Chapter 11 Echoes of Power
ECHOES OF POWER
The distant peaks of the Frost Fang Mountains loomed against the slate-grey sky as White Eye banked through the cloud cover.
Lark sat forward in the saddle, rejuvenated from their prolonged stay in the cave.
Behind her, Venrick held tight to her waist while Yarla huddled against his back, her silver-white hair whipping in the wind.
“We’re close,” Lark called over her shoulder. The wind tore at her words, but she knew Venrick heard when his grip tightened slightly.
Below them, the jagged terrain gave way to the familiar rolling foothills Lark had seen when White Eye first carried her here. Patches of green peeked through the snow where the sanctuary’s ancient wards maintained their eternal spring, invisible to all but those who knew where to look.
“You’re sure it’s down there, I don’t see anything,” Venrick said, his voice tinged with doubt.
Lark smiled despite herself. “Yes, I’m sure.”
White Eye descended in a gradual spiral, the thermals beneath his wings allowing him to glide with minimal effort.
Lark could feel the tension in his body through the saddle.
He was expecting trouble. Since their encounter with the Entity and the rimeshade in the sanctuary vault, White Eye had been on edge, constantly scanning their surroundings for threats.
Though the tracking spell Barrik and Joc placed on the brismil arrowhead was gone, White Eye still hadn’t rested easy.
“There,” Lark said, pointing to what appeared to be a natural formation of boulders arranged in an arc. As they approached, she felt Yarla stir behind Venrick.
“There’s powerful magic here,” the elf said, her voice barely audible over the wind. These were the first words she’d spoken to Lark and Venrick since they’d left the caverns.
Lark nodded. “The wards are powered by magic from riders who were trained by the original twelve.”
White Eye crossed the invisible threshold, and the air shimmered around them like heat rising from summer stone.
The illusion fell away, revealing the sanctuary in its weathered glory.
Stone buildings emerged from nothingness, their once-proud facades now crumbling with neglect.
Towers that had housed generations of dragons stood half-collapsed, their perches empty except for the occasional mountain lark.
The central courtyard, where Lark and White Eye had landed before, stretched out below them.
“By the gods,” Venrick breathed, his voice filled with wonder. “How long has this been here?”
“No living riders knew about it, not even Barrik. White Eye’s knowledge of it came to him through a connection to his ancestors who’ve protected its existence for centuries,” Lark replied. “For all we know, this was one of the original dragonrider sanctuaries in Sataran.”
In the air next to them, sparks spiraled into existence and a moment later Nix appeared.
Her long flaming hair and dress rippled in the wind behind her as the fiery woman flew in pace alongside them.
“It was hidden from the world when the dragonriders feared extinction,” Nix said, chiming in on their conversation.
White Eye circled the courtyard once more, his white eyes scanning for any sign of danger. Lark felt this unease ripple through him.
Something’s changed since we were last here, she thought to him.
He gave a rumbling exhale in agreement that vibrated through the saddle.
They landed in the center of the courtyard.
As White Eye’s claws scraped against the stone, Lark immediately noticed what had bothered her dragon.
The rime frost that had spread across the courtyard during their previous visit was gone, but it had left its mark.
Where once there had been ancient runes carved into the stone, now there were deep gouges, as if something had deliberately desecrated the protective symbols.
Venrick dismounted first, then turned to help Yarla.
The elf’s strength had improved since they had fled Haven’s Edge, but she still moved with deliberate care and measured caution.
As with the scars gouged into the stone, the dark corruption that was in her veins had receded to barely visible lines at her wrists and neck.
Lark knew the damage, like that which had been done to this sanctuary, was deeper than physical appearance.
“Can you feel it?” Yarla asked, her green eyes scanning the ruined buildings surrounding them. “The power here... it’s wounded.”
Lark noticed the tension in Venrick’s shoulders as he examined the abandoned buildings surrounding the square, his hand resting on his sword hilt.
Lark slid from the saddle, running her hand briefly along White Eye’s obsidian scales in a gesture of reassurance.
“The Entity came from a chamber in the fissure and went right for the archives,” Lark said, pointing out the partially destroyed roofline of one of the only buildings that had been whole.
“And it took the Realmstone,” Yarla said, furrowing her brow. “While I’ve been resting, I’ve been trying to place how I know that term. I know I’ve read about it before, in elven texts.”
“I’ve heard of it, too,” Venrick said. “But for the life of me, I can’t remember in what context.”
“I’d never heard of it before,” Lark added.
“Could it have been from a nursery rhyme?” Yarla said, bringing her thumb and forefinger to her chin in thought. “An elven one from when we were both back in Gambria?”
“That could be,” he said. Venrick took a few steps toward the crag entrance, then stopped abruptly. He crouched, examining the stone pathway. “Someone’s been here since you left.”
“Are you sure?” Lark asked, joining him.
“The frost you described from your last visit left marks in the stone,” Venrick said, tracing a finger along a deep groove. “But these footprints...” He pointed to faint impressions in the dirt collected between the paving stones. “They track dirty tread over the scarring.”
“Rimeshade only leave behind frozen traces,” Yarla said.
“And these tracks are too wide and long to be mine,” Lark noted.
White Eye growled, his massive head swinging toward the archive building.
“Barrik,” she whispered. “It has to be him. He must’ve returned and discovered this place before returning to Skol.”
“If he’s still working with the corrupt members of the Magi Order, that means he’ll be connected to Lady Sanj. He might’ve already known about this place if this is where the bulk of the harvested magic was being put to use,” Venrick said, standing.
“Then we need to assume Barrik knows what we know,” Lark said. “And he has a head start.”
“Cheyanne wants us to find out what the Entity is and why it took the Realmstone. But if Barrik already discovered it, he might already be trying to use it to his advantage,” Venrick said.
Yarla took a tentative step toward the archives, her silver hair catching the fading daylight.
“We should see what’s left. If this Entity truly created the rimeshade, if it’s now free with this Realmstone, then our world could change drastically, despite what Barrik or any other rider might know about it.
” She let the implication hang in the air between them.
Lark nodded, facing her companions fully. “Yarla’s right. We need to see what remains in the archives. Much of the archives were destroyed during our last visit, but there might be something that survived, something that could tell us what we’re facing.”
Venrick met her gaze, the question in his eyes clear: Was this worth leaving our friends behind?
Lark didn’t look away. “Now that we found each other, I know you’re anxious to get back to Hardin and the others.
I am, too. But White Eye brought me here for a reason.
” She glanced at her dragon. White Eye remained alert, his attention fixed on the archive building. “There are answers here that we need.”
“Answers about what?” Venrick asked.
Lark took a deep breath, feeling the weight of what she was about to say. “About what’s coming. About why the rimeshade are working with Magi to harvest magic. And about what happens if the Realmstone is what the name suggests and can dissolve the barriers between realms completely.”
“If that were true, and the veils protecting Sataran from the creatures of other realms were destroyed, our world could be subject to invasion,” Venrick suggested.
“We could be facing a much bigger threat than a vengeful race of fae turned shade and set on controlling the sources of magic in our world,” Yarla agreed.
“Much bigger than a few corrupt Kings and their magicians toying with powers beyond their scope of practice,” Lark added.
A cold wind swept through the courtyard, carrying with it the faint scent of frost, despite the sanctuary’s eternal spring. Yarla wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes haunted.
“We should hurry,” she said softly. “I can feel it watching.”
Lark didn’t need to ask what “it” was. The presence of the Entity seemed to linger in the sanctuary, like an echo that wouldn’t fade. She nodded to White Eye, who would stand guard while they headed toward the archives.
“Stay close,” she warned. “Whatever secrets this place still holds… we’re not the only ones seeking them.”
The archive’s massive stone facade was weathered by centuries of mountain winds.
Unlike the other buildings in the sanctuary, the archives bore deliberate marks of violence.
Deep gouges marked the stone doorway, windows were shattered from within, and the remnants of frost still clung to the shadows.
“This is where I encountered the rimeshade,” Lark said, pausing at the entrance. “The Entity had already broken free from its prison by then.”
Venrick drew his sword, the Yogo Sapphire in its pommel glinting dully in the fading light. “Do you think there could be more of them inside?”
“No,” Lark replied, though uncertainty tightened her voice. “At least... I don’t think so. White Eye would sense them.”