[The Legend of Asahiel 03] • The Divine Talisman by Thompson, Eldon -- Read -- Imperial Library of Trantor

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CHAPTER ONE THE CREATURE SPRANG WITH A rabid snarl, moving quickly to cut off their escape. No longer elven, it bounded after them with the lust of a maddened predator, tearing through brush and forest limbs, feral eyes blind to all but the thrill of its impending kill. Laressa stumbled and went to one knee. She screamed for her daughter to run on, then spun to meet their pursuer’s final charge. A pair of blades shone darkly in the moonlight, slick with blood and thirsting for more. She looked past them, focused on her assailant’s eyes as she gripped the wellstone hung from her wrist. Raising it like a shield in the palm of her hand, she bid its power forth. Light flared and crackled in a thin, forked streamer. Fearing she was too late, Laressa closed her own eyes and threw herself aside, hearing at the same time her daughter’s scream. Upon a tangled bed of vine and root, Laressa’s entire body clenched, bracing for the inevitable. She could smell the Illychar’s fetid breath, and sense CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO ALLION LOOKED UP AS THE double doors to the council hall split wide. Around the table, whispered chatter died into stillness. General Rogun had arrived. Flanked by a pair of lieutenants, the grim-faced general strode forward with an imperious air. As always, the rattle of spurs ushered his approach, and ceased only when he had come to a stop at the table’s edge. Seated at the opposite head, Thaddreus raised a hand in welcome. “Good of you to join us, General,” the First Elder grumbled. “We were beginning to wonder whether you meant to attend your own summons.” A few murmurs swept through the Circle’s ranks, whether in support or opposition of Thaddreus’s remarks, Allion couldn’t tell. “Please,” the old man continued, “take your seat.” Rogun refused, as Allion expected, choosing instead to lean forward and plant his fists upon the table’s surface. A posture meant to dictate, not debate. And yet, the general did not speak. He forced his gaze around the table in a slow and ste CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE “ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THIS?” Marisha asked. In spite of everything—the fears, the doubts, the gut-wrenching pangs of sorrow and loss—Allion could have laughed. “There is precious little I can be sure about anymore,” he said instead. “But Rogun has already begun burning bodies, and I’ll not allow him to burn this one.” “His might be the greater kindness.” Allion stopped what he was doing to glare at her. “To make sure,” she explained. He held his glare, but ignored her comment and its dread implications. A moment later, he went back to his work, tying another rope into place. “There is no need for this,” she pressed. “It is an unwise and unnecessary risk.” “He would have done the same for me,” Allion insisted, reaching for another length of rope. “Torin would never have demanded this of you. Not under these circumstances. And if he had, then he was not the friend you believed him to be.” Allion whirled angrily. “What would you have me do, Marisha? Forsake everything I’ve bee CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR ALLION CLICKED HIS TONGUE AND cracked his whip, urging his wagon team onward. The gate guards had barely looked at his cargo. To them, it was just another load of rotting corpses being driven from the city. He was, perhaps, being overly cautious. Torin was his friend, and he the king’s regent. It might have been that, had he explained himself, no one would try to stop him. But he wasn’t taking any chances. There had been many who protested as their slain ones were being dragged away to be burned, on order of the army and of the Circle—an order that Allion himself had done nothing to fight. From what they’d been given to know, it was the only way to protect those fallen from rising again as Illychar. Some did not yet believe, and saw only that those precious to them were being desecrated, denied a proper mourning and burial. But Allion, still haunted by the final look in Evhan’s eyes, understood that they had little choice. Even so, he would not allow his friend’s remains t CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE THE TENDONS IN HIS WRIST strained as Allion tightened the final strap, cinching the leather band about the frame of the simple litter. When satisfied that his canvas-wrapped cargo was securely fastened, he stepped back to survey his work. All at once, his eyes began to moisten with emotions he could no longer seem to control. He had driven most of the night to reach this point, a long, lonely progression of hours spent in pained remembrance and soulful reflection. His thoughts were ragged, his emotions raw, and he had not yet begun what he had come here to do. He stepped toward his wagon, parked aside the forested road. The bulky cart could carry him no farther, but had served its purpose well. The litter had been tied to its undercarriage, while Torin’s body had been stowed in a hidden lockbox, cleverly concealed beneath the bench seat. Only a trained eye would note that the seat’s primary storage bin was shallower than it should have been, or be able to uncover the trapd CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CORATHEL HELD HIS BREATH AS he held his salute. This was the report he had been anxiously awaiting for two days now. But given the grim set of his scout’s jaw, he was no longer certain he wished to hear it. “Report.” “Sir. Atharvan is besieged, and in desperate need of reinforcement. I estimate her enemies’ number at twenty thousand, sir.” The chief general of the Parthan Legion felt his stomach knot. Just as they’d feared. Worse, even. When his scouts had returned with word that the western cities of Laulk and Leaven were all clear, he had dared hope that those fears might prove unfounded. It would seem he had given to hope too soon. They had commenced their homeward trek from the Gaperon two nights previous, prepped and ready to march even before receiving the message from Allion urging them to do so. Darinor had played them false. The mustering of Pentanian armies into a central coalition, intended to draw the enemy into battle at a place of their choosing, had been a ru CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN DARKNESS. Its folds enveloped him, comforted him. Within that vast emptiness, he knew only warmth and peace—a timeless calm that permeated his soul and swept forth beyond the bounds of his limited consciousness. Then it stirred. Silent ripples churned and gathered. A tingling, soft at first, grew steadily more acute, stealing his numbness. He felt a crack, and the darkness shattered. The light pierced him, and he lashed out against it. Then a burning within. He cried out, and was horrified by the sound. A stink assailed him. He snorted, but it was all around, penetrating, driving away the shards of retreating darkness. His cries became a desperate bellow as his world flew apart. Color and shape drew into focus. He was seeing. Before him, a face, wreathed in starlight. The face of a man. It spoke. “Welcome, brother, to the realm of flesh.” He bucked forward, straining with unfamiliar limbs. A force restrained him. He howled and gnashed his teeth, driven by a feral frenzy h CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT “THEN YOU ARE NOT ROGUN’S man?” Allion asked, looking Nevik directly in the eye. The baron of Drakmar sighed. He had just finished explaining to Allion his role in Rogun’s secret defense campaign, and the reasons for it. With the lines of communication running through his lands in southern Alson, it hadn’t been difficult to see false word concerning the general’s whereabouts ferried back and forth between Krynwall and the Gaperon—leading each group to believe that Alson’s legions were with the other. In so doing, he had provided Rogun the cover needed to smuggle their troops back into the capital city, where they had lain in wait for just the sort of ambush the Illychar had eventually executed—a trap that could have been launched against the crown as easily as for it. “I am my own man, Allion. I did as I believed I must. If I erred in doing so, then the best apology I can make is to take action now to undo my mistake.” In truth, he hadn’t been given a great deal of choice CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE NIGHTMARES. He had lived them before. So many, in fact, that he could scarcely recall the life he had known without them. The battles against demons and dragonspawn. The coming of Darinor and the Illysp—which he himself had unleashed. His journey to Yawacor in search of the Vandari, slipping from one conflict to the next against wizard, witch, warlord, and worse. The return he had not really wanted to make, forcing him to leave behind those he had grown to love. An unbroken string of trial and tribulation, death and disappointment, culminating finally in the loss of his dearest friend. By the end, he’d been only too willing to escape these nightmares and the world that had spawned them. And he had. And would now give anything to go back. This isn’t happening, he told himself. A litany he had been repeating for hours as he rode east through a once-familiar forest, drawing after him an ever-increasing brood of Illychar. A feeble denial, like the daylight during a sun’s eclip CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN AMID A PELTING RAIN OF stones and arrows cast by the enemy below, King Galdric stalked the outer wall of his capital city. His ministers and advisors had asked him not to, of course. But after four days of having such pleas ignored, their protests had become little more than grunts of resignation. Four days. In some ways, it seemed impossible that they had held out even that long. The Illychar that swarmed the broken slopes upon which Atharvan was built numbered in the tens of thousands. How and why so many had massed together to descend upon his people all at once was not something to which he had an answer. Yet there they were. He had his suspicions, of course, and they began with Darinor—the mystic who had lured his legion away, leaving this city and others with nothing more than a skeletal garrison. Do so, Darinor had promised, and the Illychar would ignore them, giving chase instead to the soldier coils that could most satisfy them. In this way, and this way alone, cou CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN KRAKKEN’S MAW LOOMED BEFORE HIM, the slack-jawed gape of a titan at rest. Surely, the black cleft was but one of many such rifts in the mountain’s stone skin. But having followed the unmistakable trail of thousands of dragonspawn to its source, there could be little doubt that this was the opening he sought. As the light of yet another day slipped away over the sharp cliffs that walled this particular valley, Itz lar Thrakkon, the Boundless One, tried to imagine this fissure and others as they had recently been—jagged scars that helped to give vent to the tumultuous forces caged within. But just now, the mountain was quiet, oblivious to those come to gather at its threshold. Helpless to resist the plundering of its depths. He continued forward then, Sword in hand to light the way. Those who had accompanied him all the way from the Whistlecrags hesitated only briefly before following. Thrakkon could sense their upturned eyes, their gazes rooted upon the magnificent summit CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE ALLION FROWNED, BUT HELD FORTH his wrist, allowing the sentry to check for his pulse. “How many times must we be examined?” The sentry released his arm without a word and took hold of Marisha’s. Allion felt a twinge of indignation on her behalf. “Heartbeats both,” the soldier announced, as if they did not already know themselves to be free of Illysp possession. Allion glared sourly, then looked to the page—dispatched upon their arrival—who was racing back to them. “The chief general will see them,” the lanky youth huffed, “provided they have been cleared.” The sentry, a scarred veteran who appeared better suited for the front lines, glared at the lad as if begrudging him his youthful mobility. Only then did it occur to Allion that the gruff soldier might be even less happy about his present duty than they. He looked back to the new arrivals and nodded them on. “Good to have you with us, sir,” he grunted as Allion marched past. The hunter turned his head at the comment, b CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CORATHEL FELT HIS STOMACH LURCH as he tumbled from his mount, followed by a bone-jarring crunch as he hit the earth. For a moment, the world became faint, and he sensed it turning around him. A thunder rocked his ringing ears. The cries of men. The hammering of hooves. The storm of battle. He found his sword, then pushed himself to his feet, making himself as thin as possible as armored horses continued to roar past. A wonder that he hadn’t already been trampled. Better to suffer that risk, however, than to have taken that javelin in the chest. Behind the passing cavalry came a charge of foot soldiers, howling now as they broke into a run. Realizing that they were to have been at his back, Corathel turned. A horde of elves was racing toward him, having sifted through the lines of his mounted vanguard. He and a host of others injured or unhorsed in the initial crush were caught now in a no-man’s-land between the two forces about to collide, rising amid the dead like win CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN THRAKKON WORKED CAREFULLY TO CARVE away the dried lava rock that still filled the gaps between one of Killangrathor’s mighty foreclaws. Such detail was all that remained. The once-churning pool of lava had become a massive crater in the cavern floor. Within, the dead dragon lay all but fully exposed, crouched upon the bedrock like an onyx sculpture mounted atop a granite pedestal. Though the darkness had revealed only segments at a time, Thrakkon could see it all in his mind’s eye—and found it magnificent. More than a hundred paces from head to tail, with a wingspan to match. Armed with horns and ridges, and riddled with spines. Most importantly, the beast was intact. Disfigured, yes, especially around its hindquarters. Wherever the dragon’s magical wastes had touched, iron flesh hung in tatters, the muscles beneath horribly scarred. In some areas, the acids had burned holes clear to the bone. But nothing had been severed, nothing melted away entirely. Thrakkon had see CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN KING GALDRIC SWEPT INTO HIS solar, pleased to find his counselors already assembled. “A draught of the hemgrape, if you would,” he said to his steward. “Better yet, bring me the flagon.” The king looked to the others, stood or seated about the chamber with cups of their own, and with servers standing by. Heads bowed in greeting. “Have the ministers been made comfortable?” he asked of his returning steward. “To the best of my abilities, my lord.” Galdric took the flagon and drained its contents in one long, satisfying pull. The sweet red slid down his throat like liquid velvet, its sharp aroma clearing his head like a fresh winter breeze. “I’ll take another,” he said, passing back the empty container. He wiped the sweat from his brow, then found and faced Eban, the city’s chief minister. “How goes the exodus?” “As well as one can expect, my lord.” Eban had a gruff voice for one so refined. “The latest tallies have six in ten safely downriver, and the next wave set soon t CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN HORNS BLARED AND BELLS TOLLED, trying vainly to steal the dragon’s attention. Perhaps the beast could not hear them over the raucous din of its ongoing assault. Or perhaps it was too clever to be lured by their trap. Whatever the reason, it seemed in no rush to respond to their desperate summons. Galdric held steady at the head of his assembled regiment, resisting the urge to sally forth against the beast. While he truly believed that no creature was invulnerable, he knew he would need every advantage available to him if he was to bring this one down. And that meant remaining here, upon his chosen battleground. If he was patient, the dragon would find him. Easier spoken than done. For while he hunkered there in that walled courtyard, with twoscore Castleguard and the squat, angled face of the palace at his back, soldiers and civilians alike were being slaughtered like gnats in a chaotic bloodbath. Even if they managed to slay the dragon, Atharvan was lost, its squares a CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN “MARISHA!” ALLION SHOUTED, SEARCHING DESPERATELY amid a sea of Parthan troops. “Marisha!” He’d been at her side, pinching the artery in a soldier’s leg as she cleaned the wound, when an alarm had sounded. A clutch of Illychar had broken through one of the warding flanks. Though far from the city, well behind friendly lines, their camp was under attack. Leaving another to assist her, Allion had raced off to answer the call to arms, bidding her remain until he had returned. But that minor skirmish had escalated into a heated battle. When finally it had ended, he had returned to find Marisha gone. According to the sergeant whose platoon now occupied her ground, an even larger Illychar force had been sighted in the immediate area, moving swiftly through a series of forested ravines. It was only a matter of time before they sought to scale this or another nearby ridge. Marisha and the others had been ordered to displace, and had headed south toward better protection. Allio CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN THE SUN HUNKERED UPON THE western horizon, cradled among distant peaks like a trough of molten lead. The wind grew sharp, and shadows lengthened. In the stillness of the settling dusk, amid the barren mountain heights, it seemed as though all the world was at peace. Knowing better, Htomah took little comfort as he sat silent upon a slab of rock, waiting for the other to come. It had been a long week, trekking throughout the day and throughout the night to reach this point. Though meditations allowed his body and mind to refresh themselves without the need for sleep, his muscles and joints were not accustomed to such prolonged periods of strain. Worse, he traveled blind. His physical senses were far more acute than those of any pure mortal, but it had been years—decades—since he had gone so long without a visit to the scrying chamber. Lacking his Third Sight, he felt as lost and vulnerable as a deprived suckling. He might have regretted his decision, yet found he did no CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHAPTER NINETEEN “HOLD! THAT’S FAR ENOUGH NOW.” Htomah stopped. The words had been spoken in Gohran, but he knew that tongue as well as any. He turned slowly, and Crag beside him. Neither was surprised by the trio of Hrothgari staring back at them from the murky depths of the tunnel. The patrolling sentries had been trailing them for some time now—with all the stealth of a herd of goats. Even Crag had sensed them, though when the Tuthari had turned to mumble a warning, Htomah had placed a reassuring hand on his companion’s knotted shoulder, preferring to let the trackers reveal themselves in their own due time. “Strength to you, friends of the shadow-earth,” the Entient replied in the Mountain Tongue. “We bear you no malice.” The dwarves continued to scowl. All three were outfitted in layers of wool and leather, with iron bands about the arms and wrists. Their heavy cloaks had been pushed back, to reveal the countless gems and minerals with which their tunics and belts and bracers were CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY THE SENTRIES AT THE EDGE of camp peered at him as if he were an apparition born of the swirling mists. Corathel smiled at their shock. That he might already be a ghost was something even he would have to consider. For he could think of no surer way to explain his unlikely string of narrow escapes. He continued forward, overcome with relief, anxious to learn how many more had come to rendezvous. Then the guardsmen caught sight of those who accompanied him, flexing their bows in response. The chief general froze, raising his hands. “Hold!” It was all he could manage before one of the arrows was loosed, directly toward the Mookla’ayan chieftain—he of the crown of stakes embedded in his skull. Swifter than thought, one of the flanking elves snapped forward, catching the arrow by its shaft. Mercifully so, for instead of dodging, the chieftain had puffed up as if to shield his trailing clansmen. He held himself that way now, with the arrow’s tip not but a finger’s breadth from CHAPTER TWENTY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE BLACK CLOUDS HID A SOILED moon. The stars were out, but their light shone faintly, like candles behind a silk curtain. Leaves and limbs swayed softly overhead, sifting the dim radiance. Beneath this screen of mottled darkness, Corathel trod carefully, leading his horse by its halter along the ravine floor. A column of the best riders remaining to him trailed after, fourscore in all. Their faces were grim, painted dark with mud and coal. Their eyes were gleaming pools of captured twilight, shifting furtively in their sockets. If anything like their chief general, their entrails were wound tight around hollow stomachs, their lungs squeezed with apprehension. Some had witnessed already their last sunrise. It was left only to learn which ones—if not all. Until then, the gnawing anxiety seemed a torment from which even death might be welcome. Corathel pushed aside a low-hanging tree limb and continued along the overgrown path. A veteran of more battles than he could remem CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO A WARMTH AT HER WRIST DREW her from her slumber. Her eyes opened. Dawn had not yet come, though a brightening through the forest canopy told her that it was not far off. The warmth was from her mother’s wellstone. Her gaze shifted to find the central crystal aglow in the palm of her hand. Its color was faint, its inner pulse slow and steady. A warning nonetheless. Her chest tightened, and she forced herself up from the bed of moss upon which she lay, pushing aside a silken blanket. She smelled smoke at about the same time she saw the gentle aura of a nearby flame, casting its flickering light upon the trees at her back. She had been lying on her side, but rolled over quickly now to have a look. Her breath caught to realize that a hooded figure sat on a log beside the fire, poking the flames with a stick. The figure made a muttering noise, before a raspy voice cut through the quiet of the tiny glade. “So she awoke, the fatherless wanderer and orphan-to-be, whelped by CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE CLOUDS CHURNED OVERHEAD, THREATENING ANOTHER storm. It made little difference, Allion supposed, as he was still soaked through from the last. His clothes hung heavy and sodden, his skin chafed raw where the leather and wool rubbed against his thighs. He slogged on despite the irritation, through a muddy field whose fallow rows gave it the look of a wind-chopped sea. Indeed, his weariness was such that, at times, he felt as if the earth rolled and swayed beneath him. A low-hanging fog covered it like misty spray, and its restless murmur filled his ears, a sound in which to drown. He forced his eyes wide, to wake himself before he slipped beneath the imaginary swells. The murmur stemmed not from ocean waves, but from the sea of refugees swimming alongside in a ragged stream. Few spoke, in hopes that silence would keep them safe. But the rustle of their movements could not be helped: the swish of fabric, the scrape of litter, the creak of wheel, the rattle of traces, CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR THE GATES OF THE BASTION were opened wide, though she found few enough lined before them to make the passing. The soldiers and inspectors milling about beneath the great stone arch far outnumbered those with business in the southern lands. Given the word of those she’d encountered upon the road, most were merchants and suppliers summoned by Lorre himself to help repair and provide for his new city and the army that occupied it. A city by the sea, Annleia thought, the crone’s words a haunting echo amid the soft rumble of crashing waves. She still wasn’t certain she had made the right decision. So much was based on intuition and a wild woman’s prophecy. But the phial was real enough. If she believed in one, she dare not disregard the other. Yet nearly a week had passed since Necanicum had met her in those northern woods. And the more she rehearsed that account, the less likely it seemed—and the less capable she felt of accomplishing her task. Worse, that task all but CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE WORD PASSED QUICKLY THROUGH THE ranks of the grinding throng: breathless whispers, muttered curses, cries of terror, and groans of dismay. Souaris was aflame. Allion would have felt no different had someone sheathed a dagger in his gut. From a distance, the strange columns had the look of vast pillars seeking to support a sagging sky. But as he rode nearer in the open bed of that creaking wagon, tending to the wounded, the dawn’s light grew stronger, and he saw them for what they were: towers of soot worming up and away in the shape of twisted funnel clouds, to bathe the world in perpetual darkness. Marisha’s hand slid into his, and he gripped her fingers tightly. He did not have to see her face to know her thoughts, and feared showing her his. It simply couldn’t be. They had not come all this way, survived all those skirmishes, pressed on day after day when it seemed there was no hope, only to be denied now the refuge they so dearly required. All knew Souaris to be CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX LARESSA SAT ALONE UPON HER daughter’s favorite overlook, peering up at moon and stars on a rare, cloudless night. Lush foliage glistened around her, damp with misty spray from a ribbon waterfall that cut through a nearby cleft in the black mountain wall. Insects and nightbirds chirped and twittered, adding resonant layers to the steady thrum of cascading waters. An occasional soft breeze brushed her neck, her cheek, like a lover come to whisper in her ear. When she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine Eolin was there. But Eolin was gone, and their child as well. She was truly alone again, in a way she hadn’t been for a very long time. Not since she was ten, when she had lost her mother, had she felt so forlorn. Her father had been unable to help her, unable to understand. His resentment toward the Finlorian people had blinded him to the fact that she was still very much one of them. A half-breed, yes, who had never lived among them. But her mother’s blood ran st CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN HE CONTINUED TO RIDE IN his dreams. The enemy surged after him, a shrieking, thunderous press that closed from three sides. The beat of his horse’s hooves hammered in his head. He felt the presence of the city wall looming somewhere in the dark, but could not see it. Lar held the line ahead of him, at the tip of the shield wall, but never seemed to draw any closer. It occurred to him that he might be dead. Though he could not recall his own name, he seemed to remember that the enemy wave had already overwhelmed him once. But if that were so, why did he still ride? Perhaps that was the true nature of the Abyss, to toil endlessly in the final moments of one’s life, repeating forever that last, failed conflict. Gods knew, with the number he had killed—either at the tip of a blade or with the commands of his voice—his soul deserved no greater comfort than those of an eternal hell. Yet he could still feel the reins in his hand, still taste the dirt in his mouth. Stabs a CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT SIMMERING IN THE FIRE OF his misery, Torin sought to lose himself in his surroundings. The gray morning enveloped him, skies swollen with the promise of rain. A stiff wind tore at his bloodied jerkin, slicing through its thick fibers to scrape with icy claws upon his numbed skin. He and his fiendish company flew low to the ground, skimming the tops of trees whose damp boughs shuddered in the wake of his passing. The fissured slopes of the Dragontails were a wall to the east. Torin tried to see in them the tranquillity of an immutable earth, to partake of their boundless calm. Yet nothing could quench the flames devouring him from within. The pain was too great, the shame overwhelming, and the terror seizing his heart refused to let go. What he had done to his people, reprehensible. To Laressa, beyond forgiveness. What he was about to do…anguish. If only he could shriek forth his sorrow and self-loathing. If only he could confess to the world his remorse and hatred CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE KILLANGRATHOR STALKED THE BASTION, LEAVING ruin in his wake. Bodies lay strewn amid a wreckage of broken merlons, shattered weapons, and mangled siege engines. Great blocks of granite and limestone cracked beneath the dragon’s scarred feet. To one side, a soldier crawled toward the battlement’s edge, chasing the lower half of his torso. When a brush from the dragon’s tail sent the man’s legs over the edge, the soldier stopped, peering helplessly at his mutilated body’s weird, gruesome descent. From atop the dragon’s back, Itz lar Thrakkon savored the smell of carnage around him: the stench of bowels and brains and bloody meat being exposed to the salty air. Moans and screams sang in his ears, while the rains pattered, the winds shrilled, and the sea groaned. The goblins behind him screeched their approval, painted with dust and grime, speckled with shreds of flesh and splinters of debris. The battle-lust was upon them, and the day’s slaughter had only just begun. Ah CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE CHAPTER THIRTY ONLY THE BASTION COULD STOP him. A small force awaited him at its base. Threescore, four, it was difficult to know. The living, the wounded, the dead—all were interspersed, working to sort themselves, one from the other. His own ranks had been lessened as well. Both of his giants remained, but only ten of his goblins—less than half. The rest were carving blood trails of their own through Lorre’s force as it scrambled to finish off the dragon. Some had been overtaken by the natural bloodlust of their host creature, and refused to flee. Others had suffered wounds during the battle, and were more easily trapped. In either case, few were likely to cut clear of the thousands who pressed them. So be it. They would serve as cover. And those few who accompanied him would be more than enough. Killangrathor himself remained the largest distraction—still fighting, clinging stubbornly to his unnatural life. Lorre’s men blanketed his thrashing form like a belligerent swarm of ants, e CHAPTER THIRTY CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE CORATHEL LEANED HEAVILY AGAINST A weathered merlon, closing his eyes as a wave of dizziness swept over him. “Are you unwell, sir?” his young attendant asked him. The chief general grunted. He had sought to escape his flock of captor-healers altogether, but their persistent urgings had led even the governor to insist he be accompanied by one of their brood. “Steady as the wall beneath our feet,” Jasyn answered, covering for him until the spell had passed. “And likely to last as long.” The attendant wasn’t convinced. “Perhaps the general should return to his rest.” Corathel ignored him, fixing his gaze upon the Illychar swarm below. Having finally won his freedom, he had no intention of relinquishing it. The past four days had seemed an eternity—lying helplessly abed while the city around him struggled to withstand the ongoing siege. Jasyn and others had advised him often, and kept him well stocked with registries and diagrams and reports of every tactical nature. But CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO SOMETHING WAS WRONG. Amid the darkness…a whispered murmur, a briny scent, both growing stronger. But he no longer sensed such things. He lacked the form with which to do so. He had no ears, no nose— His eyes fluttered open, and the darkness receded in a dizzying rush. He thought at once of the dream, and closed his eyes again, seeking to recapture it. Dyanne’s countenance hovered over him, lingering like a lover at dawn. How beautiful her gleaming eyes, he marveled, how radiant her smile. He could still taste the fervor of her kiss, and the rapture that burned within his chest. When he drew breath, a tingling warmth filled his body. Such a glorious experience, he realized in thankful reflection, the most magnificent moment of his life. Life. A chill ratcheted through him, sucking the breath from his lungs. No, not again. Life meant pain, for himself and for others. The Illysp. He had escaped them once. He could not endure that horror to begin again. He clenched his e CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE TORIN CRANED AND TWISTED BESIDE the windows, angling in vain for a glimpse of events outside. A crescendo akin to battle cries had been building steadily ever since the steward’s departure, but the slits were too narrow to allow him a proper view. All of which was forgotten the moment he heard the knock upon the door. One of the troll sentries, which had remained inside, rapped twice in response. Torin glanced at Annleia as she emerged from an adjacent chamber of the small suite. The trolls’ lingering presence had dampened any further discussions. While Torin privately doubted their ability to understand—or their interest in hearing—anything he or Annleia might have to say to each other, the Finlorian lass had chosen to retreat to her own room and sit in sulky silence. That suited Torin just fine, overwhelmed as he was by what he had learned already, and by the expectation of seeing Dyanne again. But it was not the Nymph who stepped through the door in answer to hi CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR THE LAST TIME HE HAD left Lorre’s citadel to walk the roads and alleys of Neak-Thur, Torin had found it to be a ramshackle city teeming with sullen-eyed citizens and boorish soldiers. But that had been fresh off General Chamaar’s failed attempt to recapture the Wylddean capital, and within a fortnight of the overlord’s initial occupation. Now, it seemed, Southland commoners and Northland invaders were the dearest of friends, a people made one by their common victory. The tyrant had become the savior, his armies the shield that had sheltered them against the unimaginable. These inhabitants owed their lives to Lorre and his troops, and had spilled forth in droves to proclaim their gratitude. Torin made his way among them with nervous anticipation, casting guarded glances against any who might recognize him. The chances were remote, Saena had assured him. The battle’s focus—and that of the people—was upon the dragon. Despite the occasional rumor, few knew—or had cause CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE ALLION’S EYES WERE CLOSED, BUT the darkness afforded him no comfort. The tumult raged in his ears, a cacophony of screams and moans, of grating steel and whistling bowstrings. The fires, fed incessantly, spat and crackled. The stench of smoke and pitch and corpses had formed a crust in his nostrils and a putrid taste upon his tongue. The taste of war. “Enough,” Marisha scolded. His lids snapped open to find her standing over him, backlit by the orange glow of the forward blazes—their black breath an ugly smear against the evening sky. “You’re exhausted. Why won’t you go and rest?” “For the same reason you won’t,” he said, his throat raw. It seemed pointless to try. Even when he did manage to sleep, the combat raged in his dreams. Ghosts danced before his mind’s eye, twisted shadows entangled in a web of bloodshed. Dark weapons protruded from these churning silhouettes like misshapen appendages, waved about as part of some macabre display. Figures fell, but countless CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX “OGRE!” HER FORWARD SPOTTER ROARED. General Vashen slammed the door to the primary boiler and scrambled for her seat at the helm. Ignoring her driver’s worried glance, she threw open an iron viewing slat. The wash of cool air that poured through was like a mother’s breath upon a stinging wound. Yet the scene beyond caused her stomach to clench. “Full to grinder!” she yelled back at her crew. “Full to grinder!” they acknowledged. The drillers were already in place, working the pump handle back and forth in steady cadence. As the order was given, their pace quickened reflexively. It mattered not. Under this new, steam-powered configuration, it was up to the boiler master to determine the allocation of energy maintained by their labors. He worked to do so swiftly, turning a series of knobs and levers that would redirect power from the wheels to the grinder. They could not surrender all momentum, of course, but given what lay ahead of them… Vashen looked again through he CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN THE EARTH STIRRED, A WHISPER of thunder rising from within. Corathel paused, lowering the spoon held halfway to his mouth. He could see upon the faces of his lieutenants that they felt it, too. All kept silent, listening, until the pebbles at their feet began to dance. “That’s no outrider,” Jasyn warned. Corathel dropped the bowl of cold oaten porridge he’d been sharing with his division commanders, and snatched up his sword belt. Soldiers in their nearby squads took note, and the murmurs of alarm began to spread. “To your posts,” the chief general ordered his lieutenants. “Silent muster. I don’t want a panic. Ninth Cavalry upon the western ridge. All others to await my command. General Jasyn, take the Fourth. General Lar, with me.” The division commanders snapped to obey. An attendant came racing up with Corathel’s battered breastplate, but the chief general waved him off, signaling for his horse instead. Moments later, he and Lar were galloping in the direction o CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT TORIN MARCHED IN A COCOON of silence. Annleia strolled beside him, but he paid her no notice. His eyes were locked upon the moist earth, where a glistening layer of dampness steamed beneath the warmth of the sun’s rays. Within the resulting mist danced images of Dyanne. Memories, fantasies, he savored them all, fearing each to be the last picture he would ever have of the woman he so cherished. It had taken hours of reflection to grasp the consequences of all else. But he had understood immediately the simple fact that Dyanne was gone. Two days ago, he had stood before her and accepted her farewell, walking away without any reason to hope he might see her again. He still wasn’t sure how he had let it happen. She had eluded the pages he’d sent to notify her of his departure. She had then eluded him as he made his own rounds through Lorre’s citadel. The keep had been cold and quiet, with many having just settled down after a long night of celebrating. Saena, who had CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE CORATHEL’S MOUNT REARED, SNORTING AND flailing at the pack of reavers converging against him. The creatures came ahead anyway, Parthan once, but no longer. With feral shrieks and lust in their eyes, brandishing clubs and staves, mauls and axes, they bore down upon a man who for years had battled to keep them safe—as if to punish him for failing to do so. The chief general drew his dagger. He could not yet wield his sword with any strength or skill. His wounds from Leaven were still too fresh. It hurt to ride, to breathe. He searched the dust-filled clangor around him, questioning his decision now to leave his guard regiment behind…wondering how these reavers had managed to penetrate so deep, so fast…thinking it might not be too late to turn and flee… Then they were upon him. Again his horse reared, its ironshod hooves connecting this time with the head of his lead assailant. Bone crunched and caved, and the human reaver crumpled. Another aimed its polearm at the hor CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE CHAPTER FORTY THE COVE LAY EMPTY. OVERHEAD, a pocket of clouds caressed the round, radiant moon. A lamenting wind whistled amid the trees, scraped across crags in the seaside bluff, and combed the choppy surface of the ocean that grumbled below. All else was still, quiet. Yet Torin dared not breathe. Annleia nudged him, rustling the foliage of their thick woodland shelter. Torin scowled, but never removed his gaze from the rocky beach. Beneath the shadows of the forested mountainside, the sea brewed patiently. Incoming waves were being shred by buried rocks and hidden boulders, ripped into foam and spray. Broken ledges glistened in the moonlight, wet from the salty surf. From their ridge above, Torin and Annleia watched it all, and waited. “It’s out there,” Torin whispered, crouching deeper within the clammy underbrush. “Do you see something?” Annleia asked, eyes wide as they searched the black breakers. He studied her momentarily. Even in the pale moonlight, her emerald orbs shone dee CHAPTER FORTY CHAPTER FORTY-ONE ALLION DID HIS BEST TO keep his eyes forward as he made his way through the dwarven encampment. Hrothgari, the gnarled envoy had named them. Allies and saviors, when judged by their actions. But in that early morning mix of red light and flickering shadows, with their misshapen limbs and their stern, suspicious gazes, they looked to Allion more like ghouls. Thus far, victory within the Gaperon had been a somber affair. The fires had surged with the dawn, feasting upon the bodies of the slain. Ash and cinder rained down amid gusting winds. The fighting had ended, the Illychar defeated—save for a few stubborn pockets entrenched upon the rocky slopes, and the occasional rising of a wounded one feigning death amid the carnage. It was mankind’s first real triumph since Rogun had quashed Darinor’s initial uprising at Krynwall. Yet, with all that Allion had seen of the aftermath, the outcome still tasted of defeat. He had thought to spare himself the worst of it, to remain b CHAPTER FORTY-ONE CHAPTER FORTY-TWO ALLION TIED OFF ANOTHER FLETCHING, wincing as the slender thread bit into his bandaged fingers. “You should let me do that,” Tevarian suggested. The hunter just shook his head as he examined his work. An arrow’s vanes were its most critical feature. He could make adjustments for a shaft with too much spine or bend, a short length, a faulty notch, or an improperly weighted head. But a fault in the fletching could produce an unpredictable pitch or yaw that would not be revealed to the shooter until the missile was already in flight. Satisfied, he traded the completed arrow for another of the naked quarrels Tevarian had prepared. With that came a set of goose feathers—split down the middle—for him to choose from. Allion looked at the shaft from all angles, and weighed its balance across his fingers. “Thumb and a half,” he said, assigning the desired feather length. “No,” he added, seeing those his companion reached for. “The darker ones. There.” “Beats fire duty in any c CHAPTER FORTY-TWO CHAPTER FORTY-THREE D O AS YOU MUST, ASAHIEL. A shallow surf churned about Torin’s feet, chewed to foam by the jagged limestone shore. The Sword felt unusually heavy in his hand. He stared into Ravar’s great, unblinking eye. At this proximity, it engulfed him, a doorway into the Abyss. He turned to look at Annleia, who stood nearby, but saw only sullenness in her guarded features. The Orb is needed, if she is to do this. Ravar’s soundless voice reverberated within his head, within his chest, carrying the weight of eternity. She cannot go forward without it. That much had been explained to him. What hadn’t been explained, what he found just as difficult to fathom, were the unspoken consequences of mutilating a living god. A token it is to me, no more, Ravar insisted. I will not be blinded so easily. There was no escape from that depthless, penetrating gaze. Ravar’s eye, though small for His body, stood taller than Torin. The leviathan lay half submerged at the shore’s edge, eye lowered CHAPTER FORTY-THREE CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR SAWS WHEEZED AND HAMMERS RANG, punctuated by every manner of creak, squeal, and shout that Torin could have imagined. From the central district and its governor’s manse high atop the coastal bluff, down to the encircling horseshoe harbor, Wingport swarmed with untold thousands of men, women, children, and service animals, all in steadfast activity. Their numbers spread even beyond the city, to the north and west, where teams attacked the sheltering forests like an army of termites, stripping the hillsides bare. Wingport, it appeared, was readying to take flight. It hadn’t taken long to confirm that suspicion. Coming up from the south, he and Annleia had encountered no guard patrols, only work crews hauling bushels of raw hemp with which to weave rope. Torin had observed their efforts for a time, then hailed them from a distance and asked if he could lend a hand. The response was brusque, but accepting: Unless he was a reaver, no hand was being turned away. Keeping th CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE CORATHEL WRENCHED HIS BLADE FROM the reaver’s chest, a spray of blood painting his forearm. With a feral grunt, he shoved the soulless creature aside and shifted to meet the next. A troll, its lower jaw missing, thundered down upon him, brandishing a bloodstained cudgel. It launched the weapon at Corathel’s face, a heavy, gusting swing under which the seasoned general ducked easily. Upon an armored knee, Corathel thrust his own sword upward and into the roof of the troll’s damaged mouth. The beast convulsed as the blade minced its brain and shattered the top of its skull, ruptured vessels spilling in rivulets down the length of sharpened steel. Shielded by the creature’s dying bulk, Corathel took a moment to catch his breath. When the full weight of its corpse began to slide forward, the general stood and twisted, dumping the fresh carcass to the blood-smeared earth. Hefting his weapon with burning shoulders, he spun to the ready. His men were still behind him—those CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE CHAPTER FORTY-SIX THE SILENCE PEALED LOUDER THAN thunder. It wasn’t complete silence, but after weeks of deafening clangor within their iron-shelled rover, it seemed as such. The steam-powered engines had gone cold and quiet. Her team no longer labored at the pump handles, for their efforts availed them nothing. For a time, there had been the raucous howling and banging and clawing of those skatchykem seeking to pry their way inside. But most had since moved south to engage easier prey. After that had come the rains, a downpour so violent that it rang like pebbles upon the ceiling. The waters, funneled down to the boiler, had effectively replenished their drinking stores, but had failed them in their attempts to start the rover back up again. When the boiler had gone dry, the fires fanned by the pushers’ labors had failed as well, and no flame of their own would take hold as that one had. Evidently, whatever sorcery the Entients had worked would be required anew if they hoped to bring CHAPTER FORTY-SIX CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN CORATHEL PEERED CAUTIOUSLY THROUGH THE thicket of scrub that lined the hollowed ridge. A hundred paces below, the four rovers lay in their gully at the base of the slopes, motionless drill snouts pointed outward. Forgotten, it seemed, by the sea of reavers that had choked them upon their arrival. Thousands, there had been, though all their weapons and bodies had seemed incapable of stalling the rovers’ coring, methodical advance. Yet stalled they had, backed into a corner like sentinels pressed by an angry mob. King Hreidmar had been unable to tell him why, exactly, hazarding only that they may have misjudged their fuel supplies. Whatever, without their grinders, the Hrothgari crews had found themselves bitterly pressed by the adversary they had baited for so long. Their machines shielded them, but how long could they last? Without being asked, Corathel had taken it upon himself to reach the iron rovers, to help the dwarves inside escape the Illysp’s wrath—just as t CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT AWE TURNED TO CHEERS AMONG the coalition forces as the Shia River came roaring down upon the heads of their enemy, channeled northward by the natural depressions of the land. The flood did what they themselves could not: force the enemy into a sudden retreat to avoid being swept away. Those spread along Morgan’s Harrow were spared, save for windblown gusts of river spray. With the bulk of the Illychar retreating north or racing toward higher ground, only a thin, ragged wave now remained to press the southern entrenchments. Frontline soldiers fell upon these with renewed vigor, seizing the sudden advantage. The Illychar, without benefit of reinforcements, fought like cornered badgers, but succumbed swiftly. Their shrieks, and those of the ones being engulfed, raised a cacophony that punctuated the river’s continuing roar. Nevertheless, the coalition’s fallback had already begun. As of now, the Shia was a churning wash that gutted the land and devoured anything in its CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT CHAPTER FORTY-NINE WITH DAWN’S FIRST GRAY LIGHT, Torin was finally able to peer down from the mountain and catch a glimpse of what he was leaving behind. The night before, while he and his company climbed the slopes under light of stars and glowstone lanterns, the pass below had been shrouded in darkness. Now, however, he could see the river, reforging its path along that ancient bed. To the west of that, the Illychar were a writhing swarm, busily collecting and warding the bodies that would serve to replenish their ranks. From there, looking south from the Gaperon and over a rugged stretch of stone shelf and grassy plain, he could still make out the lines and columns of the coalition’s defense, settled uneasily behind a twig nest of trenches and bulwarks and fortified rises. So quiet, he thought. So different from being down there, amid the carnage. From this god’s-eye vantage, he could almost imagine it all to be but pieces in some child’s game. Behind him, he could feel U’uyen’s gaz CHAPTER FORTY-NINE CHAPTER FIFTY TORIN’S PARTY CROSSED THE SUMMIT of the Aspandels around midmorning—at about the same time a choking cloud cover finally lost its grip on the sun. The warm rays, Torin decided, were a welcome relief, despite the sheen of sweat that covered him. A measure of added heat seemed a small price to pay for the sense of rejuvenation wrought by the sun’s boundless, life-giving radiance. Indeed, as he crossed that eastward threshold and began his descent, the wall of peaks rising at his back helped to provide a sense of leaving the unimaginable chaos of recent weeks behind. An absurd notion, when those he meant to defend were still trapped behind that wall, and the road he traveled promised challenges every bit as harrowing. But with the vast bulk of the Illychar at his back and an ocean of sun-dappled forest flooding the lower horizon, he could almost bring himself to imagine that this world might have a future after all. His Hrothgari escort set a cruel pace through the maze of d CHAPTER FIFTY CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT, the Illychar found them. The fiends were already within the camp when the first scream woke him—knifing through the silence of his dreams. Torin lunged from his bedroll, tearing the Sword from its scabbard. Its eager, billowing warmth could not quite chase the chill that raked along his spine. The whirring black forms seemed to be everywhere, their shrieks like daggers in his ears. A pair of Hrothgari had one trapped against a boulder—or so it appeared, until it lashed out at them, blindingly fast, impossibly strong, flaying their throats after slapping their weapons wide. Blood spattered against stone, inklike in the near darkness of moon and stars and low-burning watch fires. The goblin left its enemies choking as it moved on. Two more dwarves rushed to meet it, and were swatted aside almost as swiftly. Then Torin was there, Sword raised, its crimson aura blazing. The creature’s eyes burned with reflected light an instant before its torso was s CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO “ARE THEY DOWN THERE?” MARISHA asked. From their overlook near the crest of the mountain pass, Allion continued to scan the coastal valley below, squinting in the near darkness. “Hard to say. I don’t see any fires.” Then again, considering the remains of the skirmish he and Marisha had come across that morning, it was altogether likely that Torin’s company would elect not to draw such attention to themselves again. “Would they have entered the ruins already? It seems they’re long overdue for a rest.” Allion could only shake his head, uncertain. The pyres he had encountered shortly after dawn had marked the last campsite set down by Torin’s company. After eighteen more hours, or near enough, he and Marisha had found no other—and Torin and his escorts had been on the move even longer than that. Surely, now that they had reached the coast, they would take what rest they could, so as to enter the ruins fresh. On the other hand, their company had maintained a punishing pac CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE BEYOND HIS GLOBE OF CRIMSON light, the blackness remained impenetrable. Ahead and to either side, Torin could scarcely make out the shadowy forms of his Mookla’ayan guides, who paced along at the farthest edges of the Sword’s glow. Like swimming the ocean floor, he thought, cold and blind, not knowing what hunts us… He fought to remain alert, to keep his senses attuned to his uncertain surroundings. Even with the Sword, he found it difficult. A numbing exhaustion had set in, both physical and emotional, in the hours since he had entered the ruins. His head and heart were still reeling. Annleia cared for him. She had said as much—even if he wasn’t certain he could trust the words. At the same time, she could not bear to be with him. Not before she had discovered what remained of her people. Not until the both of them took some time apart from each other to consider their true feelings. In the meantime, it was up to him to vanquish this bane. Close the rift between th CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR TORIN TREAD CAUTIOUSLY AT FIRST, mindful of his step upon the tower of loose stones. The echoes of conflict from above, however, spurred his pace, until he was slipping and grinding his way down the crude stairway, focused only on reaching the bottom. His growing momentum soon carried him into a tumbling, headlong roll, full of grating pains that punished him for his recklessness. He came to a skidding halt, battered and dizzy within an ocean of swirling blackness. He closed his eyes for a moment and gripped the Sword tightly, calling upon its soothing power. The pains quieted, and the world around him steadied. He rolled himself to one side and climbed gingerly to his knees, coughing on the dust he had stirred. Blood streamed from a gash in his head, but he had no time to be concerned with minor wounds. In the halo of the Sword’s light, he saw the base of the rampway behind him. In all other directions…nothing. The darkness appeared boundless, save for the scabrous CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR CHAPTER FIFTYFIVE I AM CWINGEN U’UYEN, SON OF the Powaii. I do not suffer death, I earn it. He clenched his jaw, biting back a scream as one of the basilisks tore off his remaining foot. He bucked with agony, but a pair of the creatures lay atop him, pinning him where he had fallen. They had already taken his arms—one had been chewed to the elbow, the other to the shoulder. Struggle though he might, his battle was ended. His brothers—Oobolso Bwinem and Getarin Ta’alo—had succumbed before him. But their valor had won them labors swift and light in the journey to come. His passing, like theirs, promised to be a transcendent experience with far-reaching impact, and in that, he took great pride. He only hoped now that their shield had stood long enough—had given the Sword-wielder the time he needed. That was what the Lady had asked of him, and the charge he had accepted. The basilisks were simply too numerous. The most stubborn ones had fought to grind through the rubble-filled doorway, or CHAPTER FIFTYFIVE CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX IT WAS THE THUNDER THAT awoke her, even before she felt Crag’s urgent touch upon her shoulder. The look in his eyes was enough to draw her to her feet. She glanced east, to find the sun peering tentatively over the ocean’s horizon. The clamor she both heard and felt came from the west, as if the mountains themselves were stirring. “Where’s Torin?” she asked. Crag shook his head. “Fool lad ain’t here.” Annleia’s stomach pitched nervously. “What do you mean? Where did he go?” “Our elves are missing, too,” announced Vashen, coming up behind her with five of her Hrothgari. “Would they have entered the ruins without us?” Anxiety spawned dismay. “We have to go after them.” Vashen looked up at the mouth of the pass. Already, the first of the Illychar were streaming over its lip, trumpeting their arrival with shrieks of bloodlust. “Goblins,” she spat. “As Torin warned. Headed for the ruins, no doubt.” “Then let’s get moving,” Crag suggested. “Won’t any of us make it far befor CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN TORIN WADED THROUGH A FOG of dizziness. He looked from Ravar’s mountainous form to the waves crashing around him to the fires in the Sword’s blade and heartstones. He felt utterly drained. If Ravar meant to challenge him now… Again you flatter yourself with undue importance, came the scornful reply. But look, Asahiel, and tell me what you have truly accomplished. He forced himself to turn eye back to the west, tracing the flight of those few remaining goblins scurrying upward into the pass. A grim understanding began to cut through his confusion. The rift may have been closed, but… His thoughts reached across the miles to friends and regions unseen. By now, the coalition blockade had likely been breached, if not destroyed. If so, then those at Stralk, Wingport, and other cities were no doubt fighting for their lives, hunkered behind their feeble defenses. Nevik and the rest of Alson would be out to sea, or wishing they were. All was still lost unless he could someho CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT ANNLEIA WAS THE ONLY ONE to approach, pushing through the loosened ring of Entients to peer up at him with concern. “Are you…?” she began, but faltered at his expression. “Is it over?” Though raw with expended emotion, Torin still felt the Sword’s power—his power—coursing through him in pulsing waves, begging release. He looked to Ravar. The Dragon God moaned gently—a sound that nevertheless rumbled across the sky. His great neck, hefted high, slid deeper into the frothy swells, until only His head remained above the waterline. “You have fulfilled a greater promise than any of us in the beginning could have anticipated,” said Maventhrowe. “I do believe that Ravar shall return now to His rest, and we to our duties.” Like that, Torin thought. It felt to him like there should be more. For all that had just happened to conclude so abruptly… “Is that all you would say to him?” Annleia asked. “What more would you have of us?” growled Ranunculus. Annleia frowned. “An apolo CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE “IT WAS A LOVELY CEREMONY,” Marisha remarked. Their small group stood in an antechamber to the food hall in which last night’s coronation dinner had been held. Only a few score had attended: friends and noblemen from within and without Alson. Many of the same had gathered again this morning, and were waiting behind closed doors for the new king to join them at breakfast within. King Nevik inclined his head graciously. “A modest affair, by any measure.” That, it had been, Allion thought. With so much pain and devastation still fresh in everyone’s hearts, it hadn’t seemed appropriate to hold any kind of lavish, drawn-out celebration. Some within the Circle had argued against crowning the new king at all, claiming that it was far too soon to be seen as moving forward—that doing so was somehow disrespectful to those who had fallen. The prevailing opinion, however, was that there was no better way to put to rest so many lingering doubts and set forth on the long road of h CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

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