Chapter 11 Echoes of Power #2
As if in response, her dragon rumbled from his position in the courtyard, sending reassurance through their bond. For now, they were alone.
Yarla stepped forward, her fingers tracing the edge of the doorframe where ancient runes had been carved. “These symbols... they’re fascinating. The craftsmanship reminds me of the oldest elven work in Gambria, but the patterns are different.”
“Can you read them?” Venrick asked.
Yarla frowned in concentration. “Some. This part here,” she pointed to a sequence, “is a warning. Something about ‘twin flames’ and ‘convergence.’”
Lark’s pendant warmed against her chest, as if responding to Yarla’s words.
Since they had passed through the wards, Nix was reluctant to emerge.
The Entity’s lingering effects on this place spooked the fire fae, though Lark occasionally felt her presence through their bond.
Now, the pendant pulsed with gentle heat, almost like encouragement.
“Let’s go inside,” Lark said, pushing through the massive doors.
The interior of the archives was a battlefield of knowledge.
Shelves lay toppled, their precious scrolls and tomes scattered across the stone floor.
Glass display cases had been shattered. The contents had been either stolen or destroyed.
The high ceiling, once adorned with intricate mosaics, was now cracked and blackened from White Eye’s fire during their fight against the rimeshade.
“Ash,” Venrick swore, taking in the destruction. “Was this all the Entity’s doing?”
“Yes,” Lark replied, stepping carefully over shards of glass. “But it destroyed far more than it needed to. It was, angry. It was lashing out at those who imprisoned it.”
Yarla moved deeper into the archives, her steps growing steadier as if the presence of long-lost knowledge revitalized her. She knelt beside a pile of scattered scrolls, her slender fingers gently unrolling one after another.
“Most of these are damaged beyond reading,” Lark said.
“Look at this,” Yarla said, holding up a fragment, its edges burned. “This mentions something called, ‘the first binding.’”
Venrick and Lark gathered around her as she smoothed the parchment against the floor.
“This is written in the old elven verse. I can translate,” the healing elf said, taking a moment to clear soot from the script.
“When twelve wings of flame met twelve shadows of night, their combined power forged the chains that would hold the ‘Void Drinker’ beneath the stone,” Yarla read.
“This must be in reference to the Entity’s original imprisonment. ”
“Twelve wings of flame...” Venrick mused. “The original twelve dragons?”
“And twelve shadows of night,” Lark added. “The fae? That would explain the dual language in the binding runes.”
Yarla nodded. “It makes sense. Neither dragons nor fae could contain it alone, but together... There’s more,” she went on, her eyes scanning further down the fragment. “The keystone of realms shall keep the doorway sealed, so long as the twin powers remain in balance.”
“If it was already out of its prison, why would it want to steal the key, if that’s what the Realmstone is?” Lark said.
Venrick moved away from them to examine the far wall of the archives where a massive sheet on the wall had survived the destruction. He pulled on it and it dropped away to reveal an intact mosaic. “Hey, look at this,” he called.
The large mosaic depicted a gathering of dragons and mostly human-like figures that were divine in their physical appearance.
Their teeth were fanged in the front, their eyes angled with slitted pupils.
Horns emerged from their thick heads of hair, and each was equipped with a set of wings that were folded at their backs.
“These are the fae Nobility, representatives of the fae courts,” Lark said, placing her hand on the forms that were rendered in colored stone and precious metals.
At the center of the mosaic was a swirling darkness. It was being contained by streams of power flowing from both groups. Above the scene, a rectangular stone glowed with a bright light as the duality of energies, dragon and fae, merged.
“The first binding,” Lark whispered.
Venrick pointed to an inscription beneath the mosaic. “This is in elvish too. Can you read it, Yarla?”
The elf crouched, her fingers hovering over the verse. “The Concordat of Flame and Shadow stands as witness to this binding. So long as both powers flow through the Realmstone, the Void Drinker shall remain imprisoned between worlds, unable to consume the essence of either realm.”
“The Concordat,” Venrick repeated. “An alliance between dragons and fae?”
“More than an alliance,” Lark said. “It was a magical pact. Look.” She pointed at the symbols at the edges of the mosaic. “Those runes are binding signatures. Half of them are in the old riders’ language. The others are fae.”
“They must represent the original twelve dragons and these twelve representatives from the fae courts,” Venrick said.
Lark’s pendant grew warmer still. “My bond with Nix is how I was able to tap into the flow of powers and try to repair the wards. The original bindings used both types of magic, woven together,” she said.
“Yarla, you worked with the Magi Order before your capture,” Venrick said. “Did you ever hear them mention anything about this Concordat?”
Yarla shook her head. “No, but I wasn’t privy to their innermost circles. I was posing as an apprentice scribe to gather information for Cheyanne.”
Venrick frowned, running his hand along the edge of the mosaic. “This doesn’t line up with what we’ve been taught. Dragons working with the fae after they came to Sataran? They were in a civil war back in the fae realm. I’ve always been taught that the fae and Sataran’s dragons were adversaries.”
“History is written by those who outlast and survive,” Yarla said.
“And sometimes, purposefully rewritten by those with something to hide,” Lark added.
A gleam of metal caught Lark’s eye. Behind one of the toppled shelves, partially hidden by debris, was a small door she hadn’t noticed during her previous visit. Unlike the rest of the archives, it appeared untouched by the Entity’s destruction.
“This door, it’s still shut,” she said, moving toward it. “It wasn’t broken into.”
Venrick helped her shift the heavy shelf aside. The door was made of a strange metal that seemed to absorb rather than reflect light. No handle or lock was visible, only a circular indent with twelve smaller circles arranged around it.
“Another ward,” Lark murmured, running her hand over the smooth surface. “But different from the others.”
Yarla joined them, her eyes widening. “This is elven craft,” she said in surprise.
“And very old.” She placed her palm against the center of the door, closing her eyes in concentration.
After a moment, she withdrew her hand with a puzzled expression.
“It’s still active, even after all this time.
Whatever’s beyond this door, the Entity couldn’t reach it. ”
“Can you open it?” Venrick asked.
Yarla studied the circular pattern. “Perhaps. These twelve points,” she indicated the smaller circles, “they would need to be activated simultaneously in the original binding. But there’s a shortcut built into these kinds of elven wards.
” She pressed her fingers to specific points in a complex pattern.
Nothing happened.
“It needs power,” she said. “A catalyst.”
Lark touched her pendant, feeling Nix’s presence stirring within. “Would fae magic work?”
“Possibly,” Yarla replied. “But we would need dragon magic as well, to mirror the original binding.”
Venrick flipped his sword around to offer the Yogo Sapphire. “Would this help? I don’t think there’s anything left in it after Haven’s Edge. It’s not pure dragon essence, but it holds magical energy.”
Lark shook her head. “It needs to be from a direct source.” She extended her hand to Yarla. “The last time I did this, I lost control. With your knowledge of spellcasting, maybe we try together? With an extra set of hands, I might be able to direct the flow better.”
Yarla hesitated for just a moment.
“I can channel White Eye’s power through our bond. With your help, providing an extra conduit, I can weave Nix’s power in without unraveling the wards and destroying whatever’s inside.”
“I could help,” Venrick said. “I’m not as skilled as Yarla with magic, but maybe I’d be enough to help support you, Lark.”
“Someone needs to remain apart in case it goes terribly wrong. You will be our safety net if we fail,” Lark told him.
Yarla nodded and took Lark’s hand. As their fingers intertwined, Lark felt the elf’s innate magic, cool and flowing like a mountain stream, mingling with her own dual sources of power.
She closed her eyes, drawing gently on her connection to White Eye.
His energy came willingly, a warm current flowing through her veins.
Nix, she called silently. We need you.
The pendant flared hot against her skin. For a moment, Lark felt Nix’s reluctance, but then a flood of fae power joined the mix, dancing like flame through her blood.
Yarla gasped as the combined energies flowed from Lark into her.
Together, they pressed their free hands against the circular pattern on the door.
The metal began to hum, the twelve points illuminating one by one, alternating blue and silver.
When the final point lit up, the door slid open with a sound like a long-held breath finally released.
Cold air rushed out, carrying the scent of preserved parchment and ancient ink. Beyond the door lay a small chamber, its walls lined with untouched shelves. At its center stood a pedestal bearing a single book bound in what appeared to be dragon scale.
“A secret vault within the archives,” Venrick whispered. “Protected from even the Entity’s rage.”