong, he thought, working the magic to the
correct area and enhancing the view until the cliff came into view. Staring
into The Deep, named for the two hundred foot dip in the cliff, he saw the
remains of the wall that had once brought it to the same height as the plateau.
Red colored shapes were all withdrawing, leaving it clear.

Then Braon saw
it. Squinting, he saw that the vertical rock was not entirely barren. A
solitary figure worked its way up the cliff, and it was nearing the top.
Swallowing at the quick knot of fear, he ran through the possibilities.

War, high general
of the army they faced, had only been spotted once or twice. He doubted he
would go in alone. Was it Plague, who had already attacked the Lake Road, and
may have survived the crushing landslide? Or Famine, the last of the leaders of
the fiend army, who had been encountered by others before the battle but hadn’t
been seen since?

His gut said
it would be Famine. Furrowing his brow, he reviewed what Sirfalas, the
historian, had told him. Famine could be injured by normal weapons, but no
one had ever been able to get close enough.

Braon’s eyes
snapped open and saw that the figure was nearing the top. Wheeling to face
Thacker, he said. “Tell Val’Trisian to withdraw any and all infantry. Then post
all ranged soldiers—including magi—as far back from the wall as she can while
keeping them in range of the edge.”

***

Wall listened
to the order, irritated that his stomach grumbled as the sergeant turned away.
When had he last eaten? Taking up his proper position, he joined the large half
circle of archers, spearmen, and dark elf magi. Hefting his spear next to
Derek, he tried to ignore the gnawing pain in his belly.

But the hunger
did not go away.

Second by
second it got worse, until he couldn’t help but grimace. Embarrassed, he
glanced around and saw that everyone around him was clutching their bellies.
Suddenly someone collapsed, crying out in agony as he wrapped both arms around
his midsection so hard his arms went white.

In seconds,
other began falling, yanked to the ground by the aching want. Cries for food assailed
him from all sides, causing him to envision his favorite dishes. Images of
pies, meats, and roast pheasant floated through his mind, making the pain in
his belly increase. Unable to stay standing, he dropped his spear and doubled
over, gasping.

“What . . . is
that?” Derek panted beside him.

With an
effort, Wall raised his head to see a slim figure, shorter than a human, climb
carefully over the broken wall. Dry gray skin hung on the creature’s skeleton
like dirty cloth on a rod. Its stomach had shrunk so much that the entire
ribcage was visible. Moving awkwardly, it took two steps forward before
stopping—and then sucked a ragged breath in.

The pain in Wall’s
belly doubled and he dropped to the ground. The madness of hunger enveloped
him, and if he had had the strength he would have bitten into a block of wood.

“We have to
kill it!” Derek screamed, somehow managing to get the words out.

With supreme
will, Wall rolled on his side and saw Derek, stubborn, tender Derek, crawling towards
the creature.

“Are you . . .
insane!” Wall bellowed, fighting for breath. “We have to . . . get out
of here!”

Derek crumpled
to the ground. Looking back he yelled over the hundreds of screams, “Look
around you! Everyone is dying!”

“You want
to join them?” Sudden rage gave Wall strength to rise to his knees. “We
have to run!”

The pain
increased again, causing Wall to gasp and look at his stomach in disbelief. It
was shrinking! Gradually, his enormous girth had begun to melt away like snow
on a hot day. Oddly, the diminishing weight seemed to give him strength, and
for a moment he managed to look around.

His eyes
widened in horror.

Others had
begun to shrink too, but they had nothing to lose. Their skin sank inward,
their stomachs diminishing as if their belts kept tightening.

Panic engulfed
Wall, and his eyes sought Derek, but he had begun to crawl again—still moving
towards the horrific creature. “What are you doing!” Wall bellowed.

Derek didn’t
stop, his eyes fixed on his target fifty yards away. “Don’t you see! We can do
this!” His voice was distorted with aching pain, hope and determination. “We
are the only ones that can!”

Wall shivered,
frozen in fear as he watched Derek move closer, his body shrinking faster than
anyone else’s. Wall's eyes darted back and forth from his brother to the evil
fiend, gauging the distance. He’s not going to make it! he screamed
internally, unable to get the words out.

But I can.
The words came out of nowhere, shocking him so much that he almost forgot the
lancing hunger. I am bigger than Derek. I can do it. For one brief
glorious moment, he saw himself crawling after his brother and slaying the
creature.

In a flash he
remembered all the times that Derek had covered for him, had defended him. How
many times had Derek stepped forward in the face of a bully, ready to take a
beating to spare Wall? How many times had he talked to girls that Wall was too
afraid to approach? How many times had he fought for him, and had been bloodied
for it? Now was Wall's chance to make up for it. Now he could be the kind of
older brother that rescued his family.

And his size
would make that possible.

Never in his
life had he imagined a day where he could do something that others could
not—and do something heroic in the face of death. But today was his day, and all
he had to do was crawl fifty paces and strike down a frail fiend. Feeling a
rush of determination he crawled a few feet forward.

The pain
exploded for every inch he moved towards it. Looking ahead, he saw Derek had
passed the half-way point. How did he get so close! Wall moved one hand
closer, his hand shaking as he fought the ache.

But his
courage failed him.

Of its own
volition, his body turned and began to move away. For every painstaking,
crawling step in the opposite direction, his body felt better, but his heart
felt heavier. Soon he reached the line of dying archers and passed them,
gaining enough strength to stand. Hobbling, he took twenty steps until he could
breathe and turned around.

Somehow Derek
had managed to reach the thing, but, emaciated, he was no longer the brother Wall
had grown up with. Even from this distance, he saw the creature realize that
the human was too close, and it began to back away—but it couldn’t move fast
enough.

Drawing on
some well of strength, the once overweight man raised a trembling hand wielding
a glittering dagger. Even as his legs thinned and his body shrank, Derek
plunged the blade deep into the creature’s side.

A shriek of
pain exploded from the thing’s mouth at the same time as the hunger began to
diminish in Wall’s belly. Crumpling like scraps of deadwood, the creature
collapsed next to Derek’s inert form, slain.

The hunger
evaporated, leaving a dull ache in Wall's stomach. With a knot in his throat Wall
bolted forward, running past the surviving men and dark elves until he reached Derek's
side. In the pile of once tight clothing, he saw Derek's chest rising and
falling.

Wall lifted
his skeletally thin brother into his arms. “Derek, you still with me?” He
choked on the words.

After a
moment, Derek's eyes blinked open. “Did I do it?”

Wall laughed
through his tears. “You did, you saved us all.”

Derek smiled
and closed his eyes. Then he was gone.

In that moment
Wall knew—without a shred of doubt—that it had been his destiny to defeat the
hunger fiend. With his greater size he could have achieved what his brother had
done, and survived where Derek had not. That understanding evoked a pain unlike
anything Wall had ever experienced, causing his stomach to spasm as he fought
the racking sobs.

Then he looked
down and saw that his own body was like that of a normal man. He was no longer
overweight. Trim and muscular, he now carried the build of a warrior. But to
gain what Wall had desired most, his brother's life had been the price.

Because Wall
had failed to pay it.

“I’m sorry
Derek,” Wall whispered as he wept.

“I am so sorry
. . .”

***

Transfixed,
Braon watched the figure of Famine crumple to the ground, slain by the heroic
human. Even in the magic of the map, he could see the despair of the second human
as he cradled the body of his friend. Swallowing, he looked away, blinking as
he felt the wetness in his eyes. When he looked back, both the form of Famine
and the human slayer had gone dark, indicating their deaths.

Opposite
emotions swirled through him as he listened to the relieved cheers of those in
the room and the report of victory. The slaying of another of Draeken’s
generals marked a clear note of triumph in their defenses, yet his heart still
hung heavy at what he had witnessed.

How high
will the cost be? He found himself asking, wondering, if they somehow
managed to survive, would they ever be the same? Glancing at the enchanted
ceiling, he saw that it was just past noon on the fifth day of their battle. Only
two and a half days before it ends, he thought as a shiver ran down his
spine.

One way or
the other.

Shaking his
head, he re-focused his attention on the battle and took the chance to assess
their situation. The Deep desperately needed reinforcements, and he decided to
send the balance of the druids, and several of the giants to help. The giants
could provide some strength on the front line, and the druids could reinforce
both the cavalry and the ranged lines. He swept the map to the side while
reviewing the different shifts in his head. Finally satisfied, he ordered
Thacker to send the appropriate forces to The Deep, and moved on to the next
problem.

Time and
again, he resolved problems and closed breaches, still struggling to work
around the areas of the map that had gone dark. Shortly after noon, the battle
lulled, allowing him to place Newhawk in charge while he caught a few hours of
much needed rest.

Collapsing
onto the cot next to the map room, he instantly fell asleep. Brynn, daughter of
Thacker, appeared first in his dreams, only to die moments later as Braon
looked in the wrong direction. Then he saw her brothers and sister perish as
well, because he was not paying attention. Everyone died, because he always
looked the wrong way.

Last, they
came for him, and the fiends snarled in the darkness as they hunted him. He
looked skyward at the last rays of daylight, disappearing under the onslaught
of the endless night. It was the seventh day, and they had lost. Then he felt
them clawing into his shoulder and he screamed. . .

Jerking awake,
he nearly smashed his head into Newhawk. The scream died on his lips even as
the druid’s worried expression came into focus.

“I am sorry to
wake you, Braon, but we have a problem,” he said, his hand still gripping
Braon’s shoulder.

Braon nodded, alert
despite a gnawing headache, and he hurried to follow his second in command to
the map. Other soldiers and guards huddled close to the center of the map,
talking in hushed tones as he approached, and hey separated to make room for
him. The few things he overheard only magnified his sense of foreboding.

“Any idea what
that thing is?”

“ . . . not
like any of the others.”

“. . . did you
see it shrug off the magic? I don’t think it even affected it!”

Then the map
came into view, and Braon saw the lower sections of Azertorn magnified as far
as possible. The fluid sliver showed the elves firing arrows and magic at a
solitary hulking figure standing in front of the main gates to the city.

At first
glance he appeared to be similar to the kraka captains, but upon closer
inspection Braon saw that whereas the fiend captains wore bone armor, this
creature was covered head to toe in dark glimmering armor. Towering at twelve
feet, its helmet swiveled from side to side as it examined the main gate,
oblivious to the rain of arrows and magic bouncing off of him.

Braon could
not suppress the shudder when he realized who stood at their gates.

“Thacker, tell
them to stop wasting their arrows and magic, and pull anyone back from the
gates. Get them ready for battle,” he breathed, fear mounting in his chest.

“But how are
they going to get through—”

“Just do it!”
Braon said, and the intensity in his voice caused several around him to flinch.

Newhawk caught
his eye. “Who is it?” he asked. “Who is at the gates?”

Braon couldn’t
take his gaze off the massive armored fiend. “It’s War, general of Draeken’s
army.”

Gasps and
murmurs erupted from those in earshot of his exclamation, but Braon stood,
waiting for what he knew was about to happen. He didn’t have to wait long.

A moment later
War reached to his back and drew the biggest weapon that Braon had ever seen.
At well over seven feet in length, and almost two hands wide, it took his
breath away, even masked somewhat by the magic of the map. Braon didn’t doubt
that in person the blade would cause any man to freeze in terror.

War stepped
close to the doors, already crushed by thousands of blows. In a blur of strikes
and slashes, he attacked the gates. Wood splintered and shattered, stone
cracked and broke off, and when the dust settled, the doors boasted a ragged
hole, revealing the stone pillar that was the elves greatest defensive secret.

Collectively
the watchers in the map room sucked in their breath, but War didn't move. Then
his helmet tilted upwards and looked directly at them . . .

He knows
where I am! Braon thought, fear lancing through him as his anonymity was
stripped bare, leaving him with the cold realization that War knew who he was
fighting against—and that he was just a boy.

War seemed to
laugh as he sheathed his fearsome weapon. Then his fists struck the broken
gates with such force that the ground rumbled even in the map room, and the
stone cracked around the gates—including the secret entrances on either side of
the dark general.

War turned and
strode away as his army of fiends, hungry for blood, rushed in once more. In
seconds the hidden entrances to Azertorn were no more than pebbles, and black
forms flooded into the city.

Azertorn had
been breached.

Chapter 20: The Gates
of Azertorn

Deiran darted
through throngs of wounded elves in the packed corridor, bellowing for his
troops to allow him through. Shouldering through another knot of soldiers
carrying bundles of arrows, he turned and raced down the ramp that led to the
first hall of the elves at the base of Azertorn.

This cannot
be! His mind screamed as he sprinted under multiple portcullises and
several anchored strongdoors.

All around him
the tunnels stank of sweat and blood, and were so crowded with elven soldiers
that it made swift movement difficult. Some of the elves were returning from
their shift. Wounded and haggard, they moved slowest as they worked their way
to their bunks. Others hurried to replenish stores of arrows to the archers, or
to replace broken spears and damaged swords. Last, soldiers pushed their way in
the same direction he did, summoned by him to aid in the new battle echoing
below.

Threading
through another mass of soldiers he reached the bottom level of the city and
turned towards the main gates. Passing more and more gates and choke points, he
barreled his way into the First Great Hall. The sounds of furious battle
pummeled his ears as he slid past soldiers, weapons, and training circles on
his way to the front.

Before the
war, the First Great Hall had housed and trained the first legion of his army,
the finest regiment of battle trained elves in their kingdom. Shaped like an
oval, the great cavern was broken by an enormous pillar reaching over a hundred
feet to the ceiling. Like a natural turret, The First Pillar was the command
post for the First Legion.

Arcing out
from both sides of The First Pillar, a forty foot wall angled towards the back
of the cliff until it fused into the solid rock. Hundreds of elves massed on
the top of it, fighting for their lives as fiends flooded through the broken
gates of Azertorn. Exhausted soldiers were pulled from the wall to their
deaths, or torn apart when a fiend managed to get to the top.

Deiran’s jaw
tightened as he saw the slaughter, and he forced himself to pick up the pace.
Finally he reached the First Pillar and pushed his way inside. Spanning the
gap, a massive steel portcullis was the only route from the city gates. At two
hands in depth, the square bars of the barricade had always seemed like
overkill to him, but now their tremendous strength was the only thing keeping
the horde of black fiends at bay.

Siper dogs
howled and clawed at the lowest rungs, quare beat against it with their bare
hands—but the krakas were the ones doing the damage. Overcome with rage, the
fiend captains threw themselves at the steel wall, heedless of the long spears
being poked through at them. The wooden shafts snapped and elves were knocked
sprawling as each kraka collided with the barrier.

The resulting clang
reverberated throughout the chamber until it mingled with the cries of agony
and the clash of weapons. Deiran pulled up short, flinching as he saw his slain
elves.

Then Deiran
saw it, and his stomach shrank inside him, freezing with the utter terror of disbelief
. . .

Some of the
bars were starting to bend.

“General!” someone
shouted beside him, and he turned automatically to see one of his captains,
wild eyed and bloody. “We cannot hold them!”

Another echo
shattered through the First Pillar, and Deiran whirled to see another kraka
stepping back, its bone armor cracked, but it lunged against the bars again.

“General!” a
high pitched voice screamed in fear. The voice was young and human, and
suddenly Deiran remembered Daq. Spinning on his heel, he saw the small boy
racing towards him, his short legs struggling to catch up.

The sight of
the telepathic child galvanized Deiran into action, and he looked at his
captain. “Can you hold the wall?!”

The elf
hesitated, and then nodded, “For an hour at least, but this gate will not
hold!” He swept his hand in the direction of the portcullis, still ringing from
the last blow.

“Bring me
every water mage you can find, now!” He barked.

Daq appeared
by his side then, huffing with exhaustion, his face white with fear. “General
I—”

“Not now Daq!”
Deiran yelled, and grabbed a passing lieutenant. “Get Captain Lokan and get him
here now!”

He let go of
him and reached for a light mage that had just raced by. Snatching his cloak,
he spun him and pointed at the gate. “Buy us some time! Get as much light on
them as possible! It’ll make it harder for them to do as much damage! By Skorn,
blind them if you can!”

The elf
sputtered, shrinking back into his robe, “But I am just a second level—”

“Just do it!”
General Deiran bellowed into his face, causing him to flinch and nod.

***

Garol, second
level mage of the guild of light, turned away from the general, barely hearing
him continue to issue orders to anyone nearby. He looked at the gate, shaking
and trembling from each concussion by the enormous fiends. Swallowing, he
readied himself for what he had been asked to do.

Even at a
young age, he could do two of the three parts to magic with an ease that
astonished many master magi. His sight was accurate and perceptive,
allowing him to see and use light magic in all but the darkest of the rooms.
His Force, the second point on the triangle of magic, was also very strong,
giving him the ability to focus energy into tighter and tighter lines,
magnifying them into more powerful spells. But Control, the skill to direct his
magic, had always been his weakness.

That was the
reason he had been held back as a second-level mage, and the reason he had been
stationed underground instead of helping light the night on the surface.

He shook his
head, trying to ignore the snarling and roaring of the fiends less than twenty
paces in front of him. Concentrating, he fought to focus on the light in the
Pillar and the Great Hall. His eyes slipped into the sight, and he saw
the waves of energy that formed light. Praying that it would work, he began
tightening and bonding the beams of light together, weaving and angling them
together until almost all of them pointed through the gaps in the portcullis.

He hoped this
worked . . .

***

Deiran turned
as the area began to darken, and he caught sight of the light mage, gathering
the light from every available source. Shielding his eyes like everyone else,
he felt, rather than saw, the light intensify more and more until he felt it
burning through his eyelids.

Without
warning the light exploded, detonating with such force that it knocked elves
and fiends alike to the ground—but the elves had been shielding their eyes.
Deiran rose to his feet and blinked until the spots cleared. Flickering light
illuminated the lowest level of the First Pillar, and Deiran’s eyes sought the
iron wall.

The fiends had
risen to their feet, but were attacking anything and everything in reckless
abandon. Apparently they were all blinded, and without being able to
distinguish friend from foe, they attacked anything nearby.

Deiran fought
down an insane desire to laugh, and instead worked his way to the elven mage.
Reaching him, he rolled him onto his back and breathed a sigh of relief when
his eyes fluttered.

“I am sorry,” he
mumbled, “I have never been good at Control.”

Despite
himself, Deiran grinned. “This time, your Force and Sight made up for
it.”

The elf smiled
weakly and staggered to his feet before continuing on whatever errand he had
been on. Deiran snorted as he watched him go, and finally turned to Daq, who
had been tugging on his shirt for the last several minutes.

“What is it
Daq?” Deiran asked.

“Braon is
sending you some dwarven mages to help strengthen the wall,” he said in a small
voice. “He said to tell you to hold the First Hall until tonight—if you can.”

Deiran nodded,
remembering one of the conversations that he'd shared with Braon before the
war. Braon had told him that if the city was breached before the middle of day
six, the gathered races would not survive. Deiran’s reply had been a firm
belief that his army could hold the First Great Hall indefinitely.

Time to put
my faith to the test, he thought grimly, and turned to the small group of
water magi that had collected next to him.

Addressing the
one wearing a master’s knot, he said, “My troops can hold the wall for a while
longer, but the portcullis won’t last that long.” He pointed to the ominously
bent bars. “I need you six to keep them from breaking through.”

The master
looked dubious. “How do you suppose we are going to do that?”

Deiran pointed
to the four channels of water that drifted through the cavern, providing for
the needs of the army. “There is your source of power, use it. All four of the
streams channel through here and out through underwater holes in the cliff. You
can even pull in water for all I care. Just get enough water going
through the gaps in the gate to keep them from breaking it. Can you do it?”

The master
glanced between the gate, his journeymen, and the water channels. “We will try."

Deiran nodded,
“Then do it. Send a runner to find me if it looks like they are going to breach
it.” He looked at the fiends still fighting each other, and the ones pouring in
behind them. Soon the blind would be dead, and the attack would begin anew.
“Whatever you are going to do, do it quickly,” he said.

Leaving the
mages to their work, he caught sight of Captain Lokan, captain of the First
Legion. Striding towards him, he said to Daq. “Inform Commander Braon that the
first push has been repelled, and we should be able to hold until tonight, but
I doubt much longer than that. I am also coordinating a withdrawal into the
Second Great Hall. And remind him—

***

Braon sighed
and relaxed his shoulders, realizing that he had been tensing them, again.

“I can’t
believe General Deiran stopped them,” Thacker said from behind him, unknowingly
echoing his own thoughts.

“He said he
could do it. I just hope he can hold it for another two days. He’s already lost
a lot of his troops.”

Throughout the
rest of the day, he kept a close eye on the bottom of Azertorn, and Thacker was
hard pressed to funnel all the necessary information to him. The telepath had
already fallen asleep twice in the last hour during momentary lulls in
communication.

Braon wished
he could give him more sleep, but it was impossible. Too much depended on him.
Just today, Braon had seen and stopped over three score potential breaks, and
without Thacker, it would have been for naught. Glancing at him, asleep again
with his head tipped forward, he didn’t have the heart to wake him.

But a few
minutes later, Thacker snapped awake so fast that he nearly fell from his
chair. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, the fisherman said, “Deiran reports that
they are pulling back from the attack.”

Braon’s breath
caught and he swirled the map away from the Lake Road, grateful for the rock
trolls reinforcement of the crippled Lake Road. Reaching Azertorn he moved the
map subterranean until he once again looked at the First Great Hall. Fighting
the familiar sense of foreboding, he stopped the map and watched the fiends
pouring back out of the ruined level of the city.

“Did they
manage to break through the First Pillar?” he asked Thacker.

“Just a few
minutes ago,” the telepath replied in a tight voice.

Braon’s eyes
closed, his mind whirring, but no solution came to mind. Famine had been slain,
leaving only War, and Plague—if he was still alive. Plague had almost single
handedly destroyed the Lake Road on the first day. War had breached the city gates
in seconds. Braon had studied every scrap of parchment he could get his hands
on that mentioned Draeken’s  remaining generals—but nothing had so much as
mentioned a way to even hurt either one of them. He’d anticipated one of them
attacking the Lake Road, and he’d gotten lucky in The Deep with the overweight
soldiers. Now?  He could only hope and pray.

Within a
minute, the grotesque figure of Plague entered the area of the map, and slowly
worked his way alone towards the city. With an effort, Braon swallowed his despair
as the arrows and magic launched towards the figure, knowing it would have no
effect.

He hoped for
more luck.

He prayed for
a miracle.

Chapter 21: Council of
Fire

Over the last
day, Taryn had tried several times to talk to Siarra about the look she’d given
him, but each time she had managed to avoid him. Voicing his concern to Liri,
she shrugged it off.

“She’s
probably worried about you Taryn,” she had said, but deep down he knew it was
something else. Although he tried to convince himself it was nothing, he knew
what he’d seen. He’d seen that look before, on the elves that had fought the
assassin.

They knew they
were going to die.

After a long
night of fitful sleep, the thought persisted, and throughout day five he did
his best to keep himself occupied. With Siarra avoiding him, and Trin and Mae
off on their own, Taryn enjoyed the company of Liri, helping her to fashion
more arrows from a stockpile of hardwood shafts that had been gathered by
Captain Arrow’s men.

Taryn tried
not to feel anxious, but the day dragged slower than he would have thought
possible. On the other side of the world, he knew that thousands were dying
while he sat around doing nothing. It rankled to be stuck in such a fashion,
waiting on others, even though he knew it to be necessary.

More than
once, he found his thoughts turning to Braon, and he wondered how the boy was
faring at Azertorn. Were they even still alive? Siarra had made it clear the best
they could hope to last was seven days. What if Azertorn had already fallen?
Were their efforts in vain? Would the day of waiting cause them to be defeated?

The questions
bounced back and forth, attacking his struggling hope like ravenous dogs. Then
he would think to ask Siarra, reminding himself of the odd distance between
them. Only the presence of Liri by his side kept him from succumbing to the
pressure. So many lives were at stake, and all of them depended on their
success. Once again, he felt small and inadequate.

Working side
by side, Taryn and Liri said little during the tedious hours of waiting, with
both wrapped in their heavy thoughts. By the time a runner came in saying that
Royl had arrived, his frustration had neared the boiling point.

Arrow sent
Fisk to gather the others, and within minutes the six of them were following
the captain and his lieutenant on their way to the council chamber. Taryn slid
into the rear, feeling hurt by the way his sister was avoiding eye contact.
Doing his best to smile reassuringly at Liri, he pretended to look at the
village around them.

Turning down a
side path, Arrow led them into a smaller chamber set to the side of the main cavern.
Bowl shaped, its only decoration was a roaring fire in the center of the room.
Besides the guards, two fire giants stood next to it. As their party neared
them, it became obvious who was the clan leader. Dressed in the same breeches
and tunic as the others, he also wore a necklace and bracers forged from a sort
of red metal that shimmered and reflected the firelight. His gaze carried an
intensity and fierceness that mirrored the great fire next to him.

Taryn was
surprised to note that as they approached the fire, it did not give off any
more heat than any other piece of furniture, and he wondered if it was an
illusion. Arriving next to the two giants, he looked upward at their twenty foot
stature, grateful for their friendship. He didn’t want to imagine what it would
be like if they were enemies.

Royl spoke
first, and addressed Arrow. “Captain, lieutenant, I hope you are well.”

Arrow gave a
curt bow. “King Royl, I am glad to see you are safely back. Did you discover
anything new?”

“As we
suspected, the army of Draeken is no longer growing. There has been no further
movement of fiends exiting the fortress.”

Arrow nodded
and swept his hand at the rest of them. “This is Siarra Elseerian, the Oracle
of Lumineia, Taryn, her brother, Trin, Jack, and then Liriana and Maemi of the
elves of Azertorn. They have come to destroy Draeken.”

Royl stood for
several seconds, shifting to look at one, and then another. When he met Taryn’s
gaze, Taryn felt as if he were looking into a firestorm of anger and suppressed
rage. Last his eyes came to rest on Siarra. Without a word, he reached into the
fire next to him and withdrew a large fireball. Then he tossed it to Siarra.

With a ghost
of a smile, Siarra caught the ball deftly and juggled it for a moment before
bouncing it back to Royl. With a flick of the wrist, he deflected it back into
the flames. Tossing his black hair out of his eyes, he said. “I see you know
fire magic, at least, but an oracle is supposed to be able to do much more. The
subsequent look he gave Siarra caused her lips to tighten.

Reaching
towards the flames, she called a fireball back into her hands. Tossing it high,
it began to take the shape of a man, and then began to grow. Striding towards
the fire giants, it swelled to match their own stature until it came to a halt
ten feet from the king. Siarra’s outstretched hand abruptly clenched, and a
blast of freezing air swirled towards the flaming shape. In less than a second,
the liquid flames froze solid. The ice giant lasted for only an instant before
a pillar of stone plunged from the ceiling and crushed it, shattering the ice
into thousands of glittering shards.

Taryn flinched
at the sudden impact, and watched Royl’s eyes narrow as the pillar slowly rose
back into the ceiling. For a moment, the scraping of the rock as the spike
withdrew was the only sound.

When Royl
spoke, Taryn was surprised at the cordial tone. “You must forgive my doubt. In
these dark times I must be certain you are who you say you are.”

Siarra’s head
tilted upward. “Satisfied?”

For the first
time, the giant smiled and turned to the giant next to him. “I am. Cadel, do you
doubt her claim?”

The second
giant shook his head and his lips twitched. “I believe that was sufficient . .
. encouragement to believe.”

Royl returned
his gaze to Siarra, his expression unconvinced. “How do you think the few of
you can slay Draeken, or even get past the fiend army that is blocking the
way?”

Siarra lifted
her hands and light began to bend, drawing together and forming the model of
Xshaltheria once more. “Before I answer your question, can you help fill in
some gaps?”

Royl, his eyes
on the model, nodded.

Siarra stepped
forward and pointed to the city itself, hanging inside the volcano. “Can you
describe the inside of the city in greater detail? Also, can you explain exactly
where Draeken is imprisoned?”

Royl gave a
sweeping gesture towards the citadel. “As you have there, the entire city
inside is suspended by three chains. Each chain is the strongest material I
have ever seen forged, and is magically re-enforced in a way that I doubt even
you can break.”

Cadel
chuckled. “We tried to break them as we were being forced out, but our magic,
even united, had no effect.”

Siarra
furrowed her brow, considering their words. “The ancient dwarves who built the
city obviously did not want their city to fall into the molten rock. I would
guess the chain draws strength from the stone of the mountain. Any attempt to
break it only causes it to draw energy from the mountain to fortify itself.”

Cadel gave a
harsh bark of laughter. “The mountain is very large.”

“Exactly,”
Siarra said, shaking her head. “I believe you are right. Dropping the city
won’t occur unless something dissolved the magic—which can only happen by
something stronger than the power that created it. Perhaps if we had the entire
dwarven population here . . .” She swept her arms out. “Tell me about the
interior.”

Royl bent to
examine the model, and Siarra made a hand gesture that caused the castle to
grow. Satisfied, the giant king spoke, “The interior of the city is formed of
levels. There is a hollow column through the center of all of them, extending
from the very top, to the bottom. My father said that the dwarves placed it so
excess heat from the volcano was drawn upward and out. It is the only thing
that keeps the temperature in the city livable.”

He stabbed a
finger towards the top tier. “The top level was once fortifications and
training areas, and also houses many fiends. The next few levels are almost
exclusively private quarters and kitchens. The fifth tier is a large bowl that
at one time was the dwarven great hall. The next four levels contain thousands
of individual forges. The last level is the one where Draeken was found. It was
not discovered until recently.” A sad smile creased his features, making the
giant appear old.

“Where is the
entrance to his chamber?” Siarra asked.

Cadel stepped
forward with a glance towards the king. “The entrance is through a great stone
arch on the ninth level. The stone under the archway is merely an illusion. On
the other side is a short path that leads to an overlook. Although I did not
enter the chamber myself, my father told me that the ledge looks down on a
perfect circle of stone. Fifty feet across, it had no railing or obvious
support. The walls of the pit are at least ten human paces away from the edge
of the stone circle. Between them, the molten lava is visible below. By its
location, I would say the circle looks up the hollow column to the sky above.
We do not know the original purpose of the chamber.”

“It’s a prison,”
Jack said, his expression hard. “The best I have ever heard of. From inside,
you would be surrounded by air, too far to jump to the pit wall, which I would
wager is smooth. Any attempt to escape would result in falling into the lava beneath
it.”

Liri flashed a
wry smile. “It seems fitting. Draeken was chained inside the greatest prison
devised by the mortal races.”

“Where in the
pit is Draeken?” Taryn asked, watching Siarra alter the map to fit the new
information.

“As I was
told, he is chained to the wall directly across from the entrance. The portal
that brought the fiends into this world was next to him.”

Siarra nodded,
absently twisting her fingers to place Draeken on the map. Furrowing her brow,
she asked. “If the fiends in the valley were occupied, and the ones on the
outer battlements were lured down to join them, could your forces distract the
fiends within the city?”

Royl scratched
his chin for a moment before replying. “Yes, but not for long unless we drew
them out of the city and into a trap. Even within the city there are too many
for us.”

Siarra's
eyebrows knit together, her eyes flicking to Taryn, causing him to feel a sense
of dread creep down his spine and settle in his stomach.

Squaring her
shoulders she said, “I propose a three pronged attack. The first will draw the
fiends into the valley, leaving the outer battlements and the road clear.” She
pointed towards the road. “A small group will then do whatever it takes to rig
that section of the road to fall, sealing the fiends in the valley. The next
attack will be the fire giants, striking at the city and drawing them out. Last
of all, Taryn and Liri will attempt to slip into the city unnoticed while the
fiends are distracted.”

Royl had
folded his arms, his expression dubious. “How are we supposed to get to the
city? The surface is too risky, and the tunnels were dropped behind us.”

“I will clear
the tunnels,” Siarra said.

Cadel frowned
at her. “There must be five hundred paces of broken rock—”

“I will clear
the tunnels,” she exclaimed, tilting her chin upward.

“Supposing you
can get us back into the tunnels," Royl said, raising a hand, "that
still leaves the forces in the valley. What could possibly draw them out?”

Siarra's eyes
narrowed. “Me,” Siarra said simply.

Chapter 22: Plan of
Sacrifice

“But that’s
suicide!” Taryn exploded.

“I know what
it means,” Siarra said turning to him. “But there is no other way.”

“There has to
be another way!” Taryn said, struggling to keep the desperation from creeping
into his voice.

“If I take the
tunnel to the center of the valley, I can take them by surprise,” she said, her
tone firm. “I can hold out long enough for you to get into the city.”

“Blast it,
Siarra,” he burst out. “That will bring every fiend down on you . . .” Taryn
couldn’t finish it as the realization of what she was suggesting sunk in. He
felt like he was losing his mind. Why wasn’t anyone else speaking up? Did
anyone even care about her? The hardest part was that even he would admit it
gave them a chance.

“I have to do
this Taryn,” she said, her soft tone drawing him in, making him feel like they
were the only two people in the room.

“Siarra, you
can’t . . .” Taryn said, his voice thick with emotion.

“It must be
done, Taryn,” she replied. “The only thing that matters is destroying Draeken.
Whatever else happens, you must defeat him.”

“What does
victory matter, if you lose everything you fight for?” He bit the words off as
he turned away, unable to look at his sister any longer. Doesn’t she
understand? I spent my whole life hoping to find my family, only to lose it in this
cursed war! Rage, frustration, and sadness swept through him, crashing over
him until he couldn’t stand it any longer. Turning on his heel, he strode out
of the room. Stepping out the door, he turned and leaned against the wall,
taking several deep breaths in an attempt to steady his emotions.

Hearing
footsteps approaching from inside the chamber, he bolted. Running as hard as he
could, he raced through the village, threading his way towards the human camp.
The minute he reached it, he ran straight up the wall and grasped a rough piece
of stone. Scaling the wall, he made his way to the roof and crossed it. A quick
glance revealed a ledge on the cavern wall another twenty feet up. Without
hesitation, he climbed.

Reaching the
small ledge, he pulled himself onto it and scooted back until his back rested
against the cavern wall. With nowhere else to go, he tipped his head back and
fought the wave of emotion.

How could
she do this to me? His mind screamed. I spent my life searching for my
family and she is just going to die! Anger, pain, and loss swept through
him, so bitter it left his chest aching. Again and again he fought to gain
control of his feelings, until finally the wracking hurt began to dissipate,
only to be replaced by a deep, numbing sadness.

There was no
other way. Any way he looked at it, there was no way they could be
victorious—not in the time they had, and not with the resources available. In
all reality, few of them were likely to survive anyway, and he would probably
join his sister in death. Death is the reward for heroes. The thought
was so harsh he swallowed and clenched his fists.

It just didn’t
seem fair, and despite himself, he took another look at the fortress that was
their target. Imagining every detail, examining every corner, he desperately
sought for anything they had overlooked, anything that would keep his sister
alive. There had to be something they hadn’t seen, or a different strategy that
no one had thought of . . .

It took over
an hour for him to give up, his mind buzzing and the aching sadness threatening
to burst. Looking downward in frustration, he viewed the underground city,
still bustling with signs of the fire giant way of life. Pinpoints of light lit
up the great cavern, and the large figures of soldiers, mothers, and young
giants moved through the city with a purpose. Everywhere he looked he saw
family, united and close. Did he have to lose his family so others could keep
theirs? Was that the price of victory?

Movement
caught his eye, and he turned to see a slim female elf climb onto the roof.
Slowed by the bundle hanging on her back, she stopped to look around. Her gaze
searched in vain and it appeared she was confused, but then her eyes lifted and
searched higher. It didn’t take long for Liri to spot him.

Even from his
ledge, he could see the triumphant smile flash across her features as she moved
in his direction. Taryn sighed and leaned back on the ledge. A large part of
him didn’t want to talk to anyone, but a small piece felt grateful it was Liri.
The two parts warred, holding him fast long enough for Liri’s pretty face to appear.

“Give me a
hand, would you?” she said, her tone light.

Reaching out,
he grasped her outstretched hand and pulled her onto the ledge. With the grace
of her race, she slid into a seat next to him, unstrapping the bundle on her
back. Untying it, she began to withdraw a large mug of fire ale, and two meat
sandwiches.

“I thought you
might be hungry,” she said, picking up her own sandwich and leaning back.

An easy
silence stretched between them until Taryn relented and picked up the offering.
Liri said nothing while they ate, but he felt warmed by the touch of her slim
shoulder on his. By the time he finished eating, he felt ready to talk. Taking
a swig of the burning liquid, he said, “I just don’t understand, Liri. It isn’t
fair.”

She nodded,
her expression thoughtful. “I know Taryn.” Her fingers slid up his arm,
entwining with his.

For the next
several minutes his anger got the best of him, but she only ate while he
seethed. When his feelings had run their course, he fell silent, ashamed of his
behavior, yet grateful for the chance to voice his thoughts.

Liri waited,
her expression patient and full of concern. After a few moments she asked,
“Feel better?” When he nodded, she added, “When we left Azertorn, I felt the
same way you do now.”

Surprised at
her comments, he spun to face her. “What do you mean? Azertorn was the only
safe . . .” He stopped when he realized what she meant.

She gave him a
faint smile. “The entire fiend army was on its way to my homeland, and I was
leaving. There was no way to know if anyone will survive the assault, least of
all my sisters or mother.” She took a deep breath and looked away. “They are
too strong-willed to back down. Although they are healers, they will fight to
the last breath.” She finished the statement in barely a whisper.

“Just like
Siarra,” Taryn said, understanding lighting his tone. “So what made you come
with me?”

Her gaze met
his, her blue eyes glistening. “Because I love you Taryn.”

Taryn was
stunned, and it took him several moments to respond. “You . . . love me?”

Her lips
tugged into a familiar smile. “Yes Taryn.”

Like lightning
to his mind, he saw all the things Liri had done for him, or said to him. All
the sideways looks, all the soft expressions, all of them flashed through his
mind in a deluge of happy moments. She had always been there for him,
encouraged him when he needed it, raised him up when he was weak, and given
advice when he didn’t know what to do. She had helped him find Siarra, and had
risked her life on countless occasions to protect him. In that sudden, glorious
second, he realized he couldn’t imagine his life without her.

“I love you
too Liri,” he said, the words coming out clear and strong, reflecting the
glowing he felt in his heart.

She grinned
and scooted closer, snuggling into his chest. “I thought so,” she murmured.
“But you made it hard to be sure.”

He chuckled
and gently moved her golden hair behind her pointed ear. “I’m sorry about that.
I never was good at figuring women out.”

She burst out
laughing and sat up. Reaching around his neck, she kissed him soundly, causing
his heart to accelerate and heat to flood his frame. When they parted, she
said, “I’m just glad you finally figured it out.”

“Me too,” he
chuckled, pulling her close so her head rested against his chest. “But I
couldn’t have done it without you.”

For several
minutes the two sat, relishing the closeness. But the moment could only last so
long, and Taryn found his mind returning to the dilemma ahead of them.

“What happened
after I left?”

She gave a
deep sigh before responding. "You missed Jack's tirade."

He arced an
eyebrow.

"He just
exploded," she said, her lips twitching into a grin. "Yelling that
Siarra couldn't do it, that is wasn't right. She wouldn't budge, so he fell
silent. But you should have seen the anger on his face. He was livid.

"After
that Royl accepted the plan, and they began discussing specifics. At first,
Jack was adamant about going with Siarra, but she argued that she would fight
much better alone. In the end, he insisted to be included with the group that drops
the road after the army leaves the citadel. Apparently, the fire giants that
found us in the trap are the best of the clan with machines, and the two of
them are going with Jack to drop the bridge.

"Once the
plan was in motion we separated to prepare. Captain Arrow and his men set off
to gather their gear. Trin and Mae disappeared, and last I heard Jack and
Siarra were still fighting." She cocked her head to the side and grinned.
"They are such an odd pair. The entire world trusts her—and distrusts
him."

He let out a
bark of laughter and asked. “What about Trin and Mae? Where are they going?”

“The two of
them are going with us into the city. There is a single doorway that leads to
the bottom two levels. If we can make it that far, they will watch our back
while we go further.”

“Why won’t any
giants come with us?” Taryn asked, confused. “I’m sure we could use their
help.”

Liri shifted
to face him. “Because the route we are going to take isn’t possible for the
giants.” Using her hands to demonstrate, she shaped the hanging city and
pointed at the three chains that held it. “Under each chain is a secret path,
designed as an escape route for the dwarves. It’s tall enough for a human . .
.”

“. . . but not
a giant,” Taryn finished, imagining a giant trying to squeeze onto such a path.

She grinned
back at him. “After the fiends in the outer fortifications are drawn down into
the valley, the rest of the giants will strike the city, attacking it from all
three approaches. Once they have the city forces occupied, the four of us will
take the escape path to get in. It will then be up to us to find Draeken. When
we reach the door to the lower levels, Trin and Mae will hold it in case they
discover our presence.”

“What about
you?” Taryn asked with a light smile.

“What did you
expect? Of course I go with you.”

He forced a
smile, his throat tightening as the image of her dead on the steps flashed
across his mind. In his gut he knew those steps were in Xshaltheria. He felt a
sudden urge to ask her to stay behind, but then he realized he would have to
admit what he had seen. Afraid to say he had lied, he asked, “And Captain Arrow?”

“They will
follow us as far as the chain, and help us clear any remaining fiends in the
shorter tunnels. Then they will hold position there, preventing any from
following our trail. Royl expects there to be enough fiends that a rear guard
will be necessary, and it was decided they needed to keep them from coming in
behind us. As an added precaution, two fire giants are being sent to seal the
other escape paths. Our way in will be our only way out.”

He sighed, and
finally asked what he knew they were both avoiding. “What about Siarra?”

“All of us
will go to the parting of the tunnels together," she said, her tone quiet.
"From there we will separate, with each of us going on different paths.
Trin and Mae will go with the two of us on the eastern route to where it enters
the city. Jack and the two engineers will take the southern corridor to where
it intersects with the road. Then the fire giants will ascend to the surface to
play their part. Last, Siarra will use the western tunnel . . . alone.”

Taryn blew out
his breath. “There is no other way, is there?”

She shook her
head, her eyes somber. “I don’t think so, and I know Siarra wouldn’t have
suggested her part if she could think of anything else.”

“That’s
true.”

“Besides,” she
said, her eyebrows rising, “we aren’t likely to survive anyway.”

Taryn couldn’t
help the laugh from bursting out of him. Then the image of her death once again
cooled his thoughts. Looking into the eyes of the person he loved, he vowed to
never leave her alone on those steps.

“Let’s go find
Siarra,” he said. “I should spend some time with her before we go.”

Liri nodded, a
soft smile playing across her features. “The fire giants will be preparing all
night. If we leave by early morning, it is half a day's journey to where the
tunnel is caved in. The intersection is only a short distance beyond that.”

Taryn took a
deep breath and let it out slowly. “So tonight we prepare and tomorrow we get
into position. Then we strike on the morning of the seventh day.”

Liri’s smile
became sad. “Then the war will end . . . one way or the other.”

Day 6

Chapter 23: Healing

“Loose a
volley from the longbows,” General Deiran ordered, squinting at the diseased
figure of Plague coming towards them, “And summon more magi.”

“Its power is
stronger at close range general,” Daq’s voice said, his youthful voice
betraying his fear as he passed on Braon’s message. “So keep your infantry
back.”

Deiran nodded
without looking at his Link. He’d heard about what the fiend general had done
to the Lake Road. He hoped they would have greater luck today.

The massive
portcullis at the base of the First Pillar had given way a few minutes ago, and
shortly afterward the fiend army had withdrawn. He suppressed a shudder. The
only reason he could think to withdraw once you had breached a citadel . . .
was because you had something worse to send in.

The nausea had
already begun, even with him standing a hundred paces from the revolting fiend.
Forcing bile down, Deiran watched as a wave of arrows streaked towards it.
Barbed shafts pummeled the figure, with not a single miss from the renowned
elven archers.

Plague came to
a halt when the first arrow struck, waiting until the last one entered his
flesh. In the silence that followed the shrunken form shook itself as if
shedding a heavy cloak, and the arrows slid free. The clatter of them falling
to the floor echoed throughout the cavern, and a moment later Plague resumed
his slow pace forward. Reaching the shattered portcullis, he stepped through.

“Braon said
the arrows wouldn’t work,” Daq said.

“I know,” Deiran
replied, swallowing against his churning stomach. “But it was worth a try.”
Turning to another elf beside him, he said, “Have the water and light magi hit
it with everything they have. Then order all infantry to retreat behind the
next gate.”

The captain
nodded and slipped out of view. A few seconds later a line of mages hurried to
the front of the line. A moment later light and water exploded from every
direction. Bright light beamed and focused, striking the fiend until it almost
disappeared. Water drawn from the small streams narrowed and picked up speed,
rising into the air and streaking towards the light enveloped figure. As the
water tightened, its power increased dramatically. Deiran knew from experience
that such a powered beam of water could cut stone.

Powered water
sliced into the figure at the same moment the light magic diminished, and
Deiran unshielded his eyes to watch. Focused water lanced through the figure,
splitting its flesh with ease. Guided by the powerful mages, the water beams crisscrossed
Plague until the cavern streams sunk low in their carved channels.

Deiran held
his breath, both to fight the nausea and in hope as he saw Plague stumble from
the great gashes in his form. A cheer rose from the ranks of elves as the
creature fell onto his hands and knees. The attack had caused its skin to
mottle even more, and some of the sores on his skin had burst, causing yellow
pus to trickle down its skin.

A moment later
the cheering died as Plague began to rise. He climbed to his feet, whole once
more, albeit with yellow scars where the water had cut him. Deiran felt his
heart stutter to a stop when the figure began to walk toward them again.

Numbly he
issued orders to have everyone fall back to the tunnels. Blocked by many
strongdoors, gates, and other barriers, the corridors were designed to defend
the retreating elves until they reached the Second Great Hall, situated
directly above the first. He only hoped it would slow Plague enough for Braon
to think of something.

He fought the
wave of sadness that washed over him as he called for a full retreat, glancing
back one more time at the advancing figure of the disease riddled fiend . . .

Then Plague
stopped and made a motion with his hand in his direction. Confused, Deiran
stopped and opened his mouth to speak to Daq—but then he looked at the young
telepath. The small boy lay shivering and clenching his stomach. His forehead
burned red with fever, and his skin had darkened.

In an instant
Deiran understood three things. Plague knew who Daq was, and what he could do.
He was also targeting him specifically—and that if nothing happened, the boy
would die.

He didn’t
hesitate.

Before he’d
consciously had the thought, he stepped between Plague and the dying youth—and
immediately felt the brunt of Plague’s attack. His stomach heaved as he dropped
to his knees, vomiting. Heat blossomed throughout his skin, searing his arms to
the point of blistering. In seconds his vision began to darken and spot red.

Arms reached
for him, attempting to pull him out of danger but with a bellow of rage he
shook himself free. “Get the boy out of here!”

Feverishly he
struggled against their grip, until finally he caught sight of Daq being rushed
away by several elves. His small form hung limp, but the color had returned to
his face. A surge of triumph flashed through him, knowing he had thwarted the
evil fiend’s design—but the prolonged effect of the disease magic had taken its
toll.

His strength
waned, leeched away by the encroaching darkness, overcoming his sense of
victory. Fevered and sore, coughing and retching, Deiran succumbed.

His last
thoughts were of his wife and unborn child.

***

“That thing
nearly killed Daq!” Thacker shouted. “What are—”

“—Stop,” Braon
said, hating himself for not having the time to comfort a worried father. “I
know you are worried about your son, but if we don’t act fast the entire city
will be lost.”

“But—”

“Not now!”
Braon said, forcing an edge into his voice, hating himself even more when he
saw the fisherman’s wounded expression. “We have to know what is going
on.”

The telepath
almost didn’t answer, but after a moment his shoulders slumped. “All I caught
were images of Deiran stepping in front of Daq right before he lost
consciousness.” His voice carried no emotion, and Braon almost winced at the
curt tone.

“Send a
message to Reiquin to wake up Newhawk and tell him to get down there.” He
paused, seeing the crestfallen expression on the man. Although he could never
admit it, he knew how he felt. Without a Link, especially in the city, they
would be vulnerable. He also hated the fact that he was more concerned with the
war than his friend’s son.

Then a thought
occurred to him and he asked aloud, “Who is our best healer that is close to
Daq?”

At the same
time, Rokei and several other soldiers answered, “Aléthya.”

Braon caught Thacker's
eye and allowed a small smile. “Have Newhawk and Reiquin pick her up on the
way.”

Thacker’s lip
began to quiver and wetness to gather around his eyes, but Braon turned away,
unable to bear it. Biting his lip against the overwhelming emotion, he swept
the flickering map from one end to the other. Unfortunately, Azertorn was not
the only hole in their defenses.

Their line was
buckling.

And the enemy
knew it.

***

“Aléthya!” someone
shouted, their tone laced with alarm.

She looked up
from the soldier she had just healed, surprised. She had just awakened from
some much needed sleep, even if it was only four hours.

“You are
needed immediately!” the voice said, and she finally managed to see a blue
armored soldier standing in the doorway, craning to spot her in the overflowing
room.

She glanced at
Taneel, sensing his eyes on her, but he just shrugged.

Sighing, she
stood and worked her way through the room until she stood in front of him. “Call
me Thia—.”

Without a
word, he grabbed her arm and yanked her into the darkened street. Annoyed at
the rough treatment, she began to wrench her arm free—but then she saw the
phoenix. Massive and shimmering red, the bird stood as large as a dragon and
just as fearsome. Sparks flew from his wings and tail, and when he tossed his
head, flames arced down his back, passing around the single passenger.

Before she
could ask what was going on, the solder thrust her towards the bird, and a
moment later the druid known as Newhawk yanked her up to sit behind him. The
next moment, the phoenix dropped from the ledge and glided over the once
beautiful gardens at the base of Le Runtáriel.

Seeing their
destination to be a door leading to the Second and First Great Halls, she
blurted, “Couldn’t we have just walked? It’s not very far.”

“No time,” he
shot back. “A fiend called Plague entered the city. He attacked one of our
Links.”

Despite
herself, she asked, “Who?”

“One of the
telepaths we have been using to communicate with Commander Braon.”

“Oh.”

“He’s only
eight.”

“Oh,” she
said. “Then take me to him.”

He glanced
back at her with a weary grin. “We are on the way now.”

Then the
enormous bird back winged and landed next to the open door. In another instant
they had dismounted and were hurrying into the crowded tunnels. On every side,
injured elves huddled or lay sleeping, leaving thin walkways in the once broad
corridor.

Aléthya
swallowed at the sudden catch in her throat. Her people littered the ground,
injured and suffering. Trapped in her tavern-turned-healer-station, she had
almost forgotten the enormity of how many were suffering. With an effort she
fought the mad desire to rush to each one and heal them. There were simply too
many. Focusing instead on the boy she was being sent to aid, she asked, “What
have the other healers already done?”

“I don’t
know,” he said, pulling her through a door and picking up speed as they began
the descent towards the First Great Hall.

“Have they
tried to—?”

“I don’t
know!” he said, but his voice was more worried than irritated. He glanced
back at her. “I know just as much as you. We are being sent down to help. You
to heal the boy, me to assume temporary command until Keiko or Lokan can get
here.”

Temporary
command? . . . “Does that mean that General Deiran . . .?”

His glance
said it all, and she would have stopped in her tracks if she hadn’t been pulled
by Newhawk. Deiran had been a legendary general, and his fall would be a great
loss for the elven people. Then they reached the bottom of the lowest cavern
and Newhawk turned down a corridor that led to the First Great Hall. Despite
their haste, they both pulled up short at the sight before them.

Two hundred
paces down the straight corridor, a portcullis barred the way. Although not as
thick as the one in the First Pillar, it still presented a formidable block to
the solitary figure on the other side. Ragged and revolting, Plague oozed green
and yellow from several sores, and its head looked squashed, like a vegetable
that had been left in the sun. Its skin blotched black and faded yellow, and it
stood as if it was about to collapse.

A tug on
Aléthya’s arm pulled her from looking at the figure behind the gate, and she
turned to see Newhawk looking at her, his skin tinged green as he swallowed.
“They didn’t want to move him too far. He is two doors down on the right.” He
pointed to the correct door and began to move towards it.

She opened her
mouth to ask what was wrong, but then realized that every soldier around her
had the same symptoms. White hands clasped their weapons, or clenched their
midsection. With an iron will, others suppressed the convulsions that led to
vomiting, but the smell led her to believe that some had not succeeded. Still
others coughed and their foreheads burned red with fever.

Working her
way past them, she asked, “What is wrong with them?”

Newhawk
pointed down the corridor. “It’s one of the generals of Draeken, and he uses
disease as a weapon.” His arm swept across the corridor, indicating an
invisible line a hundred paces from the creature. Not a single elf stood past
it. “Proximity seems to enhance its power.”

Before she
could ask more, she was ushered into a side room that she recognized as one of
the First Legion’s quarters. Small and square, it carried a weapon rack, some
shelves and a bed on either side with a large trunk against the wall. Several
figures huddled around a small child shivering under several blankets.

Without
hesitation she swept to his side, brushing aside three elves in ornate blue
armor. “Has a healer already looked at him?”

“Three,” one
elf said.

She glanced
at him, recognizing him vaguely as Captain Loken, captain over the first
legion.

He shrugged,
his features tight with concern. “Each said the same thing. His strength is
waning and they could do nothing.”

Her lips
tightened. “We shall see,” she said, but before she could begin a loud echo of
metal striking metal reverberated through the hallway. As one they glanced
towards the door. Both Newhawk and Loken stepped to the opening and looked down
the corridor. Another gong echoed, and then another while the two had a quick
conversation that she only caught snatches of.

“. . . a kraka,
even larger than normal.”

“I know, and
too far for arrows. We can’t get close enough to . . .”

Newhawk shook
his head. “Curse that thing!”

“. . . have to fall back again.”

“. . . only take a few minutes for it to
break through . . .”

Between the
echoes of the beast striking the gate, Aléthya turned back to the boy and
touched his burning forehead. Taking a deep breath she whispered, “See you in a
minute kid.”

Then she began
to transfer the disease into herself.

At first it
wasn’t too bad, not unlike the colds she had healed—but it quickly became
worse. Enhanced by evil magic, the disease latched onto her with a tenacity
that astonished her. Seeping throughout her body, it cramped her muscles to the
point of snapping, clenched her stomach until she would have vomited if there
had been anything in her stomach, and clouded her vision as her head began to
heat.

Finally her
healing power launched a counter-assault, and the blessed coolness flowed
through her like a wellspring of clean water, washing every bit of the sickness
away. Her eyes fluttered open and she eased herself to a sitting position,
rubbing her forehead where a dull ache refused to diminish.

“Are you
alright?” a timid voice said, and she turned to see the small boy looking at her
with innocent eyes.

She smiled,
causing him to flush. “I’ll be fine. You?”

His brow
furrowed as he thought about it. “I think so, but I am hungry.”

She laughed,
noticing for the first time that only Newhawk still stood at the door, looking
down the corridor with a worried expression.

“Newhawk?” she
called, rising to her feet.

He turned and
glanced at her, then did a double-take when he saw the boy sitting up. “Daq!
Are you alright?”

“Can I get
something to eat?” Daq asked plaintively, but his question only made Newhawk
laugh.

“How long was
I out?” Aléthya asked.

“Nearly ten
minutes,” he replied, his tone relieved. “But the other soldiers told us not to
worry.”

Then she
realized the ringing had stopped and she felt a trickle of fear ease down her
spine. “What is going on?”

He sighed and
glanced down the corridor again, but didn’t poke more than his head out before
jerking it back.

“The kraka
managed to knock a hole in the gate a few seconds ago, just before it
collapsed. Plague is climbing through right now.”

She nodded
with understanding. “No doubt the fiends have a resistance to the disease
magic, but not an immunity.”

Newhawk
blinked at her, surprise and understanding written on his features, but before
he could say anything Daq spoke first.

“Commander
Braon wants to know if everyone has been pulled back behind the next gate.”

Newhawk
nodded, glancing down the corridor apprehensively. “Yes, but we should get
going. We didn’t want to move either of you without knowing the impact. Now
that you are awake . . .”

“We should move,”
Aléthya said.

He gave her a
small smile, the worry on his face making him look aged. “Now would be best.”

They gathered
their things and stepped into the corridor. A hundred paces behind the next door,
the elves had withdrawn once more, keeping their distance. Two elves remained
behind, ready to close the gate as soon as they passed through.

Newhawk and
Daq hurried through the door, but just as Aléthya reached the portal she paused
and looked back at the repulsive figure. Twisted and diseased, Plague climbed
through the ragged hole in the portcullis, intent on its advance. Unbidden, the
faces of all the elves she had healed—or had died before she could—flashed
through her mind. Deep inside her a spark of anger blew into a fire. As she
remembered more faces, it became an inferno of rage, directed at the creature
just beginning to walk towards her.

She turned
away from the door and its relative safety, and began to stride towards the
diseased creature. With her entire focus on her target, she closed her ears to
the desperate calls for her return. In seconds she reached the half-way point,
her stride full of purpose, her expression a mask of determination. Plague
stopped and raised a withered hand, pointing at her, but she felt nothing.

She was
immune.

Step after
step, she came closer to one of the creatures that had caused so much pain to
her people. Stride after stride her fury built. Reaching ten paces away the
creature seemed to hesitate, and its hand formed a fist, still directed at her.
Its head tilted forward as if it were concentrating with all its might.

She didn't
slow.

Closing the
distance she reached the powerful, disease riddled figure of Plague, and came
to a halt. Her face full of furious indignation, she said, “A disease can die
just as easily as anything else. It just needs some healing.”

The creature
tried to turn and stumble away, but it was far too late. Aléthya reached out
and grasped the scarred and disgusting arm. Then she began to draw the fiend’s
disease into herself.

Heat erupted
through her body, tearing a ragged scream from her suddenly parched lips.
Lancing pain cut into her midsection, and spasms arced from muscle to muscle.
Collapsing to her knees, she refused to let go, tightening her grip and yanking
Plague down as well.

A fever rippled
through her, blotting her vision and blistering her skin. She began to cough,
hoarse and deep. Cold sweat blossomed across her body, and despite her fevered
form, she began to shiver.

Blacking out,
she thought it was over, that she had been wrong—but her willpower refused.
Roaring with an inner fury, her own magic rose to the challenge. Driven by the
pain of her past, fueled by rage, her healing magic flooded her from head to
toe.

Enhanced
disease fought the magic of healing, each edging against the other, seeking any
advantage. Her body shivered again and her skin began to glow, darkly
luminescent—then white—then dark again. The battleground of her body reached
the breaking point as the two unseen magics fought for supremacy.

Resisting the
disease, gasping for breath, Aléthya forced her swollen, bloodshot eyes open
and watched as the figure of Plague began to disintegrate before her eyes. Sensing
victory, she screamed at the creature before her, and reached out to clasp its
other arm, drawing even more of it into herself.

Black ash
began to shed from the creature, more and more as each of the diseases were
pulled from its form. Unable to sustain itself, Plague opened its mouth, but no
sound issued. Silently, it yielded, crumpling into a pile of black dust,
disintegrating right through her clenched hands.

But the war
for her body still raged, with neither one the victor. One moment she felt
herself winning, healing, the next, Plague’s magic fought back, giving her a
glimpse of the horrific result if her body lost. She would become Plague,
stronger than ever with her own innate abilities part of his. Her mind would be
lost, and she would begin to slay the elven race.

She shuddered
against that future and steeled her mind.

Growling her
fear and hate she clenched her eyes shut, collecting every bit of energy she
had and gathering it deep within her—massing it together until it became an
enormous, concentrated collection of magic. Then she attacked. With a will born
of desperation, she sent her magic out, and snatched a piece of the dark magic
ravaging her body. Swallowing it whole, she obliterated it and hunted for the
next. One by one she sought out and destroyed the evil within her, compelling
herself to heal.

Bit by bit she
felt herself begin to mend as the evil diseases started to dissipate. Each
fragment gradually restored itself, until finally she collapsed, whole once
more.

Fighting to
stay awake, she struggled to sit, but she felt jubilant arms lift her from the
ground. Cheers of joy and hope radiated through the corridor that had just
moments before carried such despair.

She opened her
eyes only once, her desire to see her people’s momentary happiness overcoming
her need to rest. A soft smile graced her lips as she saw tears streaming down
their cheeks, and hardened elven soldiers weeping like babes.

Triumphant,
she succumbed to fatigue, lapsing into blissful unconsciousness.

Chapter 24: Retreat

The cheering
and shouting around Braon was deafening. Soldiers, mages, and anyone else in
the room yelled themselves hoarse as Thacker described the slaying of Plague,
but Braon did not participate. Although he felt a swirl of emotions at the
victory, he knew what would come next.

Retaliation.

If he
had been the one attacking and a major offensive had been stalled, then he
would send everything he could to attack the flank. His gut told him they would
attack the Lake Road. He was right.

Even as he
watched the magical map, blotchy and shimmering from its damaged magic, the
black army rippled, and the tide moved towards the Lake Road. Catching Thacker’s
arm he began issuing quick orders.

“Tell Golic to
sound the first stage of our retreat. It’s time to gather into Azertorn.”

The joy faded
from the telepath’s face as he began to understand his words. “But I thought
you said we couldn’t gather until the start of day seven?”

Braon nodded,
his mind working overtime to plan all the variables. “It’s better to fall back
in an organized fashion than a rushed retreat. If we wait, we will lose many more
lives than we have to.” He allowed a small smile. “Besides, three of Draeken’s
generals are dead. Without them, we just might stand a chance.”

“But—.”

Braon raised a
hand. “Thacker, our entire line has been threatening to buckle for the last
twenty-four hours. If we delay, we risk losing everyone on the cliff. We also
know another army is coming from the north. Even with our scouts posted, they
might not warn us in time. It is time to collect everyone to the city. With any
luck, we will hold out until tomorrow night, or until Taryn slays Draeken.”

Thacker had
blanched at the idea of losing so many, and his expression changed to the
familiar one of transmitting information. Braon sighed and turned back to the
map. If he didn’t do this right, hundreds of thousands would die because of
him. Once he started, he didn’t hesitate.

“Start with Talfar's
gnomes and orcs in The Gray Battalion. Have them send any non-battle personnel
to Azertorn. Do the same with General Golic and his troops on the Lake Road.
Then have him send the surviving ships on the lake to deeper waters. We don't
have time to bring them in. After that, have any surviving giants and Dwarven
fire mages in the area report to the road. They are going to need help."

A stray
thought caused him to hesitate. When had he last heard from the northern
scouts? What if the northern fiend army arrived before the races had gathered in?
A shiver of foreboding trickled down his spine as he considered the result.

"Also,
have a small force do a quick run to the northern trees before they come in.
Send them from the . . ." he scanned the map to select the best choice
"—Eastern Falls command. That should give them enough time to connect with
our scouts and return in time. If the northern fiends have arrived, have them
raze the forest. It will delay them enough for all battalions to reach the
city."

Satisfied that
that their backs were protected, Braon moved on to the rest of their orders.

"After
that, order all contingents to dispatch their first and second reserves to
Azertorn. Let's do this right.”

***

Gaze mounted
his horse amid the chaos of retreat. On all sides men scrambled to gather gear,
collect weapons, and move the wounded. For six days the humans of Talinor had
fought and died to prevent the fiends from taking this part of the cliff. With
their line thinned by death and the Lake Road about to fall, they were forced
to flee to Azertorn.

It would be
their last stand.

Gaze kicked
his horse into motion and tried to ignore the flickering nausea. Wheeling his
horse behind Lexi's, he fell into line with the last of the Riverguard. Unlike
many in Eastern Falls battalion they had been fortunate. Only one of the elite
elves had been killed since they had been transferred. Now Lexi, Arzai, and two
others hurried through the frantic bustle of retreating forces.

Soon they hit
a clear patch in the mass of tents and running men. As they picked up the pace,
Lexi guided her horse beside his. "Does this bring back memories?"

He couldn't
bring himself to respond. When a frayed and exhausted Graden had dispatched
them on the scouting mission, his expression had been apologetic.

"I'm
sorry to do this to you Gaze," He had said, "But you and the
Riverguard are the only ones with experience in this. Just travel north and
meet the elven scouts. If the northern fiends are there, then raze the forest.
If not, then collect the scouts and get to Azertorn."

"What if
it is already overrun?" Gaze asked, feeling an eerie sense of dread. The
last time he'd been sent on such a mission, everyone had died except for him.

We did it
before, and we can do it again, Anders said in his mind.

And you
died, Gaze thought.

So do
better, Anders replied.

Graden paused
to issue orders to a man that had rushed into the command tent. "If they
are overrun then our entire line will be crushed before the ends can withdraw."
Flashing a warning look, he added, "Just be safe Gaze. You have less than
thirty minutes before the fiends climb the cliff and surround Azertorn. Don't
be late."

The orders had
left Gaze feeling a crawling sense of fear, and he tried in vain to convince
himself that this time it would be different. This time he would not fail to
protect those he cared about. Winding past scattered crates of foodstuffs and
wagons, they found the trail north and pushed their steeds into a gallop.

It would take
ten minutes of hard riding to reach the tree line, leaving just a few moments
to gather the scouts and light a fire. Then they would be forced to leave or
they wouldn't reach the city in time. He threw a glance at Lexi and felt a wave
of determination crash over him. Clenching his jaw, he leaned over the neck of
his laboring mount.

Whatever the
cost, he would not be the sole survivor again.

***

King Tryton
whirled, sending his massive sword out in a smooth arc to cut down two quare
and a siper. Darting forward he finished off a kraka that had tried to flank
them. Catching him by surprise, he deflected a slash and slew him with a
crushing blow. Before he could seek for another target, he heard someone call
his name.

As his ears
sought the source of the summons, he smashed his shield into two fiends,
sending them flying off the cliff and towards their deaths. Catching sight of
General Golic, he weaved his way through the battle, slaying several more on
his way.

Arriving at
the last remaining wall at the highest point of the Lake Road, he grabbed a kraka
from behind and spun him around. Blocking the expected strike, he leaned
forward and smashed his forehead into the fiend captain's head, sending him
collapsing to his knees.

“General?” he asked,
sinking his blade into the stunned enemy.

“King Tryton,”
Golic began, launching a throwing axe into the back of a quare. “Commander
Braon is calling for an organized retreat. Someone slew an enemy general and
they are rushing the road in retaliation.”

Tryton nodded,
accepting the order, even though he didn’t understand it. “Inform me when
everyone else has gotten a head start to Azertorn. We will cover the front line
as we retreat.”

Another axe
flew from Golic’s hands, adding another kill to his long list. “Somehow I knew
you would say that.”

They were
interrupted then as a skorpian spear streaked out of nowhere, seeking Tryton’s
chest—but he sidestepped, catching it deftly before spinning it around, sending
it back at its owner. The beast died even as Tryton looked back at Golic to
hear the rest of the order.

“Giants and dwarven
magi are being sent to reinforce our position. Braon expects us to be hit hard
in the next few minutes.”

Tryton nodded
and slipped back into the battle, calling out orders to his own forces. Of the
nearly six hundred and fifty they had arrived with, only four hundred remained
fighting. Very few were on the injured list.

Rock trolls
fought to the death.

Re-forming
their ranks, they readied themselves for an onslaught. Not a minute later the
enemy struck. A contingent of krakas, numbering well over twenty thousand,
thundered up the road towards their position. Knocking aside the smaller
fiends, they smashed into the wall of massive shields with the sound of snapping
bone.

Buckling under
the sheer weight, the rock trolls around Tryton bellowed their battle cry and
broke apart, re-forming into tight triangle formations of shields. Weapons
lashed out from within, striking down any that drew near, but the fiends still
advanced. Trained for combat since birth, hardened in battle since youth, the
rock trolls struck back with the renowned fury of their race. To their enormous
credit, they managed to slow the advance to a crawl—but they couldn’t stop it.

Even with the
aid of the giants and a throng of mages, they still could not muster the
strength to halt the charge. Sensing a shift in the battle, Tryton called for
them to begin falling back. Azertorn was ten miles from their position, and
they would have to fight their way across every inch of it.

He growled and
fought even harder, inspiring his soldiers by his very presence as he cut
through throngs of krakas that dared come too close.

It was a good
day to be a rock troll!

***

Golic turned
to the head dwarven fire mage. “Get the stonesap in place.”

“It will be
ready in five minutes,” he replied, his voice gruff.

Golic accepted
the report and glanced over the wall at the rock trolls fighting with a valor
never witnessed by any historian. He’d always seen his people as the greatest
of warriors, but watching the rock trolls in battle, he had to admit that their
skill far surpassed his people. It was humbling and disconcerting—yet awe
inspiring.

“How long will
the stonesap burn?” Golic asked without taking his eyes from the battle.

“No more than an
hour, if we are lucky.”

Golic growled,
ducking behind the parapet to do some quick calculations. The reserves of his
battalion, barbarians and amazons alike, had just begun to fall back. At ten
miles to the city, the delay should give them time to reach it. Satisfied, he
turned his thoughts to his surviving forces. All of his remaining troops had
steeds, except for the rock trolls and surviving giants, who could run just as
fast. When the dwarves lit the stonesap, they would race to Azertorn,
collecting each of the cliff top forces as they passed. If they did it right, the
retreat would suffer few casualties.

Just a few
more minutes, he thought, watching the hulking trolls hold against the
kraka's. Just a few more minutes.

***

Half a mile
from the tree line Gaze jumped as a ribbon of white light leapt skyward. Against
the backdrop of an overcast sky, the streak of magic was impossible to miss.

"What was
that?" Gaze yelled over the thundering hooves.

From behind
him, Arzai shouted back, "That's a scout signal. The enemy has been
spotted."

Gaze shuddered
as he looked at the gray heavens. The dark cloud that hovered over the fiend
army was darkening the gray. Like an enormous beast, it devoured the clouds as
it advanced towards the gathered races, leaving blackness in its wake.

"They are
here!" Gaze shouted.

"Can you
light the forest?" Lexi shouted.

He searched
for the magic, but it was too far. "Not yet."

Fifty feet from
the trees several figures burst into view. The elven scouts clung to their
horses as they bolted south.

Arzai pointed
towards them. "At least we found the . . ."

—Fiends
exploded into view behind the fleeing elves. Erupting from the trees line,
thousands of quare and sipers snarled as they caught sight of their prey. In a
wave of black and red they descended the slope towards them.

Gaze scrambled
to get a bolt off, and just managed to release the magic as they wheeled their
horses and turned around. As they surged away from the fiends, Gaze threw a
look back. His throat tightened as he saw that the lightning had stuck, but no
flame had started. He reached for a second attempt, but in his weakened state they
were already out of range.

Growling at
his failure, he curved his horse with the others, angling their route to
connect with the scouts. Seconds later they joined, with all of them galloping
towards Azertorn. "What happened?" Lexi demanded.

The one
dressed as a mage called back. "They appeared out of nowhere, so we sent
the warning."

"We have
to burn the forest to slow them down!" Arzai yelled.

The mage threw
him an incredulous look, and then gestured at the flood of fiends behind
them—which were gaining ground. "I doubt we can make it to the escape
tunnel, and you want to go back?"

Before anyone
could reply, the growling sipers had closed the distance. Lunging for the last
in their line, the lead siper took down one of the scouts. The scream of his
death sent a tremor through Gaze, and again he felt the loss of the hundreds
that had died attempting the same thing they were doing now. Breathing hard, he
tried to dispel the images.

"Open the
tunnel!" The mage yelled, and the elf next to him raised a bow. With a hum
the weapon released, sending a missile into an odd clump of grass on a small
rise. Just as the arrow struck, the stone leading up to the mound sank into the
earth, leaving a ramp into a dimly lit corridor. Thirty feet from the hole,
another of the scouts was yanked from his saddle. Then they were in.

Fiends rushed
to follow, but the ramp closed with a grinding of stone. The entire party
skidded to a stop, their horses' sides heaving at the exertion. Gaze took
several deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. Tightening his jaw, he
dismounted his trembling steed. Then he heard a scuff of a boot and turned to
find a dwarf.

"Glad to
see you made it," he said gruffly. "I wasn't sure any would."

The mage scout
strode up to him. "Thank you for keeping the way open. Are you ready to
close it?"

"Aye, as
the commander said. We can't let them know the location of any of the
tunnels."

Gaze turned
away from their conversation, breathing slow against the fear. Why did he feel
such terror? He'd faced the fiends countless of times, and escaped the jaws of
death time and time again. Why now did he feel like a noose was tightening on
his neck?

"Are you
ok?" Lexi asked in a low voice.

Startled, he
turned to her. "I'm fine."

Her look said
she was unconvinced.

With a sigh he
added, "It's just reminding me of . . . before."

"Of how
Anders died?"

"And
others," Gaze said, turning away. "Maybe I am afraid for the rest of
you." His voice dropped. "Or maybe I am just afraid to join
them."

"I'm
afraid too," Lexi whispered.

Gaze shifted
to face her and her expression caused him to touch her arm. They stood in
silence until Lexi sighed.

"How can
anyone survive this?" She said.

He shrugged,
unwilling to answer.

The dwarf's
words interrupted them, his tone heavy. "You should get going. The
northern fiends are going to surround Azertorn before the farthest legions can
make it in. They will need every survivor."

Chapter 25: Heaven's Might

Arzai growled
at him. "Half our army is still on the cliff. If they don't make it in the
rest of us will be slaughtered. We have to burn the forest. If we can light it,
then it might slow them down enough for the battalions to reach the city."

The dwarf
grunted and turned away, preparing to close the tunnel. "We are a mile
from the treeline, and there must be a thousand fiends between us now."

Arzai caught
the dwarf's shoulder and spun him about, eliciting an angry grumble. "We
have to figure something out," he snarled.

Remember
the lightning sword, Anders whispered.

"Wait,"
Gaze said, surprising himself. "If you are a stone mage, can you fashion a
metal arrow?"

The elf ranger
flashed him a look of annoyance. "Who ever heard of a metal arrow?"

The dwarf
jerked his shoulder free. "Of course I can. What good would it do?"

"When
Anders and I were practicing with lightning, we discovered that it was
attracted to metal—like a sword. From this distance I can't hit the forest, but
if something was in between us . . ."

Arzai grinned
and his eyes sparked. "Then a lightning bolt from here would jump to the woods.
If I put a few arrows into the air, can you time your strike to follow them
across?"

"If we
have the arrows," Gaze said, turning to the dwarf, feeling a growing sense
of urgency.

The dwarf
grunted and reached towards a leather sack. "You are lucky I brought
something to work on." Upending it onto the floor, a small pile of
arrowheads and a few chunks of ore tumbled out. Snatching the ore, he muttered
to himself as he pinched it. Then he pulled.

The ore shrank
in size as he drew a rod out of it. Stopping at the proper length, he snapped
it off and ran a stubby finger over it. Burrs melted into the shaft and it
straightened at his touch. Then he picked up one of the arrowheads and fused it
to the end. With three flicks of his wrist, he took the remaining ore and
fashioned thin feathers.

Tossing it to
Arzai, he picked up the next chunk. "It ain't my best work, but we don't
have time to do better."

The elf ranger
sighted down the length. "It will do."

The dwarf
rushed to finish, and managed to get two more out of the ore. "Not enough
for any others. You will only get one shot at this."

Lexi took
command, and organized the elves into a phalanx where the ramp would descend. The
scout mage tried to protest, but she cut him off with a single look. Placing
herself at the center, she drew her short sword. "We will hold them off.
Just don't miss."

Gaze and Arzai
nodded in sync, and then at the dwarf. With a grunt, he lifted an axe to his
shoulder. "I will clear the way for you to get out, but I must stay to
close it if you fail."

Gaze took a
deep breath as the dwarf yanked on a lever. The ramp dropped into view and
fiends whirled to look down at them. Before they could move, the dwarf clenched
a fist. In response to his magic stone barbs snapped out of the walls and
exploded towards the fiends. The first few were shredded as the elven phalanx
charged up the ramp. Taking up positions in a circle around the hole, their
blades went to work.

Amidst the
clash and screams of battle, Arzai skidded to a crouch at the top of the ramp. Jamming
all three arrows into the earth, he drew one and sighted. The thrum of his bow
sent the gray missile streaking towards the distant forest. In a blur, he
raised the second and launched it, and then the third . . .

Gaze had begun
to gather the energy when the first arrow had flown, but he waited until the
last soared away. Then he released. Jagged lightning caught the first shaft,
and then leapt to the second. Blasting across the distance the white magic left
three flaming lumps of twisted metal falling—and then it plunged into the
trees.

A great
thunderclap sounded as fire erupted in the wood and it swelled above the tree
tops. Gaze shouted in victory, and then froze in horror. Half of the elves
around them had perished in the few seconds required for the effort. Collapsing
inward the survivors retreated down the ramp.

Triumph and
anger fueled Gaze as he sprinted down the slope. Reaching the bottom, he
whirled and reached skyward. Answering his call, power pummeled the pursuing
fiends, catching them and tearing them asunder as the elves escaped. Then the
ramp closed and he collapsed, clenching his stomach.

What do you
think? he asked Anders.

It was my
idea.

Gaze
suppressed the insane urge to laugh.

***

Golic's Link
spoke, his words piercing and fast.

“The fiends
have been sighted to the north!”

“How close?”
Golic asked, his chest tightening.

“Four miles,
no more,” Seath replied, the fear evident in his tone.

Golic shook
his head at the revelation, feeling trapped. The fiends would be sweeping
towards them from both sides as they retreated, narrowing a gap with them in
the middle like closing shears. If they were caught . . .

He cut the
thought off before doubt could take root. Speed must be their ally, for they
were about to outrun death. Looking to the barrels of stonesap, he prayed for a
miracle. Hopefully, the firestorm would keep them off their backs long enough
for them to get to the city. One thing was certain, they had to leave
immediately. “Get ready to light it. We are about to be overrun.”

Even as the
words left his mouth, the horde of fiend captains were gaining ground, pushing
the rock trolls up the road by sheer weight of numbers. Golic saw Tryton glance
back at him, meeting his gaze for a fraction of a second, but the stoic
expression said it all.

“Send the
order,” he said, his eyes still on the trolls. “All forces retreat to
Azertorn!” Turning to the dwarf he added, “You know when to light the
firewalls.”

“We’ll be
right behind you,” he said gruffly, and turned to finish his work.

Golic took one
last look at the battle raging on the road, listening to the ring of clashing
blades and the meaty smash of fiend bodies striking massive troll shields. They
had fought, bled, and died to hold this road for five days, and part of him
hated to call it a failure. According to the oracle, tomorrow would be the last
day of their battle. He hoped they would last that long.

A lieutenant
caught his eye and he looked down to see him giving the all-ready signal.
Sighing, he turned from the churning war below and called out to his remaining
men, “Ride hard and fast. We will have thirty minutes until the flamewall dies;
then they will be hunting us down. If you fall behind . . .” He let the
implication hang in the air long enough for the barbarians and the leather clad
amazons to nod at him. Knowing it would have the desired effect, he smiled
wryly and added, “A double ration of ale goes to the barbarians if we get there
first.”

“Do you think
that is wise?” Seath, whispered into his ear.

Golic grinned
as one of the amazons stepped forward.

Krisrae raised
her axe, still bloody from the quare that had climbed the wall to her position.
“And if we get there first?”

Golic grinned,
“The same. May the best man win.”

He smirked and
watched the barbarians and amazons eye each other while muttering boastful
statements. Although the two peoples had lived within a hundred miles from each
other, they had been mortal enemies for generations. Five and a half days of
battle had changed that as easily as flipping a coin. Now their looks carried
friendly competition, rather than hate and loathing.

Nodding to his
man at the gates, he began shouting orders. “Clear the walls! Mount your
horses! Ride hard—and don’t look back!”

Men and women leapt
into action. Barbarian axe throwers and amazon archers dropped from the
battered wall. In seconds, everyone was on their steeds and galloping west
towards Azertorn. Golic remained behind, waiting until his forces had reached
full speed. A glance sideways revealed that Krisrae also remained in her saddle
beside him.

“Get riding,
Kris, we have a long way to go,” he said, raising his arm to signal his men to
open the gates for the rock trolls.

“No thank you,
General. I think I will wait with you.”

He shook his
head, expecting nothing less from the fiery amazonian. In the past few weeks
since they had been placed next to each other, she had demonstrated a
dedication to her people that amazed him. Her skill with her curved axe,
despite her complete lack of innate ability, had also been displayed on several
occasions. From the stories that had been circulated, he knew she had earned
her prowess by training harder than anyone else. His respect for her had grown
despite years of racial prejudice against her people.

The large,
battered doors creaked open, and within seconds the only thing keeping the
black army at bay were a couple hundred trolls and a few surviving giants.
Situated directly behind the portal, Golic had an excellent view of what
happened next.

At an unseen
signal, the rock trolls attacked as one, knocking down and slaying hundreds of
fiends in front of them. Even as their dark bodies fell to the ground, Tryton
and the rest of his remaining army whirled—and with perfect precision—fell back
to the wall. In seconds they streamed through the open gates and without a word
sprinted towards Azertorn. Tryton and his two lieutenants remained behind,
joining Golic, Seath, Krisrae, and the two dwarves.

Together, they
watched the fiends recover and begin to charge the empty fortifications. Just
as they reached the crumbling stone, the dwarves lit their magic. Twin fireballs
streaked from their fists, and sailed towards the barrels. The impact caused
the ground to shudder as flames exploded in front of the wall, streaking from
the cliff on the right to the drop on the left. Billowing upward, the firewall
licked the stone that had been coated with stonesap. Even from twenty paces,
Golic could feel the heat on his face.

“Let’s go,”
General Golic said, suddenly sad to leave the road behind. Turning away he felt
keenly the loss of those that had perished . . .

—Out of the
corner of his eye he saw something black appear through the flames. Time seemed
to slow as he turned to see a long black spear fly . . . straight for Seath’s
back.

No one was
close enough, and Seath’s youthful form flew from his saddle as a cry of agony
was wrenched from his lips. Horrorstruck, Golic could only watch as the force
of the blow sent him spinning to the ground in a lifeless heap . . .

***

Braon turned
when Thacker gasped and fell to his knees, his expression full of horror.

“Thacker? What
happened?” Braon demanded.

“Oh my child .
. .” he managed to choke before tears sprang to his eyes and his whole frame
crumpled.

“Who?” Braon
asked, fear bolting through his heart as his thoughts leapt to Brynn’s soft
face.

“Seath,”
Thacker mumbled through the tears. “He’s . . . he’s gone.”

Braon closed
his eyes against the hollowness that engulfed him. Seath had been the oldest of
the telepathic siblings, and just seventeen.

Chapter 26: Parting of the Ways

Taryn stood
behind Siarra, trying not to think about how little time they had. Quicker than
he would have thought possible, the night had passed. Rising early, they had
fallen into a long line of battle ready fire giants. Nearly the entire village
had emptied in a matter of minutes, and all but the most critically wounded
giants had prepared themselves for a final battle. Boasting light armor and
helmets, each of them carried enormous weapons designed to be enhanced with
fire magic. Sword and spear alike, the red veins running through them pulsed
with the anticipation of their wielders.

Entering the
large tunnel, the small army of giants and humans worked their way towards the
ancient forge of Xshaltheria. Heavy footfalls and the clinking of armor echoed
throughout the day, yet little was said. Passing monolithic caverns and hidden
chasms, they crossed underground rivers on stone bridges, and all too soon they
had reached their destination.

Taryn slid to
the side of the tunnel to get a better view as Siarra prepared herself. The
giants had dropped the tunnels behind them as they had fled their city, so now
she would have to clear their path. The grinding and rubbing of stone soon
marked her magic had begun to work, and a moment later the crumbled stone began
to reshape and separate, clearing the way.

“Give me some
more light, would you?” Siarra asked, moving to examine her work.

Royl waved a
hand and the flameless torches brightened. “Is it safe?”

Her brow
furrowed but she nodded. “I believe this section is, but I have another one to
clear ahead.” Striding forward, she led the way.

Falling into
step, they followed until they hit the next section of crumbled debris. Once
she was satisfied it was also safe, they passed through and entered a large,
domed cavern that had obviously been shaped by dwarves. Faint carvings could be
seen on the walls and ceiling, almost hidden by a layer of dirt and grime. One
by one, they entered the chamber, spreading out to listen at each of the
adjoining corridors.

Siarra moved
to the exact center and cocked her head. After a moment she turned and
whispered, “There are no fiends in the tunnels nearby, but I cannot sense very
far in such dense rock.”

Royl gave
Cadel a signal and several giants took up position at the various portals. Facing
Siarra, he pointed to three openings. “That one will take Aiden, Dulnak and the
human to the bridge. The one beside it leads to the escape tunnels of the city,
and that smaller opening leads to the valley. You had better say your farewells
here. Once the battle is joined . . .” He shrugged and turned back to the
stream of giants entering the chamber.

Taryn couldn’t
bring himself to meet his sister's gaze, so he turned to Jack. “Good luck my
friend. I hope you manage to bring that bridge down.” His voice sounded hollow,
even to him, but if anyone noticed, they gave no sign.

Jack clasped
his arm and smirked. “We will do our part,” he said, and then the grin faded.
“You have been a true friend, Taryn, and I hope you survive.”

Taryn blew out
his breath and a faint smile spread across his lips. “You too.”

Trin then
stepped between them, clasping the thief's arm. Before Taryn could move, Liri
sidled up next to him and nudged him in Siarra’s direction. The loaded look she
gave him drove him the final steps to his sister.

He waited
until Mae had finished her farewell and stepped away. Then Siarra met his gaze.
For a moment they looked at each other, until Siarra crossed the intervening
space in a rush. Embracing him in a fierce hug, she whispered into his ear,
“This is not a goodbye Taryn.”

He felt his
shoulder turn damp, and he clenched his jaw against his rising emotions. “How
do you know?” he whispered back.

After what
seemed a long time, she answered. “I don’t, but I want to believe we will
survive.”

They
separated, and Taryn said, “You are the only family I have.”

Siarra’s
expression softened and she reached towards her throat. Pulling into view a
pendent on a white, silvery chain, she lifted it from her neck. Raising it into
the light she said, “This was Ianna’s. She gave it to me before she left.”

He bent close
and examined the small circle of shimmering metal. Marked by a single triangle,
it glittered with subtle energy.

“The triangle
is the ancient symbol of magic. It represents Sight, Force, and Control,
and symbolizes the perfect balance of Power.” Siarra’s voice was tender, giving
him the impression she was sharing a memory. She glanced up at him, her eyes
moist. “This is the crest of the Oracle.” Offering it to him, she said. “Our
mother placed something on the other side.”

Awed, he accepted
the gift, his skin tingling as the feather weight touched his palm. Turning it
over in his hand, he saw the words engraved on the back.

The
greatest Power comes from family.

His throat
tightened as he read the words, written by the mother he had never known. The
ache of her loss swept through him, and he closed his eyes against it. But then
he felt the chain of the Oracle’s crest fall over his neck and his eyes snapped
open.

“No Siarra, I
can’t. This is yours,” he said, beginning to take it off, but she stopped him.

“Not anymore,
little brother. I need you to take care of this for me, just in case.”

Moisture
blossomed into his eyes and he couldn’t stop it. Ashamed, he embraced her again.
Abruptly parting, he turned and walked briskly towards the tunnel he would take
to face Draeken. He didn’t look back until he had safely ducked into the
darkness.

“Goodbye
Siarra,” he whispered.

***

Siarra watched
him go, regret and sadness sinking into her heart. If she had a choice, it
would have been to go fight Draeken with her brother, but she knew in that future
they would not succeed. Despite her confidence that her presence would cause
defeat, she still could not sense their victory. Unbidden, her thoughts turned
to her mother, who had instructed her when she was young on what being the
Oracle would be like.

“When you have
the power to see all energy, and all magic, you will also have a special Sight,”
Ianna had once told her. “You will be able to sense what will happen when two
adversaries face each other, and because you will See their souls, you
will know the victor. When you are focused, you will feel everything from the
subtle breeze that bends the grass, telling you of a future storm, to the very
result of war.”

“But what if
you can’t see something?” she had asked, eager for more. “What does that
mean?”

Her mother had
leaned back, her eyes looking far away. “There are a few reasons you will be
unable to See. If you are unfocused or too tired, your power will become
elusive. Fear, however, is the greatest block to your Sight. If you are
afraid, for a person or their fate, you will be blinded.”

Siarra sighed,
the memory of a happier time fading as her gaze lingered on the dark tunnel
where Taryn had just departed. Unable to resist, she allowed her eyes to slip
into the Sight. As always, the world around her faded, replaced with
thousands of shades of color. The stone, monotone gray and solid, presented a
dark backdrop against the beacons of light that were the people in the room.

Each fire
giant was a swirling mass of red, orange, or shifting red, and some contained
all three, reminding her that each person carried a unique signature of color.
Glancing at Royl, she saw his color stood out brighter than the others, telling
her of his greater strength. Of any person in the room, Royl was the strongest,
and would undoubtedly be the victor against any present—except for her.

But Taryn was
not in the room.

Turning
towards Taryn’s corridor, she allowed her eyes to look through the stone until
she saw him, leaning against the wall just inside the dark. Pure red, bright
blue, and vibrant white, cascaded through him in colors so bright she felt like
shading her eyes. Merging with streaks of green, they blossomed into spirals of
light. Although they carried no hint of magic, the color hues told her all she
needed to know. Born of dwarves, elves, and humans, Taryn had inherited the
strengths of all three races. The result was an almost limitless raw power and
strength flowing through him, far surpassing Royl and any of his people.

She blinked
and looked past Taryn, tightening her vision to penetrate the mountain until
she caught a glimpse of Draeken before withdrawing. In that single image, she
saw dark red and vibrant black without measure, bound and chained. In her
mind’s eye, she matched the two energy signatures, her brother against the evil
creature that had spawned this foul war.

She could not
see who was stronger.

But she knew
her fear for Taryn was too powerful. With all her willpower, she tried to
contain her worry, but it only laughed a deep mocking laugh and refused to be
bound. With a sigh, she returned her vision to normal, wishing she was better,
wishing she could help, and wishing she was not so afraid.

Liri appeared
in the corner of her eye then, and she turned to see her approach.

“You alright?”
Liri asked, her eyebrows pulling together.

Siarra nodded
and forced a smile. “Ready as I will ever be.”

Liri’s
features saddened. “I will miss you, Siarra. You have been a wonderful friend.”
Before she could respond, Liri embraced her warmly and whispered into her ear.
“Thank you for everything you did for Taryn.”

Siarra hugged
her back, wondering if this is what it would be like to have a sister. “You
have done more for him than I.”

They
separated, and she saw that Liri’s eyes were moist. Feeling a lump rise in her
throat, Siarra said, “I want you to promise to take care of him. Don’t give up
when he doesn’t see how much you care for him—or how much he cares for you. We
both know he is utterly helpless in such matters.”

They shared an
affectionate smile, and once again Siarra wished it could end differently. If
Taryn and Liri survived, she knew that at some point they were likely to be
joined. Then she would have had a sister. Swallowing the knot of sadness, she
said a farewell, hating the ring of finality in those words.

Feeling a
sudden desire to be gone, she embraced Trin. Last of all, she found herself
facing Jack. Just as every time she saw him, she felt a flash of annoyance at
the same time her heart fluttered. Feeling uncomfortable with him avoiding eye
contact, she gave him an awkward hug and said good bye. Parting quickly, the
thief turned and stalked away.

Watching him
depart in such a hurry, she felt irritation mix with her disappointment. Is
that all? she thought, feeling annoyed. I thought this close to the end
he would admit how he felt. Perhaps I should . . .

She quashed
the thought, unable to acknowledge—even to herself—how strongly she felt for
him. And if he couldn't bring himself to speak in a time like this, then he
didn't deserve her anyway. Reminding herself that he had just rebuffed her in
the last chance for him to voice his thoughts, she felt her irritation spike to
anger.

Whirling, she
stalked towards Royl and waited until he had finished with the last of his
forces. With hundreds of fire giants now lining the cavern, it felt smaller,
and noticeably warmer.

“Ready?” she
asked him.

He nodded and
turned to speak to everyone in the room. His deep voice rumbled as he spoke,
but he still managed to keep it quiet. “Humans, giants and elves, we face an
army thousands of times larger than our own. We cannot defeat them, we cannot
slay them, but we can be victorious.” His expression turned fierce and he
raised an arm that exploded with fire from his elbow to his fist.

Siarra felt
like cheering, but instead raised her own fist, joining the fire giants in the
silent tribute of conviction. Every hand raised into the air, and fire burst
into view from the other giants. Liri, Trin, Jack, and Mae joined in, their
fists rising in salute of their joined courage. Pride swelled in Siarra's
chest, enflaming her courage and making her believe, even if for only a moment,
that they might succeed.

A movement
caught Siarra’s eye, and she turned to see Taryn standing in the archway, his
fist lifted and his expression full of sorrow. Catching his eye, she gave him a
nod. Across the room, he gave a tiny nod back at her, and then smiled the
saddest smile she had ever seen. Brother and sister, they both knew that
victory or defeat hinged on their efforts, and that every soul in Lumineia
depended on them.

Two minutes
later, she entered the western tunnel and began her descent towards the valley
floor, alone.

Chapter 27: Secrets

Trin slid into
line beside Mae as Captain Arrow and his command, along with the two elves,
began the journey through the tunnels towards their appointed destination.
While everyone else had been saying good bye, Trin hadn’t managed to say
anything to Mae. It felt awkward to say farewell when they were going into
battle together.

Sidling up
next to her, he asked, “Do you think we will ever see Siarra or Jack again?”

“I don’t know.
I’m sure Jack will find some way to get out alive. He’s always been a survivor.”
Her voice dropped as she glanced in Taryn’s direction. “But I don’t think
Siarra has any way out.”

“I still can’t
imagine her losing a fight,” Trin whispered, slowing his pace to put more
distance between them and Taryn. He appeared deep in a conversation with Liri,
but Trin didn’t want to risk their elven hearing.

Mae slowed
beside him and said, “I can’t either. Siarra is just too powerful, but against
a million fiends . . .?”

The bleakness
to her tone reminded him of their earlier conversation. He’d hardly ever heard
her display any sort of humor, and she had never laughed in his presence. He
resolved to ask her, but for a long time couldn’t bring himself to do it. In
silence, he walked beside her, trying to build up his courage. Just when he
began to worry they were nearing the end of the tunnel, he decided he could
wait no longer.

“Can I ask you
a personal question?” Trin blurted, his heart pounding.

Mae looked at
him and frowned, not in an angry or unhappy way, but curious. “You can always
ask,” she said, “but I may not answer.”

Trin took
courage from her light tone and slowed his step even more, bringing them to the
very back of the line of soldiers. While Mae drifted back to walk beside him,
he composed his thoughts, so when she joined him, he was ready.

“What did you
mean when you said that some people have reasons not to laugh?” He’d considered
taking a roundabout way to get the answer from her, but it just wasn’t his
style.

For over a
minute he waited, listening to the muted sounds of boots striking the stone
around them. Although he tried to be patient, when she finally answered his
neck felt warm under his collar, and he’d begun to sweat.

“Can you keep
a secret?” she whispered, her voice tight and vulnerable.

Impulsively,
he slid his hand into hers, grateful that she did not pull away. “To the
grave,” he replied, squeezing her hand, and hoping that time wouldn't arrive in
the next few hours.

Walking
together with his hand wrapped in hers, the wait passed more quickly than with the
previous question. He hoped she would open up to him—but he also worried he
would say something that would end the moment. Something had happened
early in Maemi’s life, and he sensed it was bad. She was one of the few elves
he’d ever met to be so guarded.

Finally Mae began
to speak. “What I am about to tell you, I have never shared with anyone, and
when I say do not share it with others, I mean it.”

He nodded to
her, recognizing the level of determination in her eyes as she’d said it. There
was no doubt in his mind that severe bodily harm had been suggested in the
veiled threat.

She looked
away and swallowed several times. “When I was a child, my father was . . .
cruel. He hit us.”

Trin felt his
chest tighten at her words, but he forced the rising anger down so he could
listen.

“My older
brother and I were very close," she said, her voice wooden and distant, "and
he did his best to protect me, but that only seemed to anger our father more.
Several times a week he would come home from the barracks, furious and out of
control. Every time, Stian would send me to my room, stepping between us so I
could try to leave.”

“I can still
hear his belt.”

Trin’s breath
caught in his throat, and it took all his willpower to keep his tongue in
check.

“When he was
done with Stian, he came for me. After the beatings, he would chain us to the
wall and leave. Sometimes he left us there for days. When he did let us out, he
was always sorry for a time. Then it would happen again. It wasn’t until I
turned eleven that my brother told me why our father was so angry.”

“Stian told me
that our mother had left our father soon after I was born. She told him she had
been with someone else, and she was leaving to be with him. She never came
back, and it destroyed my father. He became bitter and angry, and his anger
became a festering poison. My brother and I were both ashamed, and we hid the
marks until they faded into scars, hoping he would come out of it, but he never
did.”

Mae fell
silent for several minutes, and Trin did his best to be patient. The rage he
felt toward Mae’s father throbbed through him, mixing with the helplessness he
felt. He had no idea what to say or do to comfort her. His own father had been
stern, but had never laid a hand to him or to Arrow. His youth had been
paradise compared to hers. Glancing at her profile, he felt his heart crack.

“So how did
you end up on Sri Rosen?” he asked, keeping his voice light.

“Stian was
fourteen years older than me, but had stayed behind rather than go to his
training. He told me he would never leave me alone until I could join him. We
both dreamed of the day we would leave together and train in combat. I hoped it
would give me the freedom to never be afraid again."

She paused,
and her voice hardened. “But it never happened. Shortly after I turned
eighteen, my father came home enraged. From the bits and pieces we could
understand, our mother had come to him and asked for forgiveness, but he would
have no part of it. He took his fury out on Stian. When my father drew his
blade, I tried to stop him, but I was too slow . . .”

“He killed
him?!” Trin said, astonished.

“Stian stayed
behind to protect me, and got killed for it. It’s my fault he died.” She
choked on the last words.

Trin stopped
midstride, too stunned to continue. She came to a halt beside him, her fists
clenched and her jaw rigid. He thought she would cry, but no tears came. On
impulse he reached for her. Wrapping his long arms around her small frame, he
felt her cling to him as her body quivered. For over a minute they stood rooted
in the darkening corridor as the soldiers ahead of them continued to advance.

Just as he was
about to pull her after them, he saw the soldiers stop, and he knew they had
reached the end of the tunnel. Satisfied they would not be left behind, he
hugged her tighter, wishing there was something more he could do. “It’s not
your fault,” he whispered, but it didn't seem to help.

Then she controlled
herself and pulled away.

“What happened
to your father?” Trin asked.

She took a
deep breath and unclenched her teeth. “I fled to the palace, and the captain of
the home guard was on duty. He took my father away and within days the queen had
banished him. I just wish I would have told them before. Then maybe Stian would
still be alive.”

Again, Trin
thought she would cry, but she visibly reigned in her emotions and some of the
old Mae crept into her expression.

“Oh, no you
don’t,” Trin warned. “You are not going to close up on me again. I care for you
too much to let you do that.”

Her eyes
widened at his words, and she said, “You would care for me after what I have
done?”

“What did you
do?” he scoffed. “You tried to protect your father, even when evil had overcome
him, and stayed close to your brother, protecting him as much as he protected
you. From my eyes, all I see is heroism.”

She stood in
the dim corrider, stunned at his words. “Is that really how you see me?” she
asked in a whisper.

“Always have,”
he said with a grin. “And I am not about to see you disappear behind your wall
again. Like I said, I care about you too much—”

“—I care about
you too,” Mae interrupted, her expression hesitant, and then she smiled, her
blue eyes sparkling. “Sorry, it took me a minute to hear you. I just didn’t
believe someone could feel for me after what I had done . . .”

A shadow
crossed over her face, but Trin embraced her before she could dwell on it, too
happy to finally voice his feelings. “Thank you for opening up to me,” he
whispered into her ear.

“Thank you for
believing in me,” she whispered back.

Grinning, he
turned her towards the light a hundred paces ahead of them. “Let’s catch up
before they come looking for us.”

She flashed
him a warm smile, the one he knew was forever reserved for him. “They already
are.”

Together, they
strolled down the darkened tunnel with Trin's unbridled happiness reflected in
his grin. Now he just wished they weren’t about to die.

***

Siarra threw a
ball of light into the air ahead of her, lighting her path as she began the
descent. Feeling like she was walking into the jaws of death, her thoughts
turned to Taryn and her other friends, but ultimately settled on Jack. She felt
annoyed by his actions—but even more piqued that his actions bothered her. Why
did she feel such a connection to him? The answer to that question was just as
much an enigma as the thief himself. Sighing, she realized she was unlikely to
ever find out. Then she heard the hurried footsteps behind her.

Whirling, she
readied her magic, but then she recognized the sounds. “Jack?” she said,
lowering her hand at the same time he slid into view.

“Who did you
expect?” he said with a snort.

“What are you
doing here?” she asked, pursing her lips in annoyance at her sudden streak of
satisfaction.

“I needed to
talk to you,” he said, the perpetual smirk fading from his lips.

It was rare
for Jack to be serious, and that by itself was enough for her to pay attention.
“What is it?”

His sudden
nervousness confused her. When had he ever been nervous? Just before she
broke the silence, he said, “Sorry about . . . back there. I just don’t like
public . . . I didn’t want to say how I . . . I mean, I just felt . . . well,
you know.”

She frowned
and folded her arms. “No, I’m not sure I do.”

He growled and
shook his head. “Look, I just wanted to give you something before you go.”

“What is it?” she
asked, curious despite herself.

He reached
into a hidden pocket and withdrew an ink colored pouch which she recognized
immediately. “A darksac? What would you need that for?” She had only seen such
a rare artifact once when she was young, but the color was unmistakable.
Created by magic, the lightless pouch was built to keep a magical item
contained within, making it invisible to sight.

He smiled and
reached inside, only to withdraw a second black sac. “I have to keep it inside
two, or it’s still visible.”

She blinked
into her sight to take a peek. Blurred by the second darksac, but still
obvious, the most intense blue light she had ever seen filtered out, casting
streaks into every direction. Then Jack reached in and withdrew an object. The
blue light flared so brightly she clenched her eyes shut and returned to normal
vision.

She’d never
seen something so powerful.

Opening her
eyes again, she saw that even in normal light the object shimmered, like a perfect,
glittering orb of power. “What is it?” she breathed, reaching out to take it
from him. Squinting, she saw the small round stone had been hung on a white
chain, and had been marked with three pulsing triangles.

“An amplious,”
he said, his tone tinged with smug satisfaction.

Her mouth went
dry as she understood. An amplious hadn’t been seen in thousands of years, not
since the age of oracles. The legend of such an object was steeped in magical
lore and mingled with ancient myth, yet it remained one of the first things a
young mage learned from his peers, because the single blue gem was the sole
artifact that could make a mage more powerful.

“I thought
they were all lost,” she whispered, caressing the smooth texture. “Where did
you get it?”

“Let’s just
say . . . I found it,” he replied, and even without looking she could hear his
smirk.

“There were
only three you know,” she said, her voice soft, “created by the council of oracles
as a safeguard.”

“I thought
there was only one oracle at a time.”

She answered
without looking at him, unable to tear her gaze from the amplious. “In the old
world there were more—and different types—of oracles. In their age, many could
use multiple kinds of magic. These talented mages were called Verinai, and were
more powerful than almost any single magic wielder. All the magic guilds,
including the guild of Verinai, were governed by a group of five oracles called
the Eldress Council. Each of them used all types of magic. For many years, the
council kept the peace—until the betrayer.”

“Who?”

“One of the
members of the Eldress Council, who decided she wasn’t satisfied with the power
they had set out to destroy the other four bloodlines. Enlisting the aid of the
guild of Verinai, who already believed themselves superior, she sought to take
power. In the ensuing battle most of the Verinai perished, along with four
members of the Eldress council, including the betrayer. Only the youngest oracle,
a very gifted elven girl survived. There has been only one ever since.”

“I hope it
helps,” Jack said, his voice quiet.

Siarra shook
herself from her reverie and smiled up at him. “It will help, Jack. I don’t
know where you got it—and I don’t think I want to—but it will definitely help.”

A moment of
silence passed between them before Jack spoke, his voice tight. “Will it help .
. . enough?”

Her gaze met
his, and she saw real worry reflected back at her. “I honestly don’t know. An
amplious is very powerful. It depends on how I use it. It’s an artifact that
can magnify my power twofold for years . . . or a hundredfold for a couple of
minutes.” She saw him open his mouth but she raised a hand to stop him. “But if
I use it too fast . . . it could kill me. Mankind was never meant to wield such
power.”

Jack looked
away, but Siarra closed the gap and reached up to palm his cheek. Turning his
face to look at her, she said, “Thank you Jack. It may help us win the war.”

He grabbed her
hand and slowly pulled it away from him, his voice turning bitter. “I don’t
want to win the war. I only want to win you.”

Before she
could respond, he whirled and stalked into the darkness, leaving her alone with
the amplious in her hands. Unable to move, she stood rooted in place for
several minutes, her gaze lingering on the dark tunnel. Closing her eyes tight
against the swirling emotions, she turned around, drawing in a deep breath as
she did. With the utmost reverence, she bowed her head and lifted the white
chain, placing the amplious around her neck.

“Goodbye
Jack,” she whispered, burying her feelings for Jack deep down, where they
couldn’t break free. Forcing them into a tiny box in her heart, she closed the
lid and locked it. There was no room for distractions. She was an Oracle, born
to protect the races of Lumineia. If ever there was a time to fulfill her
calling, it was now.

Her eyes
snapped open, clear and focused. She was ready.

Day 7

Chapter 28: The Essence of Fire

Braon blinked
awake and his first thought was of Thacker’s son. He had placed Seath in the
position that had gotten him killed, and the weight of that responsibility cut
through him. Closing his eyes against it, he felt a single tear leak from his
eyes.

He only
allowed the emotion to wrack his body for a few seconds before he walled it away.
There would be mourning later—if they survived today. Rubbing the sleep from
his eyes, he climbed out of the bed he’d only entered an hour before.

By nightfall
tonight it would be over. If they lasted till then . . . they might survive. If
Taryn did not succeed in vanquishing Draeken by sunset, then there would be
nothing left to save.

So this is
the end, Braon thought, leaning forward and rubbing his forehead. With
everyone gathered to Azertorn, they just might stand a chance—even with the
city breached. Before he had collapsed into bed, the fiends had breached the
Second Great Hall, but he held out hope they could stall them throughout the
day.

In the last
six days, over two thirds of their force had been killed or were missing. At
this point, they still had no way of knowing how accurate that count was,
despite the accounting Braon had ordered as the battalions had come in. Haggard
and exhausted, the black elves, gnomes, orcs, dwarves, Azüre, giants, rock
trolls, barbarians, humans, and amazons had all entered the city the same way,
dirty and carrying their wounded or dead.

There were no
longer racial boundaries, or hatred of any kind. The gathered races had fought
too hard over the course of the battle to have any energy to waste on such a
petty emotion. With the hard losses felt by everyone—be it family, friend, or unexpected
ally—everyone had drawn together. Every race had now bled and died together.
One and all, they were allied in a single purpose, survival.

Braon shook
his head wearily, finding a small measure of consolation in the forced unity.
Draining the glass of tepid water on the stand next him, he wondered how long
it would last. If he was going to find out, they had to last the day. Taking a
deep breath, he rose to his feet.

It was time to
get to work.

Wearing the
same clothes he had for days, he stood and stepped out of what had once been
his office, but for the past six nightmare days, had been his sleeping quarters.
Grabbing a piece of bread and cheese, he tore off chunks on his way to the once
pristine map. Of the entire length of the map, only Azertorn remained clear.
The other sections were either damaged, leaving them flickering with patches of
fiends, or completely dark.

Newhawk looked
at him, his eyes bloodshot and soot staining his face. Weariness coated his
body like a cloak. Braon wondered if he looked the same.

Braon
swallowed against the scratch in his throat and asked. “Anything to report?”

“The fiend
army from the north has joined the one from the south, and our troops barely
made it through the gap.” He indicated the ceiling with a glance. “See for
yourself.”

Following his
gaze, Braon saw the ominous dark shadow had grown. Spreading in every
direction, and extending all the way to the horizon, the black cloud revealed
the breadth of the army they now faced. Above the city, a small hole in the
shadow remained clear. Still hours until dawn, a few stars were visible,
twinkling faintly.

Braon turned
away from the sight, unable to quench the surge of fear, anger, and sadness. “How
are we doing?” he asked.

The forces on
the battlements are holding well, for now,” the druid said, his voice hoarse
with fatigue. “As you instructed, the dwarves and black elves joined the rest
of the elves in the Second Great Hall. Loken, Val-Trisian, and Onix are
defending the three routes that lead to the city. With the narrow corridors,
they seem to be holding, but all three are reporting heavy losses. I am not
sure how long they can hold up.”

“How are the azüre
holding the gardens?”

“I just dispatched
reinforcements from Graden’s command to reinforce them, but their line is still
buckling. The fiends seemed to be concentrating on climbing the cliff and
entering the city there, but the added troops have temporarily stopped the
breach.”

“How is Reiquen?”

“In a word,
exhausted,” the druid answered, sighing. “He found a niche in the great tree to
sleep. I hope you don’t mind that I told him to rest.”

Braon shook
his head and swept his hand towards one of the adjoining rooms. “You need some sleep
as well. I will wake you if I need you.”

Newhawk
blinked and nodded before trudging towards a bed. Taking his place, Braon moved
to the map. Still chewing on breakfast, he manipulated the patchy map with
practiced fingers. Glancing back at the telepathic father, he said, “Thacker, I
hope you had got enough rest, because we have a long day ahead of us.”

The fisherman
just shook his head, the sorrow of his son's loss written on his features.

Biting his lip
against the sudden flood of his own emotions, Braon focused on the map. This
late in the battle, he couldn’t afford to lose his cool. Without looking, he
called to Thacker in a brisk voice. “I need a full report from all battalions,
how they are holding up and if there is anything out of the ordinary they have seen.”

In a dead
voice, the telepath began relaying reports, and Braon reacted.

"Adaeze,
light trap 312 in ten seconds, there are four krakas approaching it and you can
take them out together. Then pull two commands from your right flank and move
them to your left. In ten minutes, move them back.

"Loken,
have your water magi redirect streams from farther up the city so they don't
keep running out.

"Val'trisian,
your soldiers are holding well. Be prepared for a larger assault in thirty
seconds. They are massing to attack you. Use your dwarves to detonate the last
of that corridor's traps if you must.

"Graden,
close both breaches on your left flank with the last of your reinforcements.
Then as quick as you can, move them to your center. They will need the
additional men as soon as they can get there.

"Talfar,
your orcs are being driven back. I am sending what I can from the druids. Also,
summon more spears for your forces, their stock is on the verge of being
depleted—and watch out for that hole forming just to the left of your center.

"Onix, your
line is thinning on your right flank. Adjust your forces accordingly. Also,
dispatch a score of stone mages to Loken. Their core of stone magi has suffered
too many losses."

Hole after
dangerous hole he plugged, sometimes seconds before it would have turned into a
rout. Breach after breach he adjusted his forces, trying to keep the dark at
bay, but each solution felt rushed, and each fix was temporary. By the time the
sun came up, he was sweating, and glad that Newhawk had only been directing the
battle for a short time.

—Then he
spotted something odd on one of the flickering sections of the map. Cocking his
head to one side, he moved it closer and enhanced the view. Bending down, he
squinted into the patchy image of the plateau east of the city. The fiends,
represented by the red blobs of light, moved in a very odd manner. They seemed
to by crouching down to attack the earth, or swinging their weapons at the
ground? It looked like they were digging . . .

He blanched
and slid the map northward, following the line of makeshift diggers, through a
dark section of the map, until he came to the end. Moving light flowed just
north of the city, representing the river. Deep and fast, it split at the city
and fed the two waterfalls on either side of Azertorn. Like a living moat, the
river itself impeded attack, and was a large reason why the cliff top defenses
were holding. With the amount of fiends working, and the trench they were
working on, the truth was obvious.

They were
going to divert the river.

“Braon!”
Thacker yelled, “did you hear me?!”

Braon spun to
face him, the orders in his mind dying on his lips as he saw the horrified
expression. “What?” he asked, dread sinking into his soul.

“The eastern
gate from the Second Great Hall is falling! The black elves are being forced
back!”

“Quickly,” he
said, “have the dwarf stone mages I placed with them drop the ceiling. Seal the
tunnels so they can’t get through.”

Thacker shook
his head, the words tumbling from his mouth, “The dwarves have already been
slain.”

Now Braon felt
fear seep into him, stopping his heart. He’d already planned for this
contingency. To have it fall apart now due to chance was unthinkable. “What about
the dwarves in the north gate, or the ones stationed with the elves at the
western entrance?”

After a quick
message, Thacker’s face turned to ash. “As you ordered, the stone mages are
already preparing to seal those tunnels. If they are called away, it will leave
them vulnerable.”

Braon felt the
blood drain from his face and he spun back to the map, adrenaline dumping into
his veins as his mind kicked into overdrive. Adjusting his map to get a better
view, he saw fiends smashing into the black elves, driving them backward. In
minutes, they would overrun the last gate and then there would be nothing to
stop them.

They would
flood the city in minutes.

Casting about
for something—anything—that might stop them, his mind buzzed through the other
forces near enough to help. The dwarves? He moved the map sideways, but no,
they were defending the north gate to the Second Great Hall, but they looked
hard pressed, and were also being driven back. Scanning further, he saw the
remaining elves battling fiercely to stop the fiends from breaking through the
last opening on the western flank. Soon they would be driven back as well.

Who?! his
mind screamed, who can help? The Azüre and humans were next closest at
one tier up, but if he pulled strength from them, the fiends would break
through there. I only need fifteen minutes! he pleaded silently,
desperately looking for something to do—but there was nothing close, and
nothing strong enough. Clenching his fists in anger, he ran through the
possibilities again, but he already knew the truth. They were lost. There was
nowhere else to go. The city would be overrun before noon, and the races would
be annihilated.

He had failed.

I can help,
a familiar voice echoed in his mind.

“Reiquen,”
he breathed, and then thought, What do you have in mind?

If we give
you the time, will it be enough? The phoenix spoke straight to his
thoughts.

He ran through
some quick calculations, and then thought, Yes, I can move some dwarves from
higher in the city.

“Then it is
done,” a deep voice spoke beside him.

Braon whirled
and looked at Newhawk. His face was drawn and lined with fatigue, but his eyes
were bright, and his expression full of determination. Reaching down, he placed
a hand on Braon’s shoulder. “Promise me you will survive the day, and that you
will protect my people.”

Braon’s heart
sunk. “No, Newhawk, you can’t—”

“Promise me!”

Braon
swallowed the sudden knot in his throat. “I promise,” he said in a whisper.

Newhawk nodded
before spinning on his heels and striding purposefully towards the door. Rokei
and Thacker just stood, open mouthed as the druid swept from the room, but
Braon knew that his second in command understood the truth. There was no other
way.

You have
been a true friend, Reiquen thought into his mind, the silent voice
resigned. Know that you have earned the respect of a firebird.

Braon felt a drop
break free and trickle down his face. Choking the words out, he said, “Thacker,
send the stone mages from higher in the city to seal the eastern tunnel. Tell
Val-Trisian to do the best she can until then.”

“But they
won’t make it in time—” he protested.

“Do it now, Thacker,”
Braon said, “Or Newhawk’s sacrifice will mean nothing.”

The orders sent,
they could only watch and wait—and pray.

Stepping right
through the magical map, Braon walked to the south face of the room. Enchanted
as it was, he looked out over the writhing mass of black fiends as if he stood
at the top of the great tree Le Runtáriel. Without warning, the great firebird
burst into view below them.

“To the last
breath,” Braon whispered.

***

Newhawk patted
the great bird’s neck as they glided down towards the base of Azertorn, dodging
Skorpian spears on the way. Although he knew this would be the end of his life,
he felt oddly at peace, and the warm air that flew around him, heated by the
phoenix he rode, reminded him of better days.

Like the
day you summoned me? Reiquen thought.

Of course,
he thought back with a grin. I hope you have no regrets my friend.

The answer
came clearly, Of course not. We started our journey together, and we
will end it together.

Newhawk
sighed, his sad smile fading from his lips, to be replaced by a firm resolve.
“Let’s make it count then,” he said, concentrating on the massive bird's mind
until the two of them linked together.

A moment
later, they plummeted downward, dodging well aimed spears, and launched a
massive fireball from their wingtips to the base of the cliff. It struck true,
blasting a wall of flame to block any from entering the broken gates of
Azertorn. Fiends screamed as they burned, dying before they could get to the
lake.

Banking sharply
to avoid the retaliating salvo, they flung another fireball, striking the gates
again. Now the raging flames engulfed the area, blocking the fiend's path. Swerving,
the two of them fought to avoid the rain of deadly missiles, but this close to
them, they could only survive unscathed for so long. After several blazing
attacks, they were too slow.

Two long
shafts found their marks. One pierced right through one wing, but the other
grazed the phoenix’s chest, sending bloody sparks and red feathers scattering
behind them. Reiquen screamed in pain, and fought for altitude. Laboring to reach
a safe height, they both knew it signaled the beginning of the end.

Newhawk
gasped, clutching his own chest. Feverishly, he leaned forward, feeling more in
tune with his Joré than ever before. Urging him downward, Reiquen folded his
wings and dived, plummeting towards the black army below.

Wind whistled
past Newhawk, but he didn’t feel it. With his mind sinking more and more into
his companion, he felt the light begin to gather around them. White light
streaked past the plunging phoenix and his rider, blending with the billowing
flames that cascaded behind them.

The white
magic built faster than they could fall, until suddenly a blinding flash of
light enveloped them. The next instant Newhawk disappeared—just before the
firebird struck the ground.

Three hundred
paces from the cliff, the magic detonated in a single, explosive discharge. Red
flames and naked magic exploded in a thunderclap of sound and energy, hurtling
outward in an enormous sphere of power. Faster than thought, it streaked in
every direction for hundreds of paces, incinerating fiends without mercy.
Heedless of their cries of agony, the whirlwind shredded the black forms.

Just as the
flames were about to reach into Azertorn, the fire-cloud began to subside. Dissipating
as quickly as it had come, it left a vast expanse of ground, shaped in a
perfect circle, blazing with white fire, preventing any fiends from entering
the city for almost an hour.

***

“What just
happened?” Rokei asked, his tone confused.

Braon shook
his head. “I’m not sure, but I don’t think they planned that. That was
something else entirely.”

Thacker blew
out his breath. “Whatever they did, they gave us the time we needed. All three
of the generals below just reported they were able to fight back. The tunnels
are now sealed. No fiends will be entering the city from the lower caverns.”

Braon nodded
but his thoughts lingered on the great man's sacrifice. “Send the black elves
and dwarves to strengthen the gardens, but have Loken take the elves to the top
battlements.” When Thacker nodded, he added soberly, “Let me know when their
bodies are spotted.”

But when the
fires had finally diminished to scattered pockets of dying flames, there was no
sign of Reiquen or Newhawk.

Chapter 29: Diversion

Siarra sat
with her eyes closed, waiting at the very end of the corridor. With her sight
stretched to the fortress, she made sure each of the other forces was in place.
Immersed as she was in her magic, the world of stone around her appeared as a
solid, ash colored gray. Fifty feet above her, hundreds of thousands of dark
swirls of light moved. Tinged with red, the fiends were an evil sight. She did
her best to look past them.

The humans,
with the shortest distance to go from the splitting tunnels, were first. As
planned, a single flameless torch flared, but the change was only visible to
the humans in the tunnel, and her. Like a star blinking in a black night, she
saw a second torch brighten and go dark. The giants were in position. Now all
she had to do was wait for—

There, she saw
another twinkling spot of light south of the citadel and positioned beneath the
road that led to the valley. With everyone in place, she knew it was time for
her part. Although there had once been a ladder that led to the surface, it had
long since crumbled. She was going to reach the surface her way.

She paused,
gathering her courage, wishing she wasn’t so afraid. Faces of those she cared
about swirled through her mind, Jack, Taryn, Liri, and all the rest. Last, her
mothers’ face appeared in her mind. She missed her so much it hurt, and she
hoped that her sacrifice this day would honor her mother’s memory. Fighting the
wave of sadness, she readied herself for her last moments.

Taking a deep
breath to quiet her fluttering heart, she reached outward and used her magic to
grab the stone around her. A moment later, the rock beneath her began to rise,
lifting her towards the surface. At the last possible second, she blew the top
above her and ascended into the valley

As her head
passed into the gray light, her heart stuttered. Quare, skorpians, krakas, and sipers
stretched away from her in a roiling black sea of snarling flesh. Sliding to a
stop twenty feet above the ground, she stared at the endless horde, her courage
wavering. Positioned as she was in the center of the destroyed valley, the army
of Draeken turned as one at her sudden appearance, but she didn’t wait for them
to flood towards her.

Lifting her
hands above her head, she brought them down with her fists clenched, sending a
blast of air exploding outward. Hundreds of fiends were tossed away, left to
rain down on those a hundred paces away. Even though the spell didn’t kill
many, it cleared the ground around her, giving her the breathing room she
desired.

“Come and get
me,” she said under breath, reaching out for the energy swirling all around
her.

As if they
heard her challenge, a rising roar began to sweep the valley, and then the
black tide descended, shrieking for her death. Flooding towards her in a great
tidal wave of black and red, she began her grisly work.

Hundreds died
in the first few seconds.

But the loss
wasn’t even noticed.

***

Jack crouched
in the crawlspace beneath the ancient mechanism as the two fire giants, Aiden
and Dulnak, worked. They had signaled their readiness to Siarra a couple of
minutes ago, but there had yet to be any sign of movement above them.

“Shh!” Aiden
growled when Dulnak dropped a tool. “Do you want to bring them down on us?”

Jack peered
upward, even though he knew there was little to see. Shifting to look through a
crack in the stone, he listened carefully. “I think we’re clear,” he whispered
to the two giants. “But be more careful.”

Dulnak cursed
under his breath and the two went back to work. Jack took the time to examine
the room around him. Impressive at any age, the ancient machine workings had
been designed to drop the enormous bridge above them in case of an attack.
Gears the size of wagons sat coated in rust. Long metal bars connected the
various parts to an enormous winch. Supposedly, turning the winch would cause
the supports for the bridge to break, but the machine had most likely never
been used for its intended purpose.

Hearing a
rumble, Jack peeked through a gap in the stone beside him. Spanning almost half
a mile, the arch of stone was a feat of engineering that could only have been
built by the dwarves. Directly above their position, the north end sat on the
mountain of Xshaltheria. The southern end had been placed on a neighboring
hill, where the ruins of a small fort remained. From there, the old road
descended into the valley below—where Siarra was fighting for her life.

Shifting a
little, Jack squinted to get a look at the single support that held the long
bridge aloft. Constructed in two towers of stone, they reached skyward for over
three hundred feet. The mere fact that it still stood spoke volumes of the
dwarves that had built it.

Another rumble
came from above, and this time, Jack was able to see the fiends flowing
downward, into the valley. He grinned savagely. “Looks like they took the
bait,” he whispered. “How long until you two are ready?”

“Five
minutes,” Aiden said, “No more.”

Jack shook his
head, irritated that his role was that of a watchdog, but the giants needed a
watcher, and it was the closest of any position to Siarra. Even if there was
nothing he could do, at least he could be close to her. He briefly ran through
his inventory, toying with the idea of rushing to her side. The thought
appealed to him, assuming he was actually able to help—which, he hated to
admit, was unlikely.

He smirked as
he thought of the speedstone hidden in one of his secret pouches. Imbued with a
special air magic spell, it had the ability to control the wielder’s weight and
speed. Although its usage time was limited, he could run a couple of miles
before it gave out. Master thieves had become adept at using one to jump
hundreds of feet in a single bound, making it invaluable to their trade. It was
also one of the guild secrets, and one of the few that the general populous
knew nothing about.

Siarra is just
two miles away, he thought, resisting the impulse to reach for the secret
pouch. Not for the first time, he wondered what it was that attracted him to
her. Since the moment he’d laid eyes on her he’d thought of her as the most
stunning woman he’d ever seen, but her looks weren’t all that drew him to her.
Perhaps it was her power or confidence? He shook his head as the train of
thought circled back to when he’d first met her. Whatever it was, he felt an
undeniable force drawing him to her.

A change in
the sounds above pulled him from his thoughts, and he peeked again to see that
the majority of the fiends had passed. Hopefully, enough had departed the
ancient fortress for their plan to work. It was time to seal them out.

“It’s done,” he
exclaimed, sliding out of the lookout point and darting back to the machine.
“Let’s do it.”

Aiden growled
and pulled himself out from under the rusted wheel. “We may have a problem.”

“What?” Jack
demanded. “I thought you could do this?”

Aiden grunted
and pointed at the gear he’d been working on. “One of the shafts is almost
rusted through. When we turn it, it might snap from the stress.”

“Do you think
it will hold?”

“I don’t
know,” the fire giant said, moving to the crank. “But there is only one way to
find out.” Gesturing for Dulnak’s help, he prepared to turn it. Once they were
ready, the two of them leaned against the two sides, straining with all their
might—but it didn’t budge.

Jack snorted.
“I thought giants were supposed to be strong.”

Dulnak growled
back at him, “It was built for a score of dwarves to turn, human, and the gear
is frozen with age. Care to try?”

He smirked and
swept his hands out wide. “I don’t want to make you look bad.”

Aiden snarled,
but before he could say anything, the crank shifted a bit, then more, and then
finally began to turn. The sound of metal grinding creaked so loudly it
reverberated throughout the room, and Jack winced. “If they aren’t deaf, I am
sure they heard that.”

But suddenly a
loud rending and snapping noise came from the machine and the crank spun
freely, causing Dulnak to stumble.

“By Skorn!”
Aiden bellowed, leaping to the broken gear. “Dulnak, get over here. We are
going to have to melt it into shape and hope it holds!”

The sound of
pounding feet caused three heads to snap upward. Cursing under his breath, Jack
bounded to the door. “Fix the machine! I will buy you some time!”

He caught a
glimpse of flames beaming from their hands before he disappeared up the stairs.
Leaping up the steps with the agility of a panther, he reached ground level in
no time. Passing the iron door that rang with blows, he flew upward into the
ancient guard tower. Reaching the third level, he ducked into a room and raced
to the balcony.

Careful to not
reveal his presence, Jack paused to scan the courtyard. The tower in which he
stood was situated on the Northwest corner, matching the remains of three other
guard towers located on the other points of the square. A large gate dominated
the south side, its iron colored and bent with age. Partially open, it led out
onto the great bridge. Broken battlements spanned above it, connecting the
southwest and southeast towers.

Directly below
him, hundreds of fiends massed at the guard tower’s base, pummeling on the door
he’d passed. It would not hold for long. To make matters worse, some of the
fiends that had gone down into the valley were beginning to turn around and
come back.

He had two
choices after he attracted their attention. He could either draw them up
towards the citadel, or across the bridge—which at any moment would begin to
fall. Unfortunately, the bridge was the only path that would help Taryn
succeed.

Growling at
the prospect, he bounded to the edge of the balcony and leapt south to a neighboring
ledge. Moving with speed and agility, he raced from one balcony to the next
until he reached the gate. Jumping from the last ledge onto the battlements
above the portcullis, he heaved himself on top of them—and cursed as he saw the
bridge.

Decorative tone
beams soared above it, held aloft by pillars of shaped rock. Collectively they
formed thin pathways that lead to the opposite end of the bridge. He'd intended
on using them to cross—but the supports at this point had given way. Casting
about for another route, he saw that the trusses extending from the southeastern
tower were still intact.

Turning, he
picked up his pace as he crossed the road to the next guard tower, listening for
his cue. Just as he reached the opposite side, he heard it. In a rending of
metal, the door to the machine had begun to yield. Knowing he couldn't delay it
any longer, he reached into a pouch and dropped a small pellet to the road
below. Without looking back, he began to climb the tower. Counting the seconds,
he ricocheted upward, catching a higher balcony with one hand.

Ascending fast,
he heard the smoke bomb detonate and grinned. The disorienting blast of light,
sound and smoke would draw attention to him, leaving the machine clear for
another few minutes while the fiends chased him. Snarls and furious bellows
signaled he’d been sighted, and the pounding on the broken door came to a halt.

Reaching the highest
level, Jack threw himself onto the top of the turret. He rolled to his feet and
sprinted towards the bridge. The moment his foot touched the edge of the roof,
he leapt up and out. Sailing through the air, he caught the nearest crossbar.

With a grunt
of effort, he pulled himself onto a stone buttress. Scarcely a foot wide, he
stood on the end of beam that would take him to the south end of the bridge—if
the fiends didn't get to him first. Balanced on the precarious path, he began
to run. With several hundred feet to the ravine on one side, and a sixty foot
drop to the bridge on the other, any mistake would leave him tumbling to a hard
death.

He didn’t
misstep.

The howling of
angry fiends pounded in his ears, causing him to surge forward, ignoring the quare
that were climbing the supports all around him. Like giant ants, they clawed
their way up the columns on both sides of the bridge, hungry for his blood. Out
of nowhere, a skorpian spear came at him, but he leaned to the side and kept
running.

Dashing across
the beam, he reached the center of the bridge . . . and then he saw it. The path
he was running on had crumbled ahead, leaving a gap over thirty feet wide. He
didn’t hesitate. He reached the end and jumped. Arcing through the air with his
hands wind-milling to maintain balance, he reached his feet out.

Bending his
knees to cushion his landing, he threw his hands forward to catch himself. In a
single fluid motion, he landed in a crouch. At the same moment, he heard a deep
grinding sound from below the bridge, accompanied by a shudder in the stone at
his feet. Then he felt his footing sink an inch. . .

He began to
laugh as he launched himself forward. He couldn’t help it. He still had
hundreds of feet to go, the bridge was about to crumble below him, and
countless fiends ahead and behind were screaming for his life . . .

It reminded
him of his guild training.

Legs pumping
with every ounce of acceleration he could muster, he leveled out into full
speed. A moment later, he heard a great blast of cracking stone, and the beam
he was running on dropped several feet. With the agility of a cat, he barely
slowed as the sounds of breaking stone and shrieking fiends filled his ears.

The column
under him cracked and began to fall, so Jack leapt to a support that was
tilting sideways. Bouncing off the end, he landed on another crossbeam. With
his entire being focused on the goal at the end of the bridge—he realized he
wasn’t going to make it.

Exploding into
action, he reached under the cloak billowing behind him and snatched a tool from
his belt. Still rushing across falling beams and tipping supports, he closed the
distance to a hundred feet, and then fifty—but now the area in front of him had
begun to collapse, taking him with it.

Dropping
before he fell, he slid down an angled column. He struck the bridge and rolled
to absorb the impact. Then he was on his feet, running again as he spun a short
rope in his hands. Still thirty feet from the end, the entire bridge snapped
off in a great cracking of stone and rending of metal. Jack's metal claw flew forward
as he began to fall, spikes exploded out of it. It struck the ground and slid
across the uneven stone. Plummeting into the canyon, Jack wrapped the cord around
his arm, waiting for it to catch . . .

With a snap the
cord went taught, yanking Jack to a brutal stop against the southern wall of the
ravine. Looking down, he watched the ancient bridge shatter as it struck the
bottom, sending a great plume of smoke and debris cascading outward.

Chuckling to
himself, he began to climb.

Chapter 30: Hope's End

Braon’s mind
worked harder than it had ever worked before. Barking orders and receiving
reports, he manipulated the map so fast his eyes hardly registered the view
before he moved on. Again and again he checked the four points that remained.
The gardens were still the weakest, and even with the black elves, dwarves, Azüre,
and humans defending it, the line threatened to buckle at any moment.

At the top of
the city, three battalions defended the battlements. The elves held the north
wall, their longbows and mages barely keeping the fiends at bay. To the west,
the gnomes and orcs had already been breached numerous times, forcing Braon to
keep all the druids, giants, and even mages from the other races to keep it
from falling. On the eastern edge of the city, the barbarians and amazons
fought like dragons, and for now, seemed to be the only battalion holding their
line.

Cut to less
than two hundred, the rock trolls defended the last gate to Azertorn. Located
at the northern point of the compass, it led to the split in the river. As the
last of their forces had retreated into the city, Braon had ordered the bridge
destroyed that passed to it, but there was nothing he could do about the
massive gates. On the small patch of stone between the city gates and the
river, the rock trolls kept the fiends from gaining a foothold.

Braon knew
that if they reached the gates, it would only be a matter of time before they
broke through, and the rock trolls were the only ones strong enough to defend
the small area. To prevent them from being struck by Skorpians spears, Braon
had ordered a small army of mages to keep the air clear, and provide support in
any way they could—but some spears still got through.

Even the
mighty rock trolls could not defend against such odds.

Sipers and krakas
pushed and swam their way through the river to be met by the great trolls. The
furious clash of dark beings against the best warriors in Lumineia could only
be described as epic, and every time Braon moved the map to check on them, he
felt a chill run down his neck. The rock trolls fought with a stunning ferocity,
slaying fiends even as they rose out of the water. Few made it to dry land, and
the ones that did . . . didn’t survive for long. Torn kraka bodies and broken
blades were thrown back into the river without mercy. Time and time again, and
against enormous odds, the trolls held their line firm.

But every few
minutes, a fiend got lucky, and another rock troll fell.

All around the
city, thousands of black bodies threw themselves into the fast moving river and
fought their way across. Hundreds were slain by mages or missiles before they
made it, and their bodies were swept away by the river to the great waterfalls.
But many survived the crossing, and once they found purchase in the stone of
the city, they climbed with a tenacity born of fury.

Snarling quare
scaled the outer battlements like giant insects. Most were slain or dislodged
by spear carrying infantry, but enough got past to tear defenders from the
battlements, sending them screaming to the water below. In seconds, they joined
the river of dead and the current swept them over the falls.

Every minute,
the only thing that kept them from being completely overrun was the rivers
current. Swift and powerful, it slowed the fiends advance just enough for the
allied races to keep them at bay—but the secondary channel was almost complete.
Soon the entire river would be diverted, leaving the city at the mercy of an
army thousands of times their size.

Braon took
advantage of a small break and slid the map to check on the fiends' progress.
At best, they had another hour before water would start flowing into the
channel. Probably by design, it was being dug out of archer range, meaning
there was nothing he could do about it.

They were
running out of time.

Glancing
upward, Braon felt a tremor pass through his heart as he saw the sky through
the enchanted ceiling. The black cloud had filled the entire expanse in every
direction, leaving a tiny section of clarity above the city. Even as he
watched, the darkness pressed in on the light, fighting to extinguish it.
Dulled by the cloud, the rays of the sun struggled to get through, but it was
enough to see that the sun had reached its zenith. They still had six hours
before sunset.

Please
Taryn, defeat Draeken before we are lost, Braon thought desperately. There
is no way we can survive until sunset.

Swallowing, he
returned his attention to the map in front of him. Reaching his shaking hands
out, he meant to move the map back to the city, but accidently moved it in the
other direction. Irritated with himself, he moved to fix his error, but then he
froze. The damaged map had stopped on a section of the plateau near the Lake
Road, where the small rise created a knoll thirty feet off the ground. By luck
or chance, that piece of the enchanted map remained relatively clear, giving
him a perfect view.

The leader of
the entire fiend army—and the last of Draeken’s generals—War stood on the
knoll.

In a flood of
memories Braon recalled all the times he'd played Stratos—and his opponents
general had been vulnerable. More often than not the route to take the piece
was an opportunity that he had created, and one that the other player did not
see. Although the similarities were striking now, it was the difference that
chilled him.

In real life
taking the general would not ensure victory.

The cost of slaying
this general . . . would be the person he sent to kill him.

But was it
worth it? Deep down, he recognized that their entire defenses hung on a thread,
and at any moment they could be overrun. If any section of their line was
breached, it would be the end. There was nothing left to send. There were no
reserves, no place to retreat and fight again, and no brilliant tactic that
could make them outlast the day.

He had to slay
War.

If they
managed to do that—and their luck held—it just might disrupt the attack long
enough for them to survive until Taryn succeeded . . . or failed.

Turning to
Thacker, he said, “Summon Tryton, and tell him to bring a score of his best
warriors as well. Make sure he leaves one of his lieutenants behind in his
place.” He suppressed the shudder of what he was about to do, of the sentence
of death he was about to pronounce.

“I have
something special for him to do.”

Chapter 31: Xshaltheria

Taryn watched
Trin embrace his brother one last time before they separated, feeling his gut
clench at the sight. He missed Siarra. Turning away, he ducked to enter the
escape tunnel that would take them to the city. Already, the muted sounds of
battle came from above, and they knew the fire giants had begun to draw them
out. Just moments ago, the echoing of pounding footsteps in the corridors
behind them signaled the fiends proximity. Captain Arrow and his men would
protect the escape tunnel, leaving the four of them to slip into the city.

It seemed like
such a small group to do something so difficult, and Taryn’s mind was drawn to
Braon. He hoped they had survived until now. They were so close to the end, and
had fought too hard for them to defeat Draeken—only to lose the war. But he had
no way of knowing if Azertorn had been overrun. All they could do was hope.

His nerves on
edge, Taryn crouched in the tunnel designed for dwarves, and a moment later,
Liri, Mae, and Trin stepped in behind him. Without a word, they started
forward. Carrying a flameless torch, Taryn worked his way around switchbacks,
and it didn’t take them long to reach the end. Smelling sulfur and brimstone,
Taryn whispered to those behind him, “Get ready, we are almost there.”

Stepping
through an opening onto a small ledge, Taryn’s eyes lifted upward to the
enormous bridge above. Although they could only see the underside of it, the
sounds of furious battle and the blasting of fire from the giants bore witness
to the giant's efforts. Every few seconds, a fiend was knocked flying, leaving
it to plunge into the fiery depths of the volcano.

Even though no
one could hear them over the din of battle, Taryn moved cautiously forward
until he reached the edge. Peering over, he felt his stomach drop.

The ledge on
which they stood was hidden by the bridge above and the monolithic chain below.
With each link spanning over fifty feet long and twenty feet wide, its massive length
reached out to the hanging city below, holding it aloft. Through and around the
gaps in the chain, they could see molten lava far below. Taryn felt like an
intruder in a titan’s home.

“Do you think
it’s safe?” Trin whispered beside him, gesturing towards the thin stone bridge
that hung from the larger one above.

Liri shrugged
and stepped forward. “Only one way to find out.”

Taryn darted
forward and went first, ignoring the look she flashed him. Striding out onto
the thin path, he took several steps and stopped. “Let’s go,” he said. “We
don’t have a choice anyway.” With the others following close behind, he picked
up the pace. Too many people were already dying.

By the time
they reached the other side, the sounds of battle had begun to diminish. The
ruse to draw the fiends out of the city appeared to be working. Spotting an
opening, Taryn ducked through the short doorway and entered the city. With his
ears tuned to the slightest sound, he led them through the dark hallways,
searching for a way to go down.

Taryn felt
like he was trespassing on something ancient. Red light filtered through
windows and other channels, barely lighting the dim corridors. Broken flameless
lanterns lay scattered everywhere, and the evidence that the fire giants had
been driven out littered the floor. Cookware, clothes, and broken weapons lay
scattered, making their path treacherous.

Twice they
dodged into side rooms just in time to avoid passing quare and sipers. Once
they passed and the disturbing silence had returned, they continued their
search for the descending stairs. The giants had told them there were numerous
paths to the lower levels, but had suggested one in particular. Secreted behind
a room marked by a dragon statue, Royl had informed them of the hidden
stairwell.

Finally, they
reached the statue, and in silence, they slipped into the room behind it.
Smelling of ash and age, the room was situated in a part of the city that the
giants had rarely used, and the chamber felt like a tomb. The remains of a
large broken table stood in the center, and crumbling chairs around it
indicated its original purpose. Dark dust coated everything, and every footstep
caused it to puff into the air and swirl at their passing. Other footsteps of
fiends marked the floor, giving Taryn the feeling their enemy had just passed.

Striding to
the back, he pushed against the hidden lever the way that he'd had been told,
and a section of the wall swung inward. Once all four of them were inside,
Taryn closed the door behind them. The clicking of the locking mechanism
sounded loud in the tight space, and Taryn winced.

Frozen in the
stifling heat, he listened for any sign that they had been detected. When no
one came, they breathed a collective sigh and began their descent down the
spiral staircase. Occasional windows allowed the red light into the stairwell,
reflecting dully off the dark steps. They worked their way down several flights
and landings, with each step angling inward as it followed the outer edge of
the city. From the larger levels above, to the smaller ones below, they
continued until they reached the third tier from the bottom.

Arriving at a
stone wall, Taryn paused at the lever next to it. “Ready?” he whispered.

When they
nodded, he pulled the lever, causing the stone wall to slide out. Packed wall
to wall in a massive chamber, quare and sipers turned to look at them. A rising
roar of anger tore from their throats as they launched themselves at the
intruders.

Drawing both
his swords, Taryn took the lead. “Stay behind me!” he yelled, darting into the
fray.

Long katsanas
swept out in a blur of motion, cutting the first fiends down. Dodging forward,
he cut a swath of death through the core of their ranks. Behind him and to his
right, Trin’s longsword guarded his flank, its length preventing any from
getting too close. On Taryn's left, Mae’s short sword streaked in a blinding
display of skill, leaving still forms in her wake. Liri brought up the rear,
her short sword dealing with the stragglers.

Even as he
slew fiends on all sides, Taryn looked to the walls. Royl had told them that
across from the stairwell another flight was the only route to the lowest two
levels—and Draeken's chamber. Using all his skill, Taryn whipped through the
black army, searching for the way down.

—There! He saw
a grand arch over the descending steps. Changing direction, he blew through the
enemy and reached their goal. His friends were right behind him, and as he
turned to defend the landing at the top of the steps, they joined him.

“Taryn, go!”
Trin shouted, chopping with his longsword. “We will hold them!” Blood stained
his sleeve from an ugly bite, but he didn’t seem to notice.

In an instant of
clarity, Taryn knew the truth. Although they had slain many of the fiends in
the chamber, reinforcements would arrive any second. Already the sounds of their
approach reverberated from above. United, the four of them could hold, but if
he left . . .

“Go Taryn!”
Liri yelled, her blond hair wild as she stepped back to draw her bow. In
seconds, she sent three shafts down the throats of the leaders. Blood ran
freely from a wound on her cheek, and her tunic was shredded from claws that
had gotten too close.

Mae gave him
no option as she stepped in front of him, engaging the group he’d been
fighting. Her sword sped faster than anything he’d ever seen, cutting them to
ribbons before they could advance.

Liri grabbed
his arm and forced him backwards. “Nothing else matters except Draeken. Do what
you were meant to do!”

Anguish ripped
through him as the image he’d seen in the Oracle’s orb flashed before his eyes.
Liri had lain dead on the very steps they now stood. Growling, he sheathed his
father's sword and shifted Ianna to the magnificent bow. As fast as he could,
he launched every arrow it contained at the enemy ranks. The blistering wave of
missiles cut through fiends like a knife through parchment, killing the ones in
front, they pierced those behind as the barbed tips blew through them until
they sunk, quivering, into the back wall. The collapsing of their bodies
striking the ground caused the ground to shake with a resounding thud. Only the
wounded moved on the floor, still crawling in their direction.

Trin turned
back to him, his expression wide, but Taryn couldn’t respond. Morphing and
sheathing his mother's blade, he closed the distance to Liri in a rush.
Gathering her into a crushing embrace, he whispered, “I love you, Liriana.”

“I love you
too Taryn,” she whispered back, choking on the words.

Taryn held her
for a moment, until they heard more fiends entering the room. “They’re coming!”
Trin said in a rising tone.

Finally Liri
pushed him away. “Go do it Taryn,” she whispered, tears glistening on her
cheeks. “Save us all.”

Growling as he
felt his heart tear, he ran. Sprinting downward, he tried to outdistance the
pain, but the hurt just sank deeper, slicing into his soul. Unable to contain
it, he ran even harder. Coming upon a small group of fiends, he killed them
before they’d even registered his presence. Blasting through them in a
whirlwind of deadly steel, he kept going.

In less than a
minute, he reached the portal that Royl had described. Shaped in an unobtrusive
arch, it looked like any other section of wall, except for the symbol on the
keystone. Pausing, he put his hand against the stone, and felt nothing.
Pressing forward, he slid into the illusion until he stood on the other side.

Without
looking back, he moved forward until he reached the ledge at the end. Stepping
into a wave of heat, he looked out over the dwarven prison. Shaped like a giant
cylinder, the walls of the cavern were sheer for fifty feet straight down. In the
bottom, a stone circle appeared suspended in space. Twenty paces across, it
left a gap between it and the pit walls. Through the opening—and uncomfortably
close—molten lava boiled.

Registering
movement, Taryn’s gaze snapped upward. Directly across from him, but ten feet
below his own, an identical ledge extended only a foot out from the opposite
wall. Behind the chains of shimmering white, Draeken stood, bound to the wall.
Standing at over six feet tall, the Lord of Chaos appeared relatively young.
Black hair had begun to silver, and few wrinkles marred the sharp features.
Glittering black eyes looked out from dark eyebrows.

“Welcome to my
prison, Taryn Elseerian,” Draeken exclaimed, his voice rough and sinister.

Taryn didn’t
respond, his eyes searching for a way to get to him. Drawing his mother's sword,
he shifted it to a bow and sent an arrow across the space. Imbued with magic
stronger than stone, the arrow still glanced away from Draeken and sunk into
the wall a few feet away.

Behind his
chains, Draeken laughed, low and mocking. “I’m afraid your weapon is not strong
enough. The very bindings that keep me imprisoned prevent such weak attempts on
my life.” His dark eyes flashed with humor. “You are running out of time boy.
My army is set to destroy the pathetic gathering of races, and by sunset today,
they will be destroyed. I will be free at last.” Madness cast a shadow on his
features as he spoke of his freedom.

Taryn did his
best to ignore him, and scanned the walls for some way to reach his foe, but
there was nothing. He would have to jump to the bottom of the pit and see if
there was any way up the opposite wall. Taking a few steps back, he sprinted
forward. Placing a foot at the edge, he leapt up and out, holding his breath as
he fell through the hot, sulfuric air. Slamming into the bottom of the pit with
tremendous force, he felt a flash of gratitude for the strength of his dwarven
heritage.

Rising, he
looked upward and saw the column went all the way to the sky. Recalling the
fire giant's words about the exhaust vent, he was still surprised at its
diameter. Dropping his gaze, he began looking for anything that would help him
reach his target.

“You aren’t
the first to stand there,” Draeken said, “and you will die just as easily.”

Taryn finally
looked up at the Lord of Chaos. “Don't count on it.”

Chuckling
darkly, Draeken waved a hand. “I am not out of tricks yet, fool.”

Next to
Draeken, the churning portal of magic condensed and dropped to the prison floor
like a drop of water, bursting into a swirling fog of energy. Then it began to
rise and congeal.

Gathering into
itself, it began to shape into a person. In seconds, it became the very thing
he’d seen in Siarra’s prophecy . . . himself. Standing at the exact distance he
stood from the center of the circle, the dark image of himself looked at him with
black eyes. The expressionless face and the dark eyes were the only difference
between them, right down to the ready stance and drawn weapons.

Taryn took two
cautious steps forward, and the thing mirrored his own movements exactly.
Enthralled with the disturbing view of his dark self, he almost didn’t hear the
low mirthless laugh. Reluctantly he met Draeken’s cold gaze.

“Now you face
a singular choice,” Draeken said, “Unique in history except for that fool
Lakonus. If you kill it, it will kill you, and doing so is the only way to
close the portal to my army, banishing them for another ten thousand years. You
will save the races of Lumineia, but I will survive. Or, you can choose to save
yourself, and depart this place. I will even grant you the lives of your two
remaining friends battling above.”

Taryn’s heart
clenched, his mind leaping to Liri.

"Even if
you could reach me," he gestured to the corridor that Taryn had entered
from, "the exit is on the opposite side. In addition, the chains that bind
me are infused with supreme magic. To kill me would break them, and the release
of such energy would ensure your death. Either way, Azertorn is even now about
to fall, so time is not your ally.” Draeken’s lips curled into a sneer.

“What will you
choose, hero?”

Chapter 32: The Power of Peace

With only his
enormous shield and sword, Tryton picked up the pace, speeding through the dim
corridor on his way east. Behind him, Kaber and the other nineteen he’d chosen matched
his gate. In near silence, the group of rock trolls raced through one of the
escape tunnels of Azertorn, trying to reach War before the city fell behind
them.

Less than
thirty minutes ago, Tryton had been summoned to meet with Commander Braon.
Leaving Solus in command, he collected his best trolls and departed the battle.
Pausing only to wipe off the copious amounts of fiend blood, he rushed to the
command center. Instinctively he knew he would not be returning to fight with
his brothers. That is why he’d left Solus in command rather than Kaber.
Although Kaber had always been a better warrior, Solus displayed the marks of
leadership. Level-headed and smart, he could continue Tryton’s legacy if
anything happened to him.

Striding into
the elven home, Tryton followed the elf guard to the command center, feeling an
odd mixture of emotions as he went to meet the leader he’d pledged his life to.
Although he’d heard after he'd arrived that the commander was a boy, he was
still surprised when he ducked through the doorway into what had once been a
grand dining hall. Pulling up short at the view, he heard the gasps from the
trolls behind him.

Dominating his
sight, the walls and ceiling displayed a vista from high above Azertorn, making
him feel as if he was in the top of the great tree in the center of the city.
To the right, the fiend army stretched to the southern horizon, and to the
west, north, and east, one could see the top battlements, crawling with
defenders.

Tearing his
eyes from the scene, he noticed a long, rectangular object shimmering and
flickering. Moving points of light flowed like water through the enchantment,
but the damaged sections made it difficult to see what it was meant for. Then
he noticed something familiar, and he realized it was a map. In a flash of
understanding, he knew all he needed to know about the commander.

The room had
been chosen for the view, and the map and been created so he could watch the
battle. Coupled with the telepaths they were using to coordinate the army, it
demonstrated a genius of rare quality. Only a brilliant strategic mind could
have united the races in such a fashion—all while giving himself a way to see
and talk to his forces.

But he was
still stunned to see the body that carried the mind.

Only three
people stood in the room. One elf, a guard, stood to the side, eyeing the
trolls. A human, dressed as a commoner, stood near the map, his expression wide
as he looked at Tryton. Last, a human youth—who couldn’t have been more than fifteen—met
his gaze without flinching. Dressed in wrinkled clothes that hung on his round
form, commander Braon appeared exhausted. Dark circles cradled his bloodshot
eyes, and the fatigue lines marred his features. Unkempt hair shined due to
lack of care—but the eyes radiated with determination.

In a voice
that invited obedience, the young man addressed him with a short bow. “King
Tryton. Forgive me, but there is little time for pleasantries. Our entire line
is going to buckle, and the fiends have already begun to divert the river that
keeps them at bay. Within the hour, the river that protects us will run dry.”

“And we will
be overrun,” Tryton said, ignoring the rumble of irritation from Kaber.

Braon flashed
him a tired smile. “Correct, so I will be perfectly clear. We have held out
this long for a variety of reasons, but now, there is nothing left. We have
lost over six hundred thousand soldiers, and the survivors are beyond the
limits of their strength. There is nothing that can save us, and no strategy
that can delay our destruction—”

“Are we going
to listen to this boy?” Kaber interrupted, taking a step forward to
stand next to Tryton. “I doubt he could even wield a human weapon.”

Tryton opened
his mouth to respond, but Braon beat him to it. “If you doubt my words, then
strike me down, and see for yourself. The city will be overrun according to my
words, and our world will perish, because of you.” His words were light, but
echoed with the ring of truth.

Kaber, despite
his swagger, reluctantly fell silent, causing Tryton to suppress a smile. “As
you said, Commander, there is no time for pleasantries. You brought us here for
a reason. What is it?”

Braon turned
to the map beside him and shifted the view away from the city. As it glided to
a halt, he pointed. “This is the last general of the fiend army. If he is
slain, I believe it will disrupt the attack.”

“Where is he?”
Tryton asked, his eyes narrowing at the prospect.

“Do you
remember the knoll near the Lake Road? You would have passed it on your retreat
into the city.”

Tryton
recalled the flat-topped mound and nodded.

“War is
standing on it, and an escape tunnel from the city lets out behind it.”

Tryton’s brow
furrowed as understanding lit his mind. “You want us to surprise and kill him.”

“If you can,”
Braon bobbed his head. “But I won’t lie to you. The moment the fiends know of
the tunnel, they will use it to get in. We will have to seal it behind you.”

Tryton
considered the mission, but in reality, the choice was an easy one. Die with his
men when the river drained—or die fighting the enemy general. Either way he
knew the end—but if he and his elite trolls succeeded, some of his clan might
survive. His thoughts turned to his father, who had lived and breathed for the
heat of battle. Gifted with his father's skill, many had thought Tryton would
follow in his father's footsteps to war, but there had been a difference that
few had seen. From birth, Tryton had had fought for a single purpose, to
prevent war.

“Get us to
him, and we will kill him.” Tryton said.

Braon nodded
to the elf guard. “Rokei will lead you to the knoll. Good luck.” As Tryton
turned away, Braon paused to add, “King Tryton, I cannot express our gratitude
enough that you and your people have come.”

Tryton knew
what it felt like to send someone to die, so when he looked down at the youth,
there was respect in his eyes. “Win this war, Commander Braon, for all of us.”
Then he turned and followed the elf from the room.

Now he raced
behind Rokei, heading for what he knew would be his final battle. In minutes
they had skidded to a stop next to a set of stairs.

“As soon as
you are through,” the elf panted from the run, “I will close it behind you.
There will be no way back.”

Tryton bobbed
his head. “Give me thirty seconds to get ready.”

Drawing his
sword, he snarled at his elite trolls. “We, who are the flesh of war, we train
for life—”

“—To fight to
the death,” they finished, drawing their own weapons.

Fiercely
proud, Tryton gave his final order. “Set up a perimeter around the knoll. Keep
them off me as long as you can. If I should fall, Kaber will take my place.”

As one, twenty
massive rock trolls raised their weapons. Turning back to the elf he said.
“Open it.”

Launching
himself up the steps, he led with his shield. The darkness split as the portal
opened, and Tryton burst on the surface with a roar. Sounding the call of his
people, he blew through the surprised fiends before they knew what had hit
them. In seconds, the rock trolls materialized behind him, cutting black bodies
down before they could rise to defend themselves. Working together like a
single, supreme warrior, the rock trolls spread around the mound and set their
backs to it. Waves of fiends launched themselves at them, and died by their
hands.

For his part,
Tryton swept through the few fiends in his way, charging to the top of the
stone. Stepping onto the flat surface, he dodged a strike from the remaining kraka.
Effortlessly spinning past him, he plunged his massive sword into its back.
Even as the body hit the stone, he rose to face the general of the fiend army,
who was already drawing his weapon.

Like two
titans of war, they squared off. Tryton took advantage of the time to evaluate
his opponent, trying to ignore the ringing sounds of battle as his trolls kept
the horde at bay. War carried no shield, but his sword was even bigger than
Tryton’s. Black and red lines veined the barbed sword, pulsing with magic.
Spiked armor of burnished steel covered every inch of him, and its helmet
yielded no glimpse at the wearer. Standing at well over twelve feet, the fiend
general towered over Tryton. For the first time in his entire life, Tryton
prepared himself to fight someone bigger, stronger, and more powerful than he.

He charged in
a burst of speed.

Crossing the
twenty paces in seconds, he feinted to the side before leading with his
shield—but War wasn’t fooled. Leaning forward, the general braced himself to
take the blow, and didn’t even budge when Tryton smashed into him. Tryton
rolled to the side to avoid a lightning overhand chop—and missed losing an arm
by inches—before swinging his own weapon at his enemy’s back, but War was no
longer there.

Dashing after
him, Tryton swung his sword with all his might. The moment War deflected the
strike, Tryton stepped in and attacked with his shield from the left side.
Backed by years of training and enormous strength, the upper edge of the shield
crunched into the general’s head, denting his helmet and staggering him back.

Driving
forward, Tryton tried to press his advantage, but the blow only appeared to
infuriate his opponent. War's sword impacted his block with an ear-splitting
ring. The attack sent chills reverberating throughout Tryton's body, and he
almost thought his own weapon would break, but his greatsword's unique magic
held up to the attack.

Before Tryton
could move, War launched himself into a flurry of strikes, swinging his sword
with a speed that took Tryton’s breath away. Despite his best effort, the fiend's
weapon got past his guard several times, leaving him bleeding in multiple
places by the time he managed to dodge away and re-set his defenses.

But War didn’t
give him a chance to breathe. Thundering after him, he kept up the relentless
attack with a fury. Tryton fought back with every trick he’d learned, every
technique he’d ever used, and every ounce of power he possessed, but it just
wasn’t enough. Time and again, he was left on the defensive, and each time, he
felt the dark greatsword cut his flesh. Even though he managed to block the
mortal strikes, he just couldn’t block them all, even with his shield.

Seeing an
opportunity, he flicked his weapon up, deflecting the dark sword high. Darting
forward, he once again shield bashed his enemy’s head. This time, he put as
much force as he could muster into the blow, grunting as the shock of the
vibration settled into his arm. As before, the attack sent War back a step.

For the first
time, War emitted a sound. A screeching roar echoed from the armored behemoth,
and when he attacked, it was with a speed unmatched by anything Tryton had ever
seen. War’s wrath descended upon him, blasting through his defenses and cutting
him again and again. Tryton danced and spun, trying in vain to ignore the
energy seeping out of him.

Tryton
deflected with both his sword and shield, retreating and turning to stay on the
mound. Although his opponent's anger gave him even more strength and speed, it
allowed openings, and he took full advantage of them. One strike came too fast
with his full weight behind it, so Tryton ducked and stepped forward, sending
his greatsword into War’s side. The fiend sidestepped, yet still received a
glancing blow—but the sword merely scratched the shimmering armor.

Frustration
coursed through Tryton as he desperately sought an opening. How could he get
past the creature’s armor? Every blow he managed to land scarcely made a dent.

And time was
running out.

Already, he
could hear the battling of his trolls begin to diminish as several of them were
slain. In moments, the last of his strike force would be gone. Knowing he had
no other option, he took the next chance to smash his shield into War’s helmet
once more—but this time his enemy was ready.

Tryton
deflected the black weapon and stepped into War’s reach, bringing his shield up
to hit . . . but War ducked under the blow and stepped to the side, bringing
his weapon across Tryton’s midsection, cutting deep.

Flesh split
and troll blood gushed forth, causing Tryton to suck in his breath through
clenched teeth. He tried to lift his shield to block the next attack, but he
could barely lift it off the ground. War strode forward, reversing his sword so
he carried it with left hand. Closing the distance fast, the general leaned
back and smashed his fist into Tryton’s shield. Powerful energy blasted in
every direction, shattering his shield and sending him tumbling backward.
Landing in a heap twenty feet away, he struggled to stay conscious as he heard
the heavy footfalls stalking him.

Growling
against the pain, he fought his way to his knees, his mind drawn to the
memories of the hundreds of battles he’d fought, and the numerous friends he’d
lost to war. Deep down, he hated the act of killing, despite his skill in doing
it. Taking the life of another, even in battle, was something he abhorred. But
unlike the rest of his people, he had never fought for the glory of victory.

He fought so
his people did not have to live by the sword. He fought so their children could
be raised with more than just a blade in their hands. He fought so life could
be lived, rather than ended.

He fought for
peace.

Groaning, he
came to his knees, tasting blood and dirt. Bleary eyed, beaten and bloody, he
tightened his grip on the hilt of his weapon and waited, not entirely feigning
the urge to black out. Swaying with the loss of blood, holding the gash in his
side, he listened to the clinking of armor approaching until the footsteps
vibrated the stone beneath his hands.

Finally the
steps stopped next to him—and Tryton stuck. Adrenaline dumped into his veins as
he raised his head and launched himself off the ground. War’s sword was raised
high for the killing blow, and even though he tried to bring it down, it was
too late. Tryton bellowed his roar and smashed his shoulder into the general, feeling
the bite as several of the spikes plunged into his arm and chest. Surging
forward, Tryton knocked War off his feet.

Even as his
enemy fell, Tryton raised his greatsword . . .

War’s body
struck the stone ground in a brutal crunch of metal and rock—and in the same
moment Tryton’s sword pierced his chest. Plunging downward, Tryton drove his
weapon through the powerful armor. Every ounce of his weight and remaining
strength went behind the blow, and the sword sunk through War and into the
stone below.

Tryton, his
last vestiges of energy spent, collapsed. His eyes on the dark sky above, his
thoughts turned to his wife, Kythira, and their single son, Kell. Knowing his
wife, she had safely led the rest of their people into the far northern
mountains. When his mind turned to his son, he felt a deep pride. Young and
quiet, he had no doubt that his skill, given time, would surpass even his own,
and he felt sadness that he would not live to see him achieve such a prowess.
With the blood seeping out of him, Tyrton just wished he could have had more
time with them, especially his son. It had been several weeks since he’d seen
him, but even though Kell had gone with the quest to vanquish Draeken, he felt
oddly close to him.

As his eyes
dimmed he saw the light begin to gather on his sword hilt, and he smiled,
before slipping into death.

***

Braon
shuddered as he saw the end of the battle through the map. Just watching the
titanic duel, his shoulders were clenched and the reek of sweat rose from his
clothing. He doubted there had ever been such a display of skill, strength, or
courage. Even the other rock trolls had fought like dragons. Having paid the
ultimate sacrifice to their king, the last of Tryton’s trolls had gone down
only moments before Tryton’s triumph. Now fiends rushed towards their dead
general.

—the troll’s
weapon began to pulse with energy—

Shining, even
through the magical map, the light intensified until it became blinding—and
then it exploded. The blast of magical energy shattered War’s armor into
oblivion, sending sizzling chunks of metal into the fiends pouring towards
Tryton’s body. Then it swept outward in a blinding ball of white flames,
incinerating everything in its path. In less than a second, every fiend in a
hundred paces was destroyed.

When the magic
abated, the bare stone lay littered with fiend bodies, and King Tryton’s sword
rose out of the knoll, alone.

War had been
defeated.

Chapter 33: An Oracle’s Stand

Magic coursed
through Siarra in a tide of power as she fought the valley of fiends. Reaching
out for the energy around her, she launched it into her attackers. Chunks of
stone hammered into a pack of Sipers, while fire and wind destroyed the
snarling quare on the other side. Magic blossomed out from her to destroy
hundreds, and then thousands, but the press of fiends was too strong, and they
continued to draw closer to her small form.

Siarra sank
deeper into the throng of energy, feeling countless powers swirl through—but it
still was not enough. The leading edge of fiends clawed their way over their
dead companions only to be struck down closer than the previous group. Inch by
inch they gained ground, until now they died within arm’s reach from her flesh.

Anger and fear
lanced through her, and she brought her hands together in a tremendous clap of
sound and wind. Air exploded outward, driving them back once more, but she was
beginning to feel her mounting exhaustion. Magic and energy were never meant to
be used in such a fashion, and her body was beginning to give out.

She had held
out using the amplious until the last second, hoping to buy her friends more
time, and that time had come. Blinking away her fading vision, she focused her
mind on the stone that had begun to shimmer blue on her chest—and abruptly
Siarra’s eyes expanded as never before. She saw magic as she had never seen it,
and with a scream of triumph she looked skyward.

In response to
her call, the sky darkened, and air around her began to churn, catching the
closest fiends and tossing them aside as if they were scraps of paper. Faster
and faster the wind picked up, becoming blacker by the second until a tornado took
shape around her—and it wasn’t alone.

Three other
tornados touched down nearby and wreaked havoc on the surrounding fiends. Sipers,
quare, skorpians, and even the mighty krakas were whisked skyward like
feathers, dying by the hundreds as they struck the ground with brutal force. Their
mighty roars and bellows of pain faded into the screaming wind.

In the center
of the storm, Siarra glowed in a beacon of blue light. On her neck the amplious
glittered and blue power flowed into her skin, seeping deep as it heightened
her senses, strengthened her control, and enormously amplified her force. Her
face became a mask of concentration as she willed the world's energy to unite
in a single purpose.

In that moment,
the cyclones began to draw closer, their paths angling towards the tornado
protecting Siarra. Foot by foot the three whirlwinds drew nearer, plowing
through the fiend army in relentless fury, until one merged with another—and
then another—and then another.

Now Siarra
stood in the center of a massive, screaming cyclone. Spanning a hundred feet,
its black walls created an impenetrable wall of sheer power. Driven by hate,
the fearless fiends threw themselves against the barrier. Their bodies hit the
ground hundreds of feet away.

But the
tornado was just the beginning.

Gaining in
strength, the incredible cyclone blackened the sky as it reached outward.
Thunderstorms appeared, filling the valley until the tornado became the eye of
a shrieking hurricane that blanketed the valley. Lightning flashed, arcing into
the ground and burning fiends where they stood, thundering its triumph at the
slain enemies. Hail, wind-lashed into deadly shafts of ice, pierced the dark
forms mercilessly—but Siarra still wasn’t finished.

Imbued with
tremendous power and amplified by the ancient stone, Siarra’s vision saw the
world for what it truly was. Colored light swirled and exploded throughout the
universe in a stunning majesty that took her breath away—and for the first
time, she saw a type of energy she’d never seen . . .

Unacknowledged,
yet supremely powerful, it bound everything to the surface of the world.
Reaching out to the fiends flying through the air, it dragged them to the earth
when the wind let go, yanking them to a speedy death. Unfelt, it kept the stone
around her from lifting into the sky, and kept mankind grounded. Its iron grasp
had never been touched by any mage.

Until now.

Overcome by
the magic flowing through her, barely holding onto her sanity, Siarra reached to
her neck and tore the stone from her throat. Clenching it in her hand she
screamed her fury at the army all around her—and plunged her fist into the
stone at her feet.

The response
was instantaneous. As if a large stone had been thrown into a pool of water,
the ground rippled outward from Siarra’s buried hand. In radiating circles the
swells rose and fell only a few feet—but where they went the power that kept
the fiends grounded disappeared.

In seconds the
entire fiend army rose off the ground, caught in the grasp of the howling
tempest. Cries of rage and fear were lost as the massive storm tossed the fiends
like leaves in the wind. Lightning coursed through multiple bodies on its way
to the ground, shards of ice, as sharp as swords, plunged through others
without mercy. Hundreds of thousands of fiends died in seconds, torn to pieces
by the storm’s fury.

Siarra
struggled to keep the magic going as long as possible, knowing that when it
expired she would be done. Her energy would be spent, and there would be
nothing left. Even a single surviving fiend could then slay her with ease. With
so many of them in the valley, she knew she simply could not slay them all.
Some would live, and those would kill her—but she had already accepted her
fate.

After what seemed
an eternity, she felt her strength begin to ebb. With all her might she forced
the amplious deeper into the ground and released the binding power of the earth
back into the valley. Rushing upward the land sought to retake what it had owned
before. With several times its prior strength, the earth snatched the fiends
out of the sky with so much force that the entire valley shook when they struck
the ground. The survivors of the storm pummeled the valley floor, with some
falling from hundreds of feet. Collectively, they died on impact.

Her willpower
gone, her magic fading, and her strength waning, Siarra wavered and crumpled,
and with her temporary loss of consciousness the storm dissipated. Struggling
to open her eyes, she saw her entire right arm streaked with blue lightning, a
permanent mark of using so much power.

Weakly she
turned over her hand and found the amplious as white as a diamond, its power
drained. She smiled to herself. She had played her part as well as she could
have hoped.

Her diversion
done, she slipped into oblivion.

***

Jack Myst
stood on top of the eastern battlements of the destroyed bridge, holding on for
dear life as the elements went insane. He’d been in storms before, and had even
used them to do his work. A great tempest for him was like an old friend that
hid him from guards.

But not this
one.

This whirlwind
was no ordinary storm. It seemed to have a mind, an intelligence to it that
sought to slay every living creature in the valley. And he knew whose willpower
guided it. Then he felt his body try to lift into the screaming wind.
Scrabbling for a grip on the column next to him, he found crack and held on,
annoyed at the brief sense of panic.

Gritting his
teeth, he grasped the stone pillar with every ounce of strength he possessed,
closing his eyes against the black fury of the oracle. But not being able to
see just made it worse. He felt the lack of force holding him earthbound, he
heard the wind tearing at his clothing, and tasted the cold rain slapping his
face.

For one brief,
terrifying second, he thought the pillar he was holding was going to lift into
the sky. Then abruptly the screaming began to abate, and without warning the
ground yanked him downward. Staggering to keep his balance he felt the storm
begin to withdraw, so he turned and looked over the devastation in the valley.

Black corpses
fell like rain, making him feel a rush of gratitude for his distance. He didn’t
even want to think about what it would have been like closer to the epicenter.
Bodies lay crumpled and broken in every direction, shattered, torn, and crushed
by Siarra’s magic. Even though the storm had faded, it was as if the valley
itself feared to breathe.

At last the
whipping tornado dissipated, and even from his position, he saw Siarra
collapse. Without a thought, he began to work his way down to her. Within a
hundred paces, he reached the shattered remains of the stonework, and again, he
felt grateful that he hadn’t advanced any closer. A minute later, he reached
the outer edge of the corpses.

Treading
carefully, he began the long journey towards the center of the valley—but then
he spotted movement. One by one, fiends began to rise. Injured, yet still
alive, a couple hundred began a slow advance, snarling their hate. Too far to
get there in time, Jack reached into his pouch and withdrew the speedstone.

Activating it
with a touch, Jack launched himself forward. Bounding thirty feet with every
step, he covered the ground with the speed of an arrow. Reaching a pile of
bodies and broken earth, he jumped twenty feet into the air and sailed over it,
feeling the rush of exhilaration as the magic stone made his body lighter. When
he reached top speed, the landscape blew past him in a blur, and in less than a
minute, he reached Siarra—just as the stone’s magic gave out.

Drawing a
dagger and a small, enchanted crossbow, he targeted the lead fiend. Taking him
down, he aimed for the next, and the magic in the crossbow brought the next
bolt into place. Although there were far more than he could handle alone, many
were injured, and they were scattered. He took out as many as he could from a
distance before he reloaded the chamber, readying himself for the close quarter
work.

At last they
reached him, and he moved with the grace and skill of a great cat. Bounding from
one side to the other, he stabbed one, and then turned and shot a bolt, only to
dart away from a charging siper. Leaping over it, he cut its spine, already
engaging the next group as it fell behind him. Like an army of dead creatures,
they dragged, crawled, and worked their way to him. Taking down the last of
them in a flurry of blade work and several bolts, he spotted the two krakas
making their way in his direction.

“Skorn's blade
these guys don’t know when to quit,” he growled, checking if there were any
more. A quick glance revealed nothing else moving except the two fiend
captains. Glad there were no surviving skorpians, he ran through his inventory,
wondering what could take one of the monsters down. Most of his magical items
were designed to aid in escape, and couldn’t do much damage, but he settled on
the one he hoped would work.

Just as one of
the krakas began to limp faster in his direction, he grabbed a wad of putty and
attached it to the end of his next bolt. Taking careful aim, he sighted at the
slowly charging fiend. The small bolt flew true, and struck the kraka in the
throat. A cloud of green air erupted around his head, seeping into his mouth
and nose as he breathed in. Choking and coughing, the kraka died as the poison
did its job.

Swiveling
towards the last fiend captain, he brought his crossbow up, only to realize
that the fiend had moved quicker than he’d thought possible. With the creature
less than twenty feet away, he only had time to shoot once before dodging. The
bolt went wide, missing by a foot. Charging, the kraka used his remaining good
arm to swing the large obsidian sword, barely catching Jack in the leg as he
dived away.

Jack took a
sucking breath as he felt the hot, stinging pain from the glancing wound, but
he rolled to his feet. With practiced movements, he snatched something from his
healing pouch and slapped it on the wound. The gushing blood stopped
immediately and the wound closed, but the pain remained. It was the strongest
thing he had on him, but the wound was deeper than it had felt.

Doing his best
to ignore it, he raced forward towards the back of the large kraka, who had
taken several steps in Siarra’s direction. Bounding high, he landed on the
creatures back, eliciting a bellow of surprise. Before the hulk could react, Jack
stabbed his dagger into the creatures’ neck. The kraka cried out in pain and
made a grab for him, but Jack had already leapt away.

Flipping into
a cartwheel twenty feet off the ground, he pointed his crossbow and shot
several arrows on his way down. Only two made it past the armor, but both sunk into
flesh—and then they exploded as Jack activated a second trigger. With the dagger
still in the kraka’s neck, the bolts brought him to his knees. Choking for
breath, he came crashing down, and finally went limp.

Blowing out his
breath, Jack rushed to Siarra’s side and gathered her frail form into his arms.
“Come back to me Siarra," he whispered. "You need to come back to
me.”

Siarra’s eyes
fluttered open, “Jack? What happened?”

“You killed
most of ̓em. I got here in time to take out the rest before they could get
to you.” He couldn’t keep the smugness from his voice, causing her to smile.

“Have the
fiends in the other valley come yet?” Her voice sounded airy and forced.

Jack was about
to respond no, but then he heard the rising sound and the rush of pounding
feet.  He looked west in time to see a tidal wave of black forms burst from the
pass. His heart sank like a stone. “Yes Siarra. They are coming.” He felt his
arms tighten around her, pulling her to him.

“How much time
do we have?” She asked wistfully.

“No more than a
few minutes,” he said, feeling the biting emotion lance through him.

“It is
enough.”

His gaze
snapped to meet hers, for one brief moment hoping she was strong enough to use
her magic, but then he saw her face.

Gingerly, her
hand raised and touched his cheek. “My Jack. I hoped I would get a chance to
tell you how I feel.”

His heart
skipped a beat. This was not what he had expected. “What do you mean?”

Her light
voice chuckled, like she was asleep and this was only a dream. “I have favored
you for some time, but I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself. It is not for
an Oracle to feel for a thief.”

He felt a tear
press against the corner of his eye, and his lips tightened to control his
emotion. “You tell me this now? When we are about to die?”

“I am sorry.”

Jack looked
away, still fighting the hot tears from bursting forth. “I care for you too,” he
whispered, shattering through the wall that had kept his heart guarded for so
long.

“Then at least
we can die together,” she said, and Jack turned back to see a soft smile on her
lips. Weakly, her hand tightened around his neck and drew him to her.

Hesitant, Jack
leaned in and kissed her. Soft at first, the contact sent tingles through his
body. Unable to fight the rising anguish, he crushed her to him, wishing they
had more time, and cursing himself for not acting sooner.

Then she
pulled away, a small smile on her lips. "Farewell, Jack," she
whispered.

Before he
could respond, her arm slipped from his face and her eyes closed.

Even if he
could have made an attempt to escape, he wouldn’t have. Clenching his eyes
against the bitter tears, he held the still form to his chest.

Chapter 34: Mirror’s Edge

Taryn tried
every trick of battle he’d ever learned, but nothing he’d ever been taught
could get him past his own mirror. The very essence of battle was creating an
opportunity for victory, but doing that now—no matter what he tried—opened the
same opportunity against himself. He tried one sword, two swords, and even his mother's
bow. In perfect detail, his shade copied him.

He placed a
sword on his opponent's neck—and felt the return blade touch his own.

He made to
strike his foe with his fist—but stopped as the return blow flew towards him.

He even tried
to remove his opposite's weapons—but his dark self reached for his.

After every
failed attempt, he had to listen to the mocking laugh from his adversary.

Ten minutes
passed, and then twenty. Soon thirty minutes had gone by, and he was no closer
to defeating his matching adversary. Taking a break from his efforts, he roamed
the exterior of the circle, feeling like a caged animal as he searched for some
niche or crack he could use to climb upward. With the wide gap between him and
the wall, he just couldn’t get a good look at the sheer face.

“This place
was built as a prison, fool. There is no way to climb up.”

Taryn ignored Draeken,
even though he knew he spoke the truth. Changing tactics, he walked to the center
and stood inches from his foe. Cold black eyes and an expressionless face
looked back. Slowly he began to move in a circle, hoping for some hint, some
break in the magic that created the image.

If there is
even the slightest difference, I will find it, he vowed. Step by step he
worked his way around and backward, pointedly ignoring the jibes and mocking
remarks from Draeken. But he couldn’t disregard the time. After another ten
minutes, his heart raced.

Darting to the
center, he looked up the vent column, and saw the sky beginning to darken
through the clouds. Panic crashed through him as he realized he had only a few
minutes before sunset—and Azertorn and the world of Lumineia were lost. Their
sacrifice would have been for naught. His sister was probably dead, his friends
were about to join her, and everyone else in the world would perish because he
couldn’t figure it out! Even Liri—

No! he
thought, if there is any chance she is alive, I will keep trying. Taking
a deep breath, he did the only thing he could. He sat down.

Sinking into a
cross-legged position, he closed his eyes and considered everything his sister
had told him. Then he examined what he’d seen in the prophetic orb. Last he studied
every piece of information he’d learned on his journey to this singular battle,
including what his uncle had said to him.

Even while he
strained to find a solution, he felt a firm resolve shape within him. Though he
didn’t consciously think it, he knew what he would do.

If he didn’t
find a way in time, he would do exactly what Lakonus had done.

***

Braon's gaze
lingered on the waning light, even as he gave orders in what he knew was the
end. Their line had been breached moments ago, and fiends were flooding into
the city from countless directions. Even without draining the river, the fiends
were just too many, and Braon’s forces were too small. Running, retreating, and
dying, the gathered races had nowhere to go.

Braon had
already ordered the women’s caverns evacuated, and the remaining army was
retreating to join them. It didn’t matter. Even the long escape routes all
opened into the fiend army on the cliff. Finally he fell silent. There were no
more orders to give. They were done, and it appeared Taryn had failed.

Hearing an
anguished cry, he turned to see Thacker on his knees. “Oh Kit,” he sobbed, “not
another one. Not my daughter.”

Moving through
the broken map, Braon slid to the man’s side and put his small arms around him.
There was nothing to say. Soon more of his children would join their their
brother and sister, and Braon felt his heart tighten when he thought of Brynn.
Even though he knew it wouldn’t happen, he still hoped she would survive,
somehow.

Snarls and
cries of anger came from the corridors, and Braon turned to see several elves
burst into view, backed into the room by the attacking fiends. Rokei leapt to
the front and dispatched several, his short sword striking many as he rallied
the other guards—but they could only hold for so long. One by one, they began
to fall.

Soon, only
Rokei remained. Bloodied and torn, he desperately defended three fronts.

Braon,
exhausted, worn, and beyond all, sad, drew the small belt knife at his side. He
doubted he could even slay one, but he knew it wasn’t in him to go down without
a fight. His throat tight, he looked skyward, wanting to see the sky one last
time. Through the enchanted ceiling, the column of light that kept the darkness
at bay had diminished.

Only a sliver
remained . . .

***

In the end,
Taryn realized the solution must be tied to his heritage. Part dwarf, elf, and
human, his bloodlines could be traced to the three races directly through his
parents . . .

In that instant
something clicked and his eyes snapped open. The white dragon had said that
Lakonus had not been part dwarf, and so had not had the strength to perform
what was necessary. The human side of him, bearing the cunning and tenacity
inherit in that race, finally figured out what he must do.

Looking upward
at Draeken, he said, “Goodbye Draeken.”

Before he
could respond, Taryn rose to his feet and drew his father's sword. Using its
magic, he began to carve a shape out of the stone at his feet. Across from him,
his mirror copied his movements. Once he was finished, Taryn lifted the long
section he'd cut out of the ground. With a grunt of effort he raised it until
it stood vertical, and then shifted it so it abutted the one his dark self had
created.

Together, they
formed a pillar rising out of the center of the ring.

Hurrying now,
Taryn drew his mother's bow and sent two arrows into the makeshift tower,
pinning the two pieces together. It seemed stable, but he nudged it to make
sure it was balanced. Satisfied, he darted to the edge of the ring and whirled
to face the pillar of stone, aligning himself to face his adversary.

Ignoring the
surprised protest from Draeken, Taryn sheathed Ianna and took a deep breath. Launching
himself forward, he sprinted towards the center of the stone circle. With the
speed of an elf, he closed the distance. Just before he reached the makeshift
tower he leapt up it with the strength of a dwarf.

Running up the
stone he felt the impact as his mirror did the same, and on opposite sides, they
flew up the rough surface. When his momentum began to slow at the top, Taryn
stepped one last time—twisted his body in the opposite direction—and jumped.
With all his might he leapt out and away, towards the blank stone wall of the
prison. Lifting his father’s sword as he arced downward, he plunged it into the
smooth rock below the prison exit.

Brilliant blue
magic flared in his weapon and smoke came from the hole—and at the same time he
heard a cry of supreme anguish from the other side of the room. Hanging from
his sword hilt, Taryn looked back to see Mazer's shadow sunk deep into
Draeken’s chest. Enchanted and forged by both his parents to be the most
powerful sword ever created, the mirror weapon shattered through the barrier
that kept the Lord of Chaos bound. The perfect reflection of himself—and his
weapons—his dark shade had given him an edge in this battle.

It allowed him
to be in two places at once.

Draeken
gasped, fighting for breath as the shadow Taryn shimmered and faded from view,
leaving a ragged hole through Draeken's body. “It’s . . . not possible,” he
managed to choke out, before coughing one last time. Succumbing to the gaping
wound, the Lord of Chaos slumped and fell through the shattered bindings,
falling into the gap between the walls of the pit and the floor.

Still hanging
from his sword below the only escape from the pit, Taryn caught a glimpse of
Draeken’s body disappearing into the lava below.

Chapter 35: A Light in the Dark

Braon took a
deep breath, unable to tear his eyes from the sight of the darkness destroying
the light in the sky above. Several emotions flitted through his heart in a
matter of seconds. Anger at the fiends was replaced by guilt and a crushing
disappointment for his failure. Then a slow, numbing sadness replaced
everything else—

—A great wind
blasted through the city. Faster than thought, it screamed through every corner
of Azertorn, and everywhere it went, fiends evaporated. With his eyes still on
the sky, Braon saw the point of light explode outward, driving the darkness
back with tremendous power, forcing it away until the dark cloud over the fiend
army was sucked into the eastern horizon.

In its place,
the last vestiges of a glorious sunset remained, lighting the sky in a
brilliant display they hadn’t seen in days, and with it, hope blossomed through
Braon. Turning to Rokei, he felt a grin spread across his features.

Wounded and
down on one knee, the elf guard that had saved both Thacker’s and Braon's life
in the last few minutes, grinned right back in an expression of pure triumph.

Braon couldn’t
stop the tears as he moved to the still sobbing Thacker. Raising him to his
feet, he said, “It’s over!”

Overcome with
grief the fisherman said, “But I have lost two of my children.”

Grabbing his
shoulders, Braon said, “And yet you will lose no more!”

Thacker’s eyes
widened. “Is it really over?”

Exultation
shined through Braon’s blurred vision as he pointed at the sunset. “The light has
prevailed!”

***

Keri tumbled
backward as the fiend knocked her sprawling, wishing her exhausted limbs were
stronger, wishing she was better, and wishing she were not so afraid. Crawling
for her sword, she knew the fiend behind her would slay her. The end had come,
and all she wanted was to hold her family one last time.

But the
expected blow did not fall. Instead, a shrieking wind exploded around her,
whipping her hair and clothing in such a gale that she thought she was going to
lift off the ground. Rolling onto her back, her eyes widened in astonishment as
the fiend in front of her began to disappear. Evaporating like smoke in the
wind, it was gone by the time she blinked.

All around
her, the other black bodies were disintegrating, erased by the wind that had
saved her life. Lifting herself to a sitting position, she looked out over the
stone parapet on which she’d been fighting. Slain and wounded bodies littered
the ground, and red blood stained the dirt, but not a single attacker remained
in sight. Rising to her feet, she felt her eyes drawn towards the sunset that
had burst into view. Its light cascaded outward in a warm embrace that seemed
to welcome them to freedom.

The ragged
cheer from her companions began to swell, and she joined in, falling to her
knees as her strength left her. Thick tears welled in her eyes and coursed down
her blood spattered cheeks. Overpowering her, the bottled emotions flooded out.
She cried for joy that she had survived. She sobbed for all the soldiers that
had died. She wept for Aron, who had defended her to his last breath. She cried
for the happiness that she would get to raise her daughter . . .

And she cried
in agony that her husband had not lived to see it.

***

Gaze reached
skyward, and brought an arc of lightning into the mass of black bodies. Even as
they were torn asunder, he leaned against the wall and vomited, nearly blacking
out as he reached for the energy once more.

“Don’t do it,
Gaze!” Lexi shouted, “You need to run!”

Despite her
words, she drew another arrow to her ear and released, slaying another fiend
that had broken through. He struggled to respond, but his tongue felt thick in
his mouth. Trying to work it free, he slipped to the ground, his swirling
vision focused on Lexi’s profile as she stepped closer to him and shot arrow
after arrow to keep them at bay.

—Without
warning a howling wind tore through the street, snatching the fiends out of
thin air. In seconds, the entire black army had vanished. Clearing the city,
the gale then went for the sky, devouring the black shadow that hung over
Azertorn, leaving the world free of darkness as it withdrew eastward.

A brilliant
sunset lit the sky, and the yellow rays of light flooded the city. His stomach
roiling, his head buzzing, he succumbed.

With a smile
on his lips.

***

Aléthya
slammed the iron bar in place to secure the front entrance. Whirling, she raced
to the next cot even as the door began to shake from heavy blows. The order had
come just minutes before to evacuate upward, but most of the wounded wouldn’t
survive the move.

Without
exception, the healers had refused to go.

All the
injured that could stand had been hurried out the back entrance and up
auxiliary tunnels, leaving the four healers, and Tan, and Aléthya frantically
trying to heal the rest enough to escape. Amidst the sounds of splintering wood
and the muffled snarls from outside, she moved between beds, healing as fast as
she could.

Pain arced
through her body again and again, but she kept going. Three elves from the end
of the line, she heard a great rending of metal as the door gave way. Turning,
she watched the fiends pour into the room, praying her healing ability would
stop so she could die quickly.

Ten feet from
her, a quare leapt—but froze in midair, its teeth still bared at her.
Evaporating like water in the sun, the creature disintegrated before her
astonished eyes. In a flash, it had disappeared, along with every other fiend
in the room.

Stunned, she
heard the cries of exultation from outside. Her eyes found the door just as the
shadowy light gave way to beams from the fading sun. A laugh burst from her
lips at the same time tears blossomed down her cheeks, leaving lines in the
accumulated grime.

Interrupting
her swirling emotions, she heard a groan from behind her.

“Is it over?”

She knelt by
the wounded soldier’s side, tears streaming down her cheeks, but was unable to
find her voice. Reaching for his bloody chest, she healed him, hardly feeling
the stabbing pain. Without a word, she moved to the next one, and after healing
him, moved to the next. Uncontainable joy drove her to the last wounded elf.

The dying
still needed her.

***

Murai’s
katsana hung by his side, dripping with the blood of his latest victim, but
there was no need to use it again. The black army had been sucked into the
void, leaving the slain elves and dwarves littering the ground. Of the twenty
guards that had surrounded Brynn, only he, a human female, and two dwarves were
still standing.

But Brynn had
survived.

Murai let out a
slow breath, feeling the rush of gratitude blow away the heat of battle. His
chest heaving from the brutal fight, he turned to ensure that his charge was
unharmed. The woman was comforting her as she cried, so he took the time to
wipe his blade clean. Methodically he ran a rag down the long blade, doing his
best to control the burst of emotions within him. Each one ran its course. Only
the last refused to go.

Satisfaction
that he had protected Brynn.

Sadness for
all the lost friends.

Joy that the
war had ended.

And then worry
for Taryn.

His eyes
lifted to the eastern sky, carrying his heart with it.

Please let
him be alive.

***

Relief flooded
Taryn’s frame, and he hoped with all his might that he had succeeded in time.
Glancing upward, he wondered how he was to climb the remaining distance. Then
without warning a head appeared in view, nearly startling him into letting go.

“Liri?”

“Taryn?”

They spoke at
the same time, and then laughed together. “Did you do it?” she asked, her voice
breathless. “The fiends all vanished, so I assumed . . .”

He nodded, and
her brilliant smile lifted his heart. “I knew you could do it!” she exclaimed.

He grinned
wide. “Where are Trin and Mae?”

Her look said
it all, and just like that, the euphoria evaporated.

“Can you drop
me something?” he said, his voice sounding hollow in his ears.

She nodded and
disappeared. A moment later she reappeared with a makeshift rope. Carefully, he
transferred his weight to the cord, and then withdrew Mazer from its smoking
hole. Its purpose fulfilled, its magic was gone, replaced with a black tinge to
the metal. Sheathing it, he scaled the rope and rolled onto the ledge.

“I thought you
were dead,” he said, standing to embrace her.

She swallowed
against her tears. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

They held each
other for a long time, each grateful to be alive—and to be together. Taryn’s
mind wandered to all the friends he’d lost. Kell, Trin, Mae, and probably
Siarra. He wondered if Jack were still alive, or Arrow, or anyone else at
Azertorn.

“Come on,” he
said, reluctantly parting from her soft embrace. “We should go.”

“Do you think many
survived at Azertorn?”

He sighed and
shook his head. “I don’t know, but I hope so.”

She clasped
his hand. “Let’s go find out.”

He smiled at
her, happy beyond description to see her again, yet still feeling the emptiness
of loss. It was a feeling he suspected every surviving soul in Lumineia now
felt. Hand in hand, they began their ascent through the now empty city. In
minutes, they reached the stairs. Seeing the lifeless forms at the top, Taryn
slowed, unable to bear the piercing pain. Drawing close, Taryn’s heart leapt to
his throat.

Trin lay on
his side, boasting several deep wounds that darkened the stone below him. Mae lay
nearby, her body sprawled awkwardly. Reaching out to each other, their hands
were entwined together.

“Oh Taryn,”
Liri said, drawing close to him. “When Trin fell, Mae couldn’t stop them. They
drove us backward and we got separated. I . . . I did what I could, but there
were too many. I should have . . ., I should have . . .”

He put his arm
around her, fighting the tears that welled up in his eyes. “If you had stayed,
you would be dead too.”

He felt like
he had lost a sister, and Trin had proven to be a loyal friend of the highest
caliber. His heart aching, Taryn realized he missed them already.

“Can we take
them with us?” Liri asked. “I don’t want to leave them here.”

Taryn nodded,
and with his heart bursting, he knelt and raised Trin to his shoulder. Beside
him, Liri lifted Mae. With tears streaking their cheeks, they hoisted their
burdens and began their ascent.

It was a long
journey home.

Epilogue: From the Ashes

Taryn took a
deep breath of the early morning air, enjoying the cool breeze on his face.
Reaching out, he felt Liri grasp his hand.

“The repairs
are coming along nicely, don’t you think?” Liri said, and he followed her gaze
up to Azertorn.

From their
position several hundred yards in front of the cliff, they had an excellent
view of the damage that had been done to the city, and the repairs that were
still in progress. Although the city had improved dramatically in the last six
months, the cliff still bore the marks of the Second Draeken War.

Holes from skorpian
spears littered the once smooth stone, giving the tan cliff a pock-marked look.
Black burns from dwarven magic still stained the stone, bearing testament to
the lengths the defenders had gone. Some sections of the cliff were broken
where explosions had shattered outward, leaving large boulders littering the
ground at its base. On top of the plateau little remained of the cliff-top
defenses. In the distance, the remains of a solitary sweeper clung stubbornly
to its post.

Glancing at
Liri, he smiled. “It’s good to see the forest growing as well.”

Her grin
widened as she turned to survey the area around her. Burned to delay the fiend
army, the forest of Numenessee had been no more than blackened stumps when they
had arrived from their return journey. Now, after several months of painstaking
effort from the surviving plant magi, green shoots lifted skyward. The forest
of hope would soon reach shoulder height.

Looking out
over the field of green, he found it described the people of Lumineia. Healing
slowly from their numerous scars, the various races had one by one departed,
returning to their homelands. The black elves were the first to go, and had
left on good terms with their surface cousins. It was rumored a trade route was
to be established to maintain the link, a route suggested by Braon.

The Azüre
people had departed soon after. Led by Adaeze, they had returned to their
island homes as one people, no longer to be divided in clans as they had once
been. Although they had suffered many losses, they were hopeful that their
homeland had remained untouched. Before they had departed, they too had
promised strong ties with the other races.

The rock
trolls, numbering a less than forty, waited long enough for the memorial to be
finished. Marking the gathering and its united victory, Braon had worked hard
to have one built. On the rocky knoll where King Tryton had given his life to
slay War, a black obelisk had been constructed several feet behind the still
embedded sword. Fused to the stone, the blade would forever remain, and be an
enduring symbol of the people’s valiant effort. A plaque had been placed on the
smooth obsidian memorial, inscribed with the words:

For seven days, the gathered races fought the endless
night.

United, we prevailed.

Near the top
of the dark stone, a small section had been removed. Once a year, on the day
they had been victorious, the sun would shine through the hole, beaming down on
the buried greatsword.

Even Val’Trisian
of the black elves had returned for the ceremony, and along with many others,
they had mourned those that had paid the price for their survival. Before
nightfall, Solus and the rock trolls had left.

The gnomes and
orcs would probably have stayed longer, if the elves had kept feeding them, but
Talfer had managed to get them to leave. Taryn chuckled, recalling a rumor
about the shortage of food, a tale he suspected had been started by the retired
commander.

For their
part, the humans had been leaving in groups for some time, but the bulk waited
until Prince Graden, who was soon to be crowned King Graden, joined them.
Riding south, he had worked hard to ensure that the relations between the
various peoples remained in good standing. With less than a quarter of their
population alive, the survivors of the eastern kingdom had almost seamlessly
joined the people of Prince Graden. For now, there would be only one human
kingdom of Talinor. Griffin was no more.

Last, General
Onix had left. Although he would likely become king soon, they would wait until
they could do a conclave of the clans. Despite his departure, more than half of
the dwarves remained behind, helping to rebuild the city. A smattering of the
other races stayed as well. Some stayed to help, but most stayed to heal. Their
homes had been destroyed, their families torn apart, and so they stayed,
seeking some measure of peace.

Liri poked
him, yanking him from his thoughts.

“What?” he
asked.

“I asked you
about Captain Arrow?” Her eyes danced at his inattention. “Did he leave already?”

He nodded and
swept his hand south. “He took the last of his men and left with Gaze and
Graden. There was talk that Graden would promote him to general, but the men
still call him captain.”

Liri sighed.
“It’s good for him to be moving on. The loss of both Lieutenant Fisk and Trin
hit him pretty hard.”

“I know the
feeling,” Taryn said, as the image of Trin’s and Mae’s still forms flashed
before his eyes. Both of them were buried on a hill outside of Xshaltheria.

“What about
Braon?” Liri asked. “Doesn’t he leave soon?”

Before Taryn
could respond, a light elven voice answered from behind them. “He leaves
tomorrow.”

Taryn turned
to see an elf striding towards them. Although he’d recognized her voice, the
blue lightning on her right arm was unmistakable. A man dressed in a dark
riding cloak walked beside her.

Liri stepped
forward and embraced her. “Good morning, Siarra,” she said brightly, “I thought
we were meeting for lunch.”

Siarra smiled
and said, “I saw the two of you slip out, and we wanted to join you.”

Jack snorted,
“And she wanted to get me out of the city.”

“Just because
you wanted to see the queen’s crown . . .”

They all
laughed at that, and when the levity passed Taryn asked, “Where is Braon
going?”

“He is going with
Thacker’s family south. I believe they are traveling with a woman from the
southern kingdom. What was her name?” She glanced towards Jack.

“Greatstride,
I think. She had a baby and her sister with her, didn't she?”

“Right,”
Siarra’s grin widened. “But I think it has something to do with Thacker’s
daughter. I have spotted the two going on walks alone on more than one
occasion.”

“Good for
him,” Taryn said, giving Liri a look. “Everyone needs someone right now.”

The mood became
somber, and after a moment Liri said, “I still can’t believe its over.”

“I can’t
believe we survived,” Siarra exclaimed, her gaze flashing to meet Jack’s.

Taryn chuckled
at the two of them. On the journey home, they had been inseparable. Despite the
occasional heated arguments, they always resolved it quickly. Taryn thought the
two were perfect for each other.

Turning back
to Liri, he pulled her close and kissed her, enjoying her surprise as her lips
molded to his. When they felt the ground rumble, he pulled away and glared at
Siarra.

“Do you have
to do that when we  . . .” —then he caught her stunned expression. “That wasn’t
you?”

She shook her
head and pointed past them. Spinning on his heels, Taryn spotted the moving
section of ground. Before he could reach for his swords, something red burst
from the ground in an explosion of sparks and flames. Soaring upward, the
object spread its wings and banked to the side.

“Reiquen?”
Siarra breathed.

Although much
smaller than before, the phoenix turned and glided past them, his voice echoing
through their minds, And Newhawk.

Taryn started
to laugh as the mystery finally revealed itself. They had joined, and in
their joining had died as only a phoenix could, to await a rebirth. Like the
new life that was just beginning to spread across their world once more, the
phoenix glided through the sunlight.

Both had risen
from the ashes.

To live in the
light.

Author Bio

Originally
from Utah, Ben has grown up with a passion for learning almost everything.
Driven particularly to reading caused him to be caught reading by flashlight
under the covers at an early age. While still young, he practiced various
sports, became an Eagle Scout, and taught himself to play the piano. This
thirst for knowledge gained him excellent grades and helped him graduate
college with honors, as well as become fluent in three languages after doing
volunteer work in Brazil. After school, he started and ran several successful
businesses that gave him time to work on his numerous writing projects. His
greatest support and inspiration comes from his wonderful wife and three
beautiful children. Currently he resides in Florida while working on his latest
writing and business endeavors.

To contact the
author, discover more about Lumineia, or find out about upcoming novels, check
out his blog at Lumineia.Blogspot.com.
You can also follow the author on twitter @
BenHale8 or Facebook.