Dragon War E-Book

Elana A. Mugdan

• Herausgeber: Shivnath Productions
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: The Shadow War Saga
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

The world has changed.

The war has begun.

Keriya Soulstar is at the center of Allentria's desperate battle for freedom. Its people have been broken, and it's up to her to deliver them from Necrovar's tyranny. Along with her ragtag troupe of friends, she travels to the Imperial City and beseeches the newly returned dragons to aid in the war effort.

There's just one problem: the dragons refuse to join the fight. Without their help, Keriya fears the war might be unwinnable, yet she forces herself to press on. With the fate of the world hanging in the balance, she can afford no distractions, no fear, and no weakness.

That's easier said than done. As Necrovar gathers allies from across the planet and the Allentrian forces rally for the showdown that will decide their fate, Keriya finds herself dangerously unbalanced. She's facing legions of enemies the likes of which she's never seen... 

But her toughest battle will be within.

Contains: Fantasy violence, mild romance

Leseprobe

Copyright © Elana A. Mugdan 2021

www.allentria.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Jaka Prawira

Interior Art by Neiratina

ISBN: 978-1-7923-6668-0

Check out the other books of The Shadow War Saga!

Learn more at www.allentria.com

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Table Of Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

EPILOGUE

GLOSSARY & PRONUNCIATIONS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BOOK V COMING 2022!

“The strongest heart is not the one that never breaks, but the one that never fails to mend.”

~ The Dragon Empress

PROLOGUE

Eighth Age, Year 176

The Etherworld was a death sentence. It was lightless, devoid of warmth and nourishment. It leached energy from the souls of its victims and punished those who attempted to wield their magic.

Perhaps the dragons had not been meant to survive the ravages of this desolate, inhospitable universe, but they had. They subsisted on the arcane energies that oozed from the threads of their prison.

Khyvette Leilasorian had been born into this world. She had never known anything but the formless dark and the ceaseless agony in her blood. Time was warped and meaningless. She did not measure it by days or millennia; she marked her growth by what she learned as she absorbed information through the hive-mind.

<Are you ready for your next lesson, Khyvette?>

Currently, Khyvette was exchanging sluggish thoughts with her father, Osirian. The dragons, her kin, could not use their magic in the Etherworld—only the power of the hive-mind remained, for the thoughts of one were the thoughts of all.

<I am,> she returned.

Ages ebbed as the two of them conversed. The Etherworld was stronger than the dragons. It made them slow and weak. It stole their strength. It punished them when they pushed their limits.

<We will continue to examine the events that led to our imprisonment.> Osirian sent Khyvette a memory to peruse. A scene unfolded behind her eyes, flooding across the eternal dark.

The Eminarchs, the twelve dragon elders, were meeting in the Norythian Mountains. Khyvette searched the hive-mind to access the other Eminarchs’ viewpoints. Her own brain compensated for missing fragments, seamlessly stitching multiple points of view into a three-dimensional space to explore.

Khyvette drifted away from her father’s vantage point to inspect a white drackling loping up the path. This was Valerion Equilumos—she knew him from prior visions wherein he’d entreated the Eminarchs to fight in the Great War.

“Do you know what Necrovar did?” said Valerion, marching into the midst of the Eminarchs. He was not an impressive specimen. He had a decent skeletal frame but he was a runt, and his unpigmented scales inspired skepticism about the protein levels in his blood.

“We know,” said Cylion Stellarion, the Foremost Eminarch.

Cylion had died in the Etherworld during the Imprisonment, but this memory of him remained crisp and unblemished. Without emotions to influence or contaminate memories, dragons could achieve perfect recall.

Valerion flared his wings. “Then you know you can’t allow this war to continue!”

“Our edict remains the same as ever,” said Cylion. “We cannot fight.”

“This might be your last chance to help our world,” Valerion argued. “Stop Necrovar before he grows too powerful. If you have any love for Selaras, you must save it.”

“Love is an irrationality,” said Osirian, speaking for the first time.

“Do it for your fang-ripping kin, then!” Valerion’s claws contracted, scraping against the ground.

There was no sensation in the Etherworld apart from pain. Yet thanks to hive-mind memories, Khyvette knew the feel of smooth stone against talons, of warm sunlight on scales, of fresh mountain breezes whispering past wings.

“Obviously you don’t care about the mortals who suffer,” Valerion went on, “but two dragons died in Necrovar’s attack.”

“They were not sovereign dragons,” said Cylion. “They were bonded creatures who unwisely followed their mortal counterparts into battle.”

“Oh, how foolish of me to forget. Not even draconic lives matter to you callous warts!”

Cylion tilted his horn-crowned head. “You are aware of our laws, Valerion. Bonded dragons are none of our concern. When they latch onto a mortal, they forsake their ties to us.”

Valerion emitted a string of alien sounds. Khyvette rifled through the combined knowledge of the kin—sovereign dragons had once taken it upon themselves to learn mortal languages, and by searching their collective brains for that knowledge, she could translate Valerion’s words.

She needn’t have wasted the effort; the drackling was merely issuing insults.

“If you’re so selfish, do it for yourselves. Necrovar eradicated the centaurs, the kobolds, and the dryads without batting an eye. He will turn on you once he’s conquered the rest of Selaras.”

Osirian shifted his weight, and his movement drew Khyvette’s gaze. She’d never seen her father’s physical body—the endless night of the Etherworld was absolute for the dragons. Only through memory did she know the color of his scales, like forest ferns glazed with dew, and the moonlike glint in his orchid eyes.

“Necrovar only kills bonded dragons,” Osirian told the drackling. “As long as we remain sovereign, we are in no peril. Are you distressed because of your disability?”

“Disability?”

“Your emotional condition,” Osirian clarified.

“My condition is not what distresses me,” Valerion growled. “I know he’ll destroy the dragons, given the chance.”

“What makes you believe you know what he plots?” said Cylion.

“Because I’ve met him.”

Silence reigned as the Eminarchs mulled over this statement. Isolated in her private pocket of the memory-vision, Khyvette considered the validity of such a claim. Was Valerion telling a—what was the mortal word for it?—a lie?

“I was young,” Valerion said into the hush. “Barely out of my egg. He came to visit my mother, but he was there for me. He wanted to kill me. I think he views me as a threat because I was born with emotions. It’s like I’m bonded, and he hates bonded dragons. I can still remember the tremble in his voice—fury masking fear. Not that you’d understand such things,” he added, his snout crinkling as if he smelled something foul.

A nearly imperceptible rustle stole through the Eminarchs. Eyes flashed as the elders glanced at each other, but Khyvette, who was connected to each of their memories, couldn’t hear thoughts exchanged. This wasn’t telepathic communication. It was a primal instinct burning through blood, whispering between souls.

“Your theory is not unfounded,” Tolbrayth said at length. “As such, I call for a vote to grant Valerion sanctuary from Necrovar.”

Valerion bared his undersized fangs. “This isn’t about me, this is about Selaras!”

“If we offer sanctuary, we risk drawing Necrovar’s wrath,” Osirian observed. “He will target us as he targeted the drackling. We shouldn’t endanger ourselves in defense of Valerion, who is unlikely to do much for our species.”

“What?” Valerion’s tone changed in a way Khyvette could not define. She saw tears pearling at the edges of his eyes—an impractical waste of vital fluids.

“For reasons we need not enumerate, Valerion, you will never be helpful to the draconic race,” said Mirele, a golden female. “You are emotional. More to the point, you are a liability. Giving you protection would be unwise.”

Valerion’s ears flattened. His nictitating membranes rose briefly in a misguided attempt to blink the tears away. The movement made them spill down his scales.

“From what I know of emotions, it is my understanding that this discussion may be upsetting to you,” Cylion told Valerion. “Just remember that we are acting in accordance with what’s best for our kin.”

Khyvette wondered how upsetting a discussion like this would be. There were no ancestral memories she could consult for reference—once a dragon bonded, it left the hive-mind. And though sovereign and bonded dragons could have basic telepathic contact, sovereigns limited their exposure to emotional, irrational minds.

“Valerion did not bond with a mortal, he was born this way,” said Tolbrayth. “It would be unjust to ostracize him the way we ostracize dragons who bond voluntarily. We should offer him the same protection we would offer any of our sovereign kin.”

“We have heard both sides of the issue. Let the Eminarchs vote,” Cylion decreed. “All in favor of harboring Valerion Equilumos?”

Only Tolbrayth put his paw forward. The rest of the Eminarchs remained as still and unmoved as the mountains.

“I don’t care if you protect me,” said Valerion, shooting a withering scowl at Cylion. “You’ve made it plain that you have no use for me, so our paths part here. You’ll never see me again.”

“Mind the edict, Valerion,” said Cylion. “No sovereign dragons can fight against Necrovar. Don’t do anything irrational. You may not be valuable to us, but you represent us.”

“Don’t worry—I’ll make sure I’m in no way associated with you.”

“The Eminarchs ask that you remain prudent. Remember, drackling: he who fights too long against demons becomes one himself.”

“Then I am already a demon,” Valerion retorted, looking around pointedly. With that, he spread his wings and jumped into the air.

<Osirian,> thought Khyvette, watching the drackling’s receding form as it was lost in a swath of cloud, <why did you deny Valerion?>

<Valerion was a liability.>

The Osirian in the memory-vision wasn’t the one speaking—the response came from her father in the Etherworld. Past-Osirian spread his wings and launched from the enclave, taking to the skies. Khyvette went with him, submerging herself in his memory of flight.

<If we had aligned ourselves with Valerion’s cause,> Osirian continued, <Necrovar would have struck against us.>

<Why did you fear retaliatory action from Necrovar?> Khyvette asked as emerald plains unfolded beneath her.

<Fear is an emotion, Khyvette. It never factors into our decisions.>

<I see no logical reason why you would refuse to join the Great War,> she retorted. <By that point in history, Necrovar had committed multiple counts of genocide. He had destroyed mortals and gods alike and stolen their powers.>

<Correct.>

<Then he was a threat. Dragons were the dominant life form on the planet of Selaras. They were guardians of the magical balance, which Necrovar was destroying. From a logistical standpoint, it would have been wiser to join the war and stop him from ruining the ecosystem and further harming the world.>

Her father was silent. Khyvette sank further into his memory while she waited for a response. If she focused on the feel of sunlight, she could ignore the icy grasp of the Etherworld on her scales and the fiery fangs of its hunger in her veins. If she immersed herself in the scent of summer grass and sweet winds, she could forget the ever-present stench of death that permeated her prison.

<The time has come for you to learn a lesson, Khyvette.> Osirian’s statement pulled her from the memory. Darkness flooded in, obliterating the borrowed vision of Selaras.

She crouched low to the invisible, frozen ground of her prison to conserve strength. This much use of the hive-mind was draining. <I’m listening.>

There was another lull in the conversation. She couldn’t be sure if it lasted for minutes or millennia.

Her father’s mindvoice reached her at last, deep and soft: <The universe is not a rational place. For every truth we know, there is a contradiction to that truth. If we examine the behavior of subatomic particles, we see that the laws of classical science do not apply to them. They adhere to a different set of rules.>

<Accepted,> thought Khyvette.

<Because contradictions are inherent on a quantum level, existing within the fabric of the universe, it follows that contradictions exist within magic, science, and every living being—dragons included.>

<So the dragons acted illogically because of quantum-magical physics.>

<Yes and no.> Osirian paused before adding, <The dragons were forced to act illogically.>

Khyvette considered this unexpected statement, dissecting it for hidden meaning.

<But you took no action,> she observed at length. <You refused to fight Necrovar.>

<Inaction is a form of action, Khyvette. And from every logical vantage point, it was an unwise choice to make.>

Khyvette raced through hive-mind memories, stitching together fragments of shared knowledge in an attempt to understand. <What magic can control the actions of an entire species?>

<The same magic that made us what we are.> Osirian’s thoughts were growing faint. The Etherworld was taking its toll on him. He was suffering for his overuse of the hive-mind.

<So the dragons are . . . a contradiction?> she asked.

<The dragons are the greatest contradiction. We have all the power in the universe, yet we must not use it. We are forced to stand aside idly while our world is ravaged by war and our bonded kin are slaughtered. The magic that has given us life also desires our destruction. Why else would it side with Necrovar?>

Khyvette was quivering. It wasn’t the cold of the Etherworld that made her scales shiver and limbs tremble—it was a combination of things she did not, could not understand.

It was the timbre of her father’s mindvoice. It was the memory of sunlight. It was the idea that the grass and trees and mountains and skies of Selaras might fall to Necrovar and be destroyed.

<We cannot fight the Darkness,> he finished weakly. <We are forbidden.>

Khyvette shook her head, though the movement was pointless. No one could see her, trapped in shadow and bound by a power she couldn’t escape, nor would Osirian be able to sense it telepathically. His mind was barely perceptible—he’d wasted too much energy telling her these things. The Etherworld had diminished him, punished him for his rebellion.

<When we are free of the Etherworld,> Khyvette told her father, <we can search for answers and find a way to save Selaras.>

<My child,> he whispered, as his mental signature flickered and faded, <even if we escape this prison . . . we will never be free.>

CHAPTER ONE

“Never stake your hopes on miracles.”

~ Calzani Proverb

Twelfth Age, Year 610

Keriya Soulstar stood on a balcony of the Imperial Palace, heart racing with eager anticipation. Her braided hair whisked across her back as she turned to smile fondly at her three companions.

“Thanks for coming with me,” she said.

Fletcher returned her smile. Viran nodded as if today’s mission were nothing out of the ordinary, brushing away unruly locks of raven hair that had fallen across his brow. Valerion Equilumos—dragon, legendary hero of the Second Age, and Keriya’s many-times-great-grandfather—gazed at her with one sparkling purple eye. The other socket was empty, shadows dancing in the hollow space.

“I cannot remember the Eminarchs,” he said. His memory was spotty and unreliable. A necromagical spell had rotted the threads of his brain for centuries before Keriya had restored him to his true form. “But you’ve done enough to impress the most stoic slab of scales. You’ll be fine.”

Keriya drew Sethildras, the legendary sword that had once belonged to Valerion, and proudly held it aloft. Diluted winter sunlight winked off the white-gold blade. Taking a breath, she reached inside herself to embrace her power.

She sank into her consciousness easily, painlessly, and saw her glowing magicsource. Two months ago, through some unexplained miracle, her soul had shed the darkness that had once blocked it from her view. Since then, it had obeyed her every command. She rolled her shoulders, her smile widening. After seventeen years of being unable to wield and scorned because of it, her newfound ability to use magic was intoxicating.

Keriya relished the feel of her power, letting it warm her inside and out. Magic was a dream manifested. All she’d ever wanted was the ability to wield, to make a difference in the world.

Now she had it.

Reflecting threads from her source, she performed a spell she’d practiced every day for the past eight weeks, encasing herself and her friends in lightmagic. A flash burned her retinas. She experienced the sensation of rapid expansion, as if she were stretching across the universe. Then she was small and compact again, and she was elsewhere.

Teleportation was her favorite spell, and she’d thrown herself so wholeheartedly into her magical studies that she’d already mastered it. It was energy-intensive, but they hadn’t gone far. To the south, Noryk’s walls and skyscrapers were visible. The tiered ridges Keriya now stood on were extensions of the great white cliffs where the Imperial City perched.

An ache bloomed in her chest. Thorion had shared a memory of this place with her before his death. These were the Norythian Mountains—the ancestral home of the dragons.

I wish you could have been here to see this, Thorion, she thought, drinking in the breathtaking sight of the slopes. Here, the fresh air held no trace of the winter. Moss and exotic plants lurked in gullies. Peaceful waterfalls trickled through narrow chasms, providing a comforting haze of humidity.

Valerion’s eye danced with emotion. “I never thought I’d see this again. These mountains were destroyed at the end of the Great War, before I . . .”

He trailed off, his lopsided countenance darkening. Keriya laid a hand on his shoulder, offering wordless support. He’d split his soul in half as part of his plan to end the first global conflict against Necrovar—and he’d suffered for that mistake for the last ten ages.

“I’m still not sure how the dragons recreated their home,” Fletcher admitted, smoothing his scruffy brown hair, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses, and brushing off the front of his shirt. He was dressed in finery today, bedecked in white silk attire that bore the Imperial Crest: the four guardian beasts of Allentria entwined around a sun-like centerpiece.

“I assume they did it with valemagic,” said Viran. He’d been similarly outfitted by Imperial tailors, as had Keriya. While she thought the fancy garments looked ridiculous on her, they made Viran look regal. He’d added a black cape to his ensemble. Combined with the stubble on his lean brown cheeks, it gave him an older, kingly air.

Valerion nodded. “A creature who commands valemagic may achieve rudimentary control over all twelve types of magicthreads.”

“Wow,” Fletcher breathed, gazing at the soaring vistas with renewed appreciation.

Keriya knew firsthand the potency of valemagic. She’d tasted its fire and burned in its magnetic pull. At the turn of the new year, she had used it to free the dragons from the Etherworld.

After returning to Selaras in all their glory, the dragons had spread across Allentria, bringing renewed hope to war-weary citizens. Eventually they’d congregated around Noryk, where once their mountains had loomed. They had resurrected the peaks, raising them from the plains surrounding the capital city.

This, of course, had caused quite a disruption in the human world. The Allentrians were too grateful for the dragons’ return to protest, especially since Noryk and its major roads and waterways remained untouched—and because everyone believed this marked the end of the war against Necrovar.

A flutter of nerves ran through Keriya, recalling her to her mission. She sheathed Sethildras and lifted her chin. “Right. Let’s do this.”

The group set off toward the summit of the ridge. They passed beneath a series of stone arches adorned with shy, creeping vines and soon found themselves on a plateau with a cavernous rocky overhang. Keriya’s breath caught in her throat. There, arranged in a semicircle, were the twelve most powerful dragons alive.

“Don’t worry,” Viran whispered in her ear. “They’re your family.”

Without realizing what she was doing, her hand strayed from her side and sought his. Viran twined his fingers between hers and gave a quick squeeze.

“Good luck,” he said softly.

Keriya tried to squeeze back. She wasn’t sure she managed it; her fingers had gone numb. She released Viran and continued while he remained in place. Valerion also kept his distance from the draconic council, but Fletcher stayed by her side. As one, the two old friends knelt before the Eminarchs.

It was hard not to be overcome in the presence of such magnificent creatures, a dozen glittering marvels in a rainbow of hues. Keriya’s heart swelled and a chorus of power sang in her blood. She felt better, stronger, just by being near them.

“Rise, Dragonspeaker,” said Nordrion, the shiny blue-black colossus who’d been the first to escape through the Rift.

“Thank you.” She straightened, and Fletcher followed her example. “This is my best friend, Fletcher Earengale. Fletcher is important in the human world. Because of his efforts, the elves and dwarves joined our current battle against Necrovar.”

“I gather from your inflection that this is a feat for a human,” Nordrion said in a flat tone.

Keriya pursed her lips. She’d forgotten how off-putting a creature devoid of emotion could be. She reminded herself that dragons did not have the capacity to be insulting—but neither did they have the ability to be impressed.

She nudged Fletcher with her elbow. He unslung his rucksack and cleared his throat.

“I’ve brought gifts to the draconic people on behalf of the Empire of Allentria.” He stepped forward, bravely facing the twelve titans, each of whom could have splattered him with a swipe of their paws if they chose.

“Fletcher is an ambassador,” Keriya explained. “He’s here on behalf of our Imperial government to bring offerings of goodwill.”

“Khyvette will accept your boons,” said Nordrion, indicating a female dragon with scales of dark jade and horns of pale ivory.

“Bring the gifts to her,” Keriya whispered to Fletcher. Fletcher nodded and produced a long parcel from his pack. He laid it at Khyvette’s forepaws and unfolded the oiled cloth to reveal a red-gold phoenix feather.

“This is from G’shídrian de Tagri’thai, Heart of the Flame’shikrim,” said Fletcher.

Half again as long as his arm, the feather glowed beneath the sallow sun. G’shídrian refused to come to Noryk, citing that he needed to stay in the Fironem and protect his people, but he’d sent this present to the Imperial City. Like every mortal in Allentria, he knew how important it was to impress the dragons at this critical juncture.

“It’s enchanted,” Fletcher continued, “full of wieldable firemagic, so if you . . . oh.”

His chestnut eyes widened. A leaden weight settled in Keriya as she realized what he must have concluded: G’shídrian’s present was useless if dragons could command fire-threads with valemagic.

Still, she dutifully translated his words for the Eminarchs. Khyvette impassively accepted the gift. She raised a single talon and hooked it into the wrapping, pulling the feather toward her.

“Next is a gift from Kzar Ilkhar,” Fletcher continued, withdrawing a second parcel. He unwrapped it and Keriya saw the dwarves’ present for the first time. It was a fat, sparkling emerald as large as her head.

“This gem has a brother in the dwarves’ central city,” said Fletcher. “If you’re ever in need of their help, touch your emerald and speak. It will carry your words to its twin.”

Keriya doubted the dragons would have much cause to contact the dwarves, but at least it was pretty. Unfortunately, the precious stone paled to a dull rock next to Khyvette’s scales.

She hid a wince as she translated the gem’s properties. This was going badly.

Fletcher seemed to be thinking along the same lines, for he squared his shoulders before producing a third parcel. “This is from Taeleia Alenciae, Lumina of the Allentrian elves,” he continued, presenting Khyvette with a glass vial that contained silver fluid. “It’s liquefied timemagic. You can pour it on any inanimate object to preserve that item forever.”

Fletcher had confided in Keriya that the magicthreads had come from Taeleia’s soul and had been liquefied through means no one would explain. Keriya hadn’t had the heart to point out that dragons could innately wield timemagic. It was the generosity of the thought that counted.

Now it was time for the final present. Tension thickened the air as Fletcher withdrew a small parcel that, supposedly, contained the most valuable gift of all.

“This is from Aldelphia Alderwood, Empress of Allentria,” Fletcher said as he unwrapped the mysterious object. Keriya watched with bated breath as the cloth fell away from . . . a pebble.

“Fletch?” she muttered, hoping he knew something she didn’t.

Fletcher took a silver pin from his pocket and pricked the tip of his right thumb, drawing a bubble of crimson. Cold energy seared Keriya as a memory engulfed her—a memory of a dark night that had set even darker events in motion.

Fletcher pressed his bleeding finger to the stone, and the disembodied voice of Aldelphia Alderwood filled the air: “Greetings, Eminarchs.”

The empress’s voice was coming from the stone itself, speaking in the draconic tongue. Keriya looked sharply at the dragon elders to see their reactions and was horrified to find that their eyes were glowing. One blink confirmed her own eyes were alight. Purple light rebounded against her closed lids, blinding her.

Glowing eyes meant necromagic was nearby, yet this phenomenon had happened on two other occasions when, as far as Keriya knew, no shadowbeasts were present. The most recent time had been when she’d summoned the dragons. The time before that had been when she and Thorion had exorcised the shadow-stained half of his soul. To aid in the task, he’d given Keriya a pebble very much like the one before her . . . and offered it his blood.

“As you can see,” the voice of the empress continued, “I have entrusted my ambassadors with a valestone. This gift not only shows that we are honored to have you in our world again, it also proves that Allentria has much to offer, that our empire is worth protecting.

“I’ve used the power of three valestones holding Necrovar’s forces at bay. My supply of these stones is not limitless. In fact, this is one of only two that remain. This is a leap of faith on my part, faith that you will do the right thing.

“I ask that you take this gift in the spirit in which it is offered: as the beginning of a new alliance between our nations. There are only so many threads of this stone that I wish to waste on translating my words for your ears, so I leave the decision in your capable claws.”

As Aldelphia’s voice faded on the wind, the glow faded from the dragons’ eyes.

“This is a generous offer from your empress,” said Khyvette.

“One we cannot accept,” Nordrion added, causing a surge of sickly adrenaline to crash through Keriya. “Your empress asks us to take this in the spirit in which it was offered. If we accept, we join your current war with the Shadow.”

“Well . . . yes,” said Keriya. “That’s why we arranged this meeting.”

“As we expected,” said a bony male whose scales were gray with age. Keriya remembered him as Tolbrayth, the oldest surviving dragon. “Nordrion, we should not keep these gifts, lest we give the mortals false hope or give the Shadow the wrong impression.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Keriya cut in. The Allentrians’ battle plans hinged on the dragons. She’d thought she would have to haggle, even beg for their help. She’d thought it would be a battle hard-won . . . but won nonetheless.

“If we break our edict to remain uninvolved in this conflict, Necrovar will attack us,” Nordrion explained.

“And even if we could fight him,” said Khyvette, “there is no guarantee of our victory.”

Keriya frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“A war now, when our numbers are so few and our people are so weak from the ravages of the Etherworld, would mean the end of us.”

“What about your rules?” Keriya demanded. Valerion had schooled her on draconic law—what little he remembered of it—to prepare her for this meeting. “If one of your own is in danger, you must help them. Self-preservation. It’s wise to kill that which threatens your kin.”

“I do not see how your argument is meant to sway our decision,” said Nordrion.

“Because of Valerion,” she cried. “Because of me! We’re part of your family and we are in immediate danger. Necrovar wants to kill us.”

“An excellent reason for us to stay out of his way, then.”

The words sank into Keriya, eating through her flesh like drachvold acid.

“How can you say that?” she whispered, furious to hear a quaver in her voice. Saying something so hurtful required some sort of emotions, didn’t it?

“Because it is true,” said Khyvette. “We are not beholden to either of you.”

Valerion came to stand by Keriya’s side. His scales were practically bristling. “Why not?”

“Valerion, you forsook your kin ten ages ago,” said Nordrion. “You went against edict and endangered us when you joined the Great War. As for Keriya, the answer is obvious.”

“Enlighten me,” hissed Valerion.

“She is not a dragon.”

“I’m dragon enough in the way it counts,” Keriya retorted.

“We know of your unique lineage and the atypical assortment of magics you possess,” said Nordrion, “but you are human.”

Valerion bared his fangs. “Because she looks like a human?”

“No, Valerion, because she acts like a human. The two of you are a liability, and we do not claim you. You are not recognized among us.”

Keriya gaped at the looming creatures. It was odd to hear such hateful words spoken in such bland, unassuming voices. It was Aeria all over again, without the shouting. It was worse than Aeria, because Keriya had never cared about the opinions of the people there.

“I conclude that this meeting is adjourned, since we have nothing further to discuss. You should not tarry in our mountains,” Nordrion added. “You may attract unwanted dangers.”

Khyvette slid the priceless gifts toward Fletcher. He hadn’t understood the dragons’ cruel words, but he could understand that gesture. His fallow face went pale as he accepted the gifts with as much grace as he could muster. Khyvette seemed reluctant to touch the valestone, and she motioned for him to take it. He stuffed it into his pack with the other treasures.

“You’re very beautiful,” he told her in her native tongue.

Coming from Fletcher’s human mouth, the words lacked the power and resonance that sang in every syllable the dragons spoke, but his pronunciation had been flawless. Despite everything, Keriya smiled. She’d coached him on that for hours.

The green dragon lowered her head to inspect him. “Well spoken.”

“Say, ‘teos gratey, Khyvette,’” Keriya muttered in his ear.

“Thayus graytey, Khyvette,” Fletcher repeated haltingly.

“Farewell, Dragonspeaker,” Nordrion said as Keriya drew Sethildras and began weaving another teleport spell.

“Farewell, Eminarchs,” she managed.

She wielded, and in a flash she and her friends had returned to the palace balcony. Keriya dropped her threads at once, sagging beneath the weight of what she’d endured.

“What happened?” said Fletcher.

“They rejected our gifts,” said Viran. “I’d say it went badly.”

“They refused to join the war,” growled Valerion, his talons clacking furiously against the marble as he stalked past Keriya. “I was a fool. If my mind wasn’t half-rotted, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Viran assured him. “We’ll adjust our strategy and—”

“What strategy?” Keriya interrupted. “The dragons were our strategy.”

“That isn’t true,” Viran said in an infuriatingly steady voice. How he could be calm at a time like this, Keriya didn’t know. “We have Valerion Equilumos, legendary hero of the Second Age. We have thousands of Jidaelni reinforcements arriving soon. And we have you,” he finished, staring down at her.

“Plus, you have us,” Fletcher added. “And we’re with you til the end.”

The reassurances warmed Keriya. She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve such steadfast friends. “Yes, and I thank you all.”

Viran raised a brow at her heavy tone. “But?”

“But everyone is expecting me to deliver an army of dragons,” she sighed, turning toward the archway that led into the palace. A platoon of guards waited inside to escort them to Empress Aldelphia. “And now I have to tell them that we’re in this alone.”

CRACK!

An earth-shaking sound split the air, sending a rumble through Keriya’s legs.

“What was that?” said Fletcher.

“Cannon fire?” Viran suggested. He flexed his hands—the left, flesh and blood, the right, a hinged metal prosthetic controlled by an airmagic spell.

“No,” whispered Valerion, his body going rigid and his eye widening. “It’s the attack.”

Keriya stopped breathing. She was frozen. The attack.

The attack they’d been waiting for. The attack they’d known was inevitable. The attack that hadn’t come at the turn of the new year because Keriya had thwarted it by freeing the dragons.

Necrovar was invading Noryk.

CHAPTER TWO

“Better to have a name that lives in infamy than a name that does not live at all.”

~ Helkryvt Moothvaler, Second Age

Keriya didn’t register the shouting of the palace guards, the buzzing din of Norythian citizens screaming from afar, or the klaxon alarm sirens that blared from the city walls. She couldn’t move, couldn’t process.

A roar shattered her numb shock. Valerion had fallen to his side and was thrashing madly, a whirlwind of limbs and scales. Fletcher was trying unsuccessfully to calm the dragon while Viran barked orders at the guards.

“Rally the loyal Imperial forces,” he was saying. “The explosion came from the south.”

The guards nodded and fled into the palace. Meanwhile, Keriya strode past Fletcher and Viran without a thought for her safety, into the path of Valerion’s flailing talons and muscular tail.

“Grandfather?” she whispered in the language of the dragons. He stilled at the sound of her voice but his single amethyst eye continued to roll madly, unable to settle. Keriya’s stomach lurched when she saw sludgy black liquid oozing from his empty socket.

“He is close.” Valerion spoke through gritted fangs. “I can sense him.”

Keriya’s gut clenched. “Valerion is reacting to Necrovar’s presence,” she informed her human friends.

“Then he should stay here,” said Viran. His hand strayed to his side, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. They’d surrendered their weapons for their meeting with the Eminarchs—all except Sethildras, which housed the severed half of Valerion’s soul. Keriya never let it out of her sight. “Fletcher, bring Valerion to the infirmary.”

Valerion’s lips curled in a displeased snarl, but he laboriously rose on trembling legs and limped into the palace after Fletcher.

For half a heartbeat, Keriya and Viran were alone.

This would be the moment for her to say something grand and noble, to offer thanks to the man who had saved her life overseas, who was risking his own life to fight for her. She should say something, but what words would be right? And if she said the wrong words—

“It’s time,” Viran whispered, interrupting Keriya’s spiral of thoughts.

No speeches, then. Just action.

Though she didn’t need physical contact with a creature to teleport them, she offered Viran her hand. Courage flowed into her when he grasped it. Whatever was coming, she wouldn’t be facing it alone.

The familiar expansion-and-contraction sensation accompanied her spell, and in a flash they were at the Southern Gate, beneath a great golden arch engraved with the city’s slogan. The words were written in Aerian runes and spelled in the draconic tongue: Keas seules endrat keas omnes.

The light of one is the light of all.

Imperial Guards—those who’d remained loyal after their brethren had joined Necrovar—were swarming like angry wasps. They had forsaken their old gray robes in favor of Imperial white, to assuage the fears of refugees whose homes had been sacked by defector guardsmen. Soldiers shouted at civilians to retreat while snipers rose in magical stone lifts—elevators, they were called—to the wall ramparts. Another siren sliced the air, its wail rising to a peak before fading.

Viran let go of Keriya. “Where’s the commanding officer?” he demanded.

A gaunt guardsman with a shaved head stepped forward. Keriya blinked when she realized this guardsman was a guardswoman. She’d never known the Imperials to be an inclusive group, but the markings on the guard’s tan face—two painted stripes across each of her jutting cheekbones—meant she was a mage, a Tier Eleven wielder, the strongest class of magic-user a mortal could be. With loyal Allentrian troops so few, Keriya supposed the Imperials could no longer be picky about who they allowed into their ranks.

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

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

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

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

“He’s with me,” Keriya said dryly.

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

“Is a breach likely?” asked Viran.

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

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

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

CRACK!

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

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

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

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

“Fire!” Stormleaf screamed.

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

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

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

“Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They turned to shadow and disappeared.”

“Why?”

His brow creased. “I don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She turned to face the owner of the voice.

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

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

“Necrovar,” she breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have to stop him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We meet again,” he breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

CHAPTER THREE

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

~ Keleth Stellarion, Seventh Age

Viran was late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did they cite their reasoning for not joining the war?” the empress pressed.

“They’re worried that fighting Necrovar will mean their extinction,” said Keriya.

“I worry about the same thing.” Aldelphia produced a drawstring pouch out of nowhere and slipped the valestone into it. She pulled the strings tight and looped them over her head, wearing the pouch as a necklace.