Drake rubbed his wrists where the silver restraints had cut into his skin. He could feel the prince watching him from across the room, along with the captain of the elven guard, Malveis, and the elven princess, Zeta.
Drake glanced up, met each of their gazes, and then sat back in his chair. He looked around the room. There was only one entrance, a single door, and there were no windows. The room’s furniture consisted of a round table, six chairs, and a viewing pool.
The four of them were alone, but Drake knew that two guards waited just outside the door, and two more were within ear-shot down the corridor.
Astriel pushed off of the wall on which he’d been leaning, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He moved to the table and slowly waved his hand over its surface, palm-down. “The weapon is kept in an iron repository beneath Draca’s Tomb,” Astriel began, gesturing to the map that gradually appeared on the table’s surface. He pointed at a small light that marked a location at the center of the Draca Desert.
“Have you ever ventured into the Draca Desert, Tanith?” Asked Malveis, his voice low, his eyes boring into the bounty hunter.
Drake glanced up and met the captain’s gaze. He slowly smiled. He couldn’t help but be reminded that only hours ago, he’d mentioned the very same desert to Grolsch, if for a very different reason. They stared at one another, he and the elven captain, neither of them speaking.
“I suspect he has been a lot of places, captain,” said Zeta, her violet eyes watching Drake in a much different manner. Drake glanced at her. She smiled.
“The tomb consists of various layers, all of which are guarded,” Astriel continued, as if the other three had not spoken. “Our ancestors were known to use traps, as well as magic and more mundane deterrents such as.…” He trailed off, apparently searching for an appropriate term.
“Monsters?” Drake supplied, a slight raise to his brow.
Astriel eyed him silently for a moment, and then nodded. “ More or less. Lusus Guardians are creatures formed of elemental magic. They are not alive, and therefore can exist in stasis for thousands of years.” He straightened and began to pace around the table. “Our elven ancestors were very elementally inclined.”
“Yes,” Zeta piped in. “They drew their power from nature and the four elements found within it. Fire, earth, air and water.”
“I’ve little doubt you’ll find Lusae, or at the very least, a single Lusus, within Draca’s lair,” the prince finished. He turned his attention back to the map, waving his hand once more over the table’s surface. It shimmered and changed to reveal an image of a large dagger, its blade bisected into two wicked points, its grip wrapped in what appeared to be snow white leather. Symbols were etched into the blood grooves along each point and as the image turned slowly this way and that, the symbols glinted gold beneath some unseen light.
“The Corrigan Dagger is forged of pure iron, caustic to our people.” He glanced at Drake. “As you know.” Astriel allowed everyone at the table to get a good look at the weapon. His hand unconsciously strayed to his chest, where, through his royal vestments, he felt the four perfect scars left behind by Raven’s iron talons.
He looked up to find that Drake was watching him carefully. Their eyes met. Astriel waved the dagger’s image away. “Its enchantment has carried through time immemorial.” He paused, his eyes burning a cold blue fire. “It would kill any normal elf.”
Drake held his gaze, watching the prince with the same intensity that the elf used upon him. Astriel need not bother to expand upon the meaning of his words. Cruor was no ordinary elf. He was the Death Mage. Whether the dagger worked on him or not would remain to be seen.
But it was all they had.
Drake rose from his seat. As he did so, Malveis moved to the door, opened it, and spoke softly to the elven guards outside. Almost immediately, one of them entered the room, carrying Drake’s confiscated weapons.
Drake moved around the table and took the sword, placing it in its sheath across his back before he returned his dagger to the sheath at his waist. Then he turned back to Astriel.
The prince strode slowly toward him until he was a mere foot away. “Don’t be late, Tanith.”
They eyed each other in silence.
“And remember our deal,” Astriel added.
“I gave you my word, your highness,” Drake said, his silver eyes flashing. He wouldn’t soon forget a deal like the one he’d made with the prince of the elves. In exchange for his own life and for Raven’s promised safety, he was to retrieve the Corrigan Dagger – and then leave this realm. For the Witherlands, he thought grimly. It wasn’t a pleasant place, and it was now plainly clear to Drake that Astriel had never had any intention of killing Raven. He wanted her for himself and he wanted Drake out of the way.
Drake smiled a bitter smile. “It’s as good as done.” He watched the elf for several moments more, the two of them head-to-head, the tension between them palpable. Then he turned and followed Malveis to the door. There, he stopped and faced Astriel once more.
“Keep her safe,” he said.
Astriel smiled. “I gave my word as well, Tanith,” the prince told him. “It’s as good as done.”
*****
Loki stood in a wide stance for balance as he and the other acolytes rematerialized inside of the clearing by Mandarin Pond. The first thing he noticed as the world solidified around him was that Raven was no where in sight. The second thing he noticed was the green-skinned humanoid lying unconscious at the base of a very large tree.
He slowly made his way to the sleeping beast, the other three acolytes following close behind.
“Is he dead?” one of them asked.
Loki shook his head. “He’s breathing.” He took in the giant sword that lay in the monster’s limp grasp and the leather studded armor he wore across his chest, shoulders, arms and most of his legs. His long black hair was braided at the sides of his face and even though he slept, his fangs and tusks were prominently displayed, resting over the lips of his large mouth.
Loki thought of his sister and wondered what part this creature had played in her disappearance. Then he reached out and gave the green-skinned man a shake by his shoulder.
It had no effect. Loki looked more closely at the beast’s body. His gaze narrowed and he reached up and placed one hand behind the beast’s head. It came away covered in blood.
Loki turned to Maelix. “Help me move him. He’s been badly injured.”
Maelix came forward and helped Loki pull the giant man away from the tree. They then turned him over, so that he was laying face-down. The back of the beast’s head was matted in blood and a significant bulge of swelling was beginning to form.
“He’ll have to be healed.” Loki looked at Maelix. He hated to ask the acolyte to do it. Shouldn’t the Champion of Haledon be capable of healing someone? However, Loki had never performed that spell before. In fact, the only magic he’d ever had a hand in were the two search spells he’d performed while looking for Raven. And neither of those had turned out particularly successful.
What if he tried to heal this man and only made him worse? What if he killed him? The injured creature might know something about Raven. Loki needed him alive. “Maelix?”
The acolyte nodded without hesitation and came forward. He placed his hand over the beast’s head, an inch away from the massive gash that spilt more blood with every beat of his heart. Maelix closed his eyes and began to chant.
Light started to collect and pool beneath his outstretched hand. The light grew and then spread, reaching out to touch upon the bleeding wound. Within a few moments, the bleeding stopped. And then the light engulfed the injury completely, blinding all who watched as it suddenly pulsed bright and then vanished, leaving behind it a healed man.
The beast stirred.
Loki leaned forward. “Help me sit him up.”
Grolsch blinked as awareness gradually returned to him. His senses picked up noise, a cool breeze, the smell of fresh soil and sweat and leather. His vision was blurry. He blinked again, and it began to clear.
He was sitting up, his back to a tree, and four men stood around him, one of them armed with two very big, very sharp axes.
“Where is Raven?” the man asked, his amber eyes narrowed and blazing like sun-struck copper.
Grolsch’s brow furrowed. “Who?” he asked, his memory fuzzy. He was disoriented. How did he get here? Where was Drake? Tanith… the elves.
Grolsch brought his hand to the back of his neck. It felt stiff, and his muscles ached a little. Like he’d been fighting….
Raven, he thought, recalling a woman with long black hair. Hair like a raven’s wings, and black eyes, like night. And then he remembered. He swore suddenly and moved to rise. The man with the axes was on him in an instant, one axe blade resting at Grolsch’s throat before the ork could push away from the tree.
Grolsch froze and eyed the young man intensely. “You know the woman with the black hair, then?” the ork asked in a low voice.
The man simply nodded, his expression grim.
“Friend of yours?” he asked, wondering whether this man was romantically involved with the woman. If he was, Drake was not going to be happy. That thought made him smile. But the man holding an axe to his throat bared his teeth threateningly.
“She’s my sister. Where is she?” he repeated, pressing the sharp blade ever so slightly into Grolsch’s flesh.
Grolsch raised his hands, palms out, in a submissive gesture. “I’m not your enemy, here,” he said. “I don’t know where she is, but I know who took her.”
Loki eyed him carefully. Somehow, he knew that the green-skinned man was telling the truth. He pulled away and stepped back.
“Who took her?” he asked.
“A winged devil with black skin,” Grolsch supplied. He spotted his weapon on the ground and began to move toward it.
“If you pick up that sword, be prepared to use it,” the man with the axes warned.
Grolsch turned to look at him.
“Either against us, or for us,” the man finished, his amber eyes flashing.
Grolsch watched him for a moment. Then he smiled, his fangs and tusks prominent and white in the waning light of dusk. “Why not?” he said as he bent down and picked up his sword. He slipped the weapon into the large leather scabbard at his back and then moved to stand before the fair-haired man. “You’re missin’ your sister. I’m missin’ a friend. And I’ve a feelin’ one’ll lead to the other.”
Loki said nothing. He simply stared up at the giant man.
Grolsch then offered his large hand in greeting. “I’m Grolsch.”
*****
The night was calm and quiet. All life outside of the dark cave entrance was at peace, sung to sleep by the rhythm of the crickets and the splash of the gentle tide upon the rocky shoreline several yards away. It was dark, the only light that of Kriver’s two moons, one at three-quarters full, one barely more than new.
There was a flash, followed by the sound of air being sucked into something and then pushed back out. Something popped like pressure, and an owl took to flight, spooked from his perch in a cypress tree.
The contingent of Haledon’s acolytes stepped out of the transportation portal two at a time, their footsteps light. They spoke not a word but silently took up positions outside of the Omega Order’s cave entrance. The light of the moon reflected in their eyes and on the metal of their weapons.
It was the will of Loki, Haledon’s champion, that they wait for him before transporting to this location. They were restless, however. They knew that just inside that cave, Cruor plotted and planned and grew more powerful with each passing second.
And so they’d come prepared to face their god’s sworn enemy in the hopes that the Death Mage would be stopped here and now, once and for all.
*****
Cruor glanced up, his blue eyes flashing like gems in the flickering firelight. He could sense them outside – Haledon’s priests. Perhaps two dozen of them, all waiting, all frightened. He could hear rapid their heartbeats. They’d come to fight. They’d come to stop Cruor. He smiled slowly to himself and turned his powerful gaze upon the two red-robed figures who stood near the viewing pool.
As he had instructed, they had been casting the search spell, over and over, one after another, and each held it until he was nearly exhausted. Cruor’s eyes glittered maliciously. Their bodies were weak and tired. But their souls were strong. They called out to him from where they rested, ostensibly safe in their human cocoons.
Cruor leaned forward in his massive throne-like chair and rose with fluid grace. His movements were enhanced by magic, his dark garb like one pliable shadow so that he seemed nearly wraithlike as he stepped down from the dais and made his way toward the two mages.
He had waited long enough. Raven Grey was out there, and he grew impatient for her soul.
The mages looked up from the pool as he approached. He smiled a terrifying smile, and their already pale faces blanched. “Gentlemen,” he said as he climbed the steps to the large stone bowl. “Thank you for your service. I have no further need of your magic.” His blue eyes flashed then, and his gaze narrowed. “However, there is one final thing you can do for me this evening.”
One of the mages stepped back, perhaps instinct, perhaps wisdom fueling his fear.
Cruor raised his right hand out toward them both. It began to glow. The mages’ eyes widened, and the one who had stepped back turned to run. He managed to descend two steps before his body halted and dropped to the ground, tumbling end over end as his soul was sucked out of its core. The fallen mage had the brief impression of a snail being peeled away from the insides of its fragile shell, and then the world around him went black as his consciousness was ruthlessly snuffed out.
Cruor stood alone on the stone platform, two discarded bodies in red robes on the ground at his feet. He threw back his head and inhaled deeply. His eyes began to glow white-blue, growing brighter than the fires in their sconces along the walls. He had fed very well this night. Many strong souls now fueled his power, thrummed through his veins, and sang like siren song through his shadow-filled mind. He laughed and the sound echoed off of the walls and through the corridors.
Outside, in the once peaceful dark of a mid-summer’s night, Haledon’s acolytes became restless. The sound of laughter imparted from the cave’s entrance, its unnatural resonance sending chills down their spines.
*****
Astriel stormed through the castle, a large contingent of soldiers in his wake. His sword was drawn, his regal clothing replaced with intricate leather and metal armor.
They moved with determined speed, entering the grand hall and striding to the huge double doors that led to the mage tower. They did not slow, but continued at a fast pace as Astriel waved his hand and the double doors flew open, crashing against the walls behind them. The soldiers marched through the entryway and into the hall beyond, the sound of their boots strong and loud on the polished marble floor.
Astriel was somehow not surprised to find the corridor devoid of blue robes. Not a sound emitted from up ahead in the giant arcane library that was the mage tower’s first floor. They rounded a corner and he and his soldiers entered the library to find it empty.
Astriel stood still at the entrance to the massive chamber. Never before in his life had he found this room empty. Books lay open on the table. Spell components lay half-used across desks of esoteric study, their ingredients smoking or frozen or pouring innocuously over the wooden table tops and onto the floor below.
“To the tower,” Astriel ordered. The large contingent immediately made their way across the room to the second set of double doors on the opposite side. Again, the prince waved his hand.
But these doors did not open. Undaunted, he turned to Malveis and nodded.
Malveis waved several men to the front of the group. He had each of them take a pinch of what appeared to be gold dust from a small pouch that the captain carried on his belt. Together, they covered their faces with one arm and threw the dust at the base of the doors with the other.
An explosion rocked the library, sending every elf stumbling back. It was made stronger than it should have been due to the magical wards that had been placed on the doors.
Astriel slammed into a table behind him and managed to regain his balance even as massive bookshelves wobbled and crashed to the ground, sending books of ancient lore flying in all directions. The blast filled the air with dust and debris, clouding the prince’s vision. He straightened and peered into the hazy corridor beyond the doors that had just been blown apart. Nothing appeared to move.
In a few moments, the soldiers had again risen to their feet and Astriel and Malveis stood together, gazing into the darkness. Astriel spoke a single arcane word and light suffused the newly open chamber, illuminating the foot of the giant stone spiral staircase that climbed for ten stories into the mage tower above.
Astriel gripped his sword tightly and began to move forward.
“My liege, perhaps the soldiers and I should go first.”
“Not a chance,” Astriel replied, climbing the dusty steps. The contingent of elves followed closely behind him. As they ascended, Astriel was filled with a sense of hopeless dread. He knew. He knew what was waiting at the top.
When they at last reached the top floor, the prince crossed the stone landing with slow, heavy steps and paused before the final banded door. He gripped his sword tight, lifted his hand, and spoke an enchantment.
The door unhinged and swung open slowly, as if in a dream. Astriel stared at what lay beyond. Blue robed mages, both male and female, lay in various poses of death across the stone floor and the raised viewing pool dais at the room’s center. Their eyes were either wide and empty, no longer seeing, or had been closed tight on unshed tears.
Malveis approached slowly, almost respectfully, behind his prince.
“Is that all of them?” he asked.
Astriel shook his head. “Azmith is not here. Perhaps a few others. Gray Beard has help, it would seem,” he said, his voice as soft as his captain’s. His gaze slid over the mass of bodies. “And a lot of souls.”