Chapter 14 Beneath The Keep #3
Nix moved closer, her flame illuminating the wall better than Lark’s mage light. “It’s another warded entrance, like in the Northern Sanctuary. See these marks? They’re lock points.”
Lark studied the pattern. Unlike the ward boundary they’d breached with Hardin’s help, this appeared to be a more sophisticated mechanism. “It needs both types of magic again, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Nix confirmed. “Dragon and fae, working in harmony. Just like before.”
Lark closed her eyes, drawing on her bond with White Eye.
His presence was more distant here, deep beneath the Keep, but still solid and reassuring.
His power began to flow to her. It wasn’t the raw, overwhelming force she had struggled to control in the Northern Sanctuary, but a measured stream that she could direct with precision.
“Nix,” she said softly, “I need your fire.”
The fae moved closer, her flame growing brighter. “Be careful, Lark. The balance is delicate.”
This time, Lark was prepared for the challenge of weaving the two types of magic together as she’d felt the harmony of their balance in the wards earlier.
She focused first on establishing the flow from White Eye, letting it gather in her right hand.
Then, with her left, she reached for Nix’s fae magic, feeling it respond to her call.
The true challenge came in bringing them together without allowing either to dominate.
Lark visualized the patterns she had seen in the Northern Sanctuary, in the wards at the archive vault, and again here in the Keep’s wards.
She focused on the way the two magics had intertwined to become one.
It was a dance where neither was leading nor following.
Sweat beaded on her forehead as she guided the energies into the lock points on the wall. The stone began to hum, faint lines of blue and silver light tracing themselves across its surface in the now-familiar patterns of the Concordat.
“It’s working,” Venrick whispered, watching in fascination.
The final lock point illuminated, and the wall before them shimmered like heat rising from summer stone. Then, silently, it simply ceased to be solid, becoming as insubstantial as mist.
Beyond lay a chamber that took Lark’s breath away.
The sanctuary core was a perfect dome, its ceiling lost in shadows despite Nix’s bright flame.
Columns of polished obsidian supported walkways that circled the chamber at various heights, each carved with intricate runes that glowed faintly with green and silver light.
At the center stood a raised dais of white marble, upon which rested a pedestal of the same strange light-absorbing metal they had seen in the Northern Sanctuary vault.
But the pedestal was empty.
“Someone’s been here before us,” Venrick said, moving cautiously into the chamber.
Lark followed, her senses alert for any sign of danger.
The chamber appeared empty, but she could feel the weight of centuries pressing in around them.
This place had stood when the original twelve dragons had first come to Sataran.
It had witnessed the formation of the Concordat, the binding of the Void Drinker, the rise and fall of countless kingdoms.
And now it might hold the key to preventing the destruction of their world.
“Look there,” Nix said, floating toward the far side of the chamber. “There’s another door.”
Beyond the central dais, partially concealed behind a column, was an arch of dark stone. Unlike the entrance they had just passed through, this one bore physical hinges and a heavy metal handle. It looked to be a more conventional door, though no less imposing.
“The library,” Lark breathed, reading the old dragonrider script marking the wall next to the door.
As they approached, Venrick suddenly stopped, raising his hand in warning. “Listen.”
Lark froze, straining her ears. At first, she heard nothing but the faint hum of the ancient magic that permeated the chamber. Then, a soft scuffing sound from beyond the door.
“Something’s in there,” she whispered.
Venrick’s hand moved to his sword. “Barrik?”
“Or worse,” Nix added, her flame dimming until she was little more than a shadow with eyes of fire.
Lark reached for Nightfang, feeling the brismil blade respond to her touch even through the scabbard. She nodded to Venrick, who positioned himself on the opposite side of the door. With a silent count of three, she grasped the handle and pulled.
The door swung open with surprising ease, revealing a long room lined with shelves of ancient tomes and scrolls.
Unlike the archives in the Northern Sanctuary, this collection appeared untouched by time or destructive forces.
Preservation spells shimmered faintly over the shelves, keeping the precious knowledge safe from decay.
At the far end of the room, bent over an open book on a reading stand, was a figure in a hooded robe of deep crimson.
The figure straightened at the sound of the door opening, turning slowly to face them. As the hood fell back, Lark’s heart froze in her chest.
“That’s not Barrik,” Venrick whispered.
Lark recognized him from paintings, busts, and statues throughout the city. It was the King of Lamar.
King Agadorn stood before them, his silver-streaked dark hair and neatly trimmed beard exactly as depicted on Lamar’s coins.
But unlike those idealized images, in person he struck a far less imposing figure.
He stood shorter than the statues, his physical features less bulky and defined, yet there was a fire in his blue eyes that burned with an unnatural intensity.
Something that wasn’t common in any ordinary human.
And on his chest, partially visible through his open robes, was a medallion of midnight black stone that pulsed with a familiar darkness.
“The famous Marcel Heartfell,” the King said, his voice smooth as polished stone. “Or do you prefer Lark now? And Venrick, the half-elven Squire who never quite became a Knight.” His gaze shifted to Nix. “And a fire fae, bound to a human. How fascinating.”
Lark’s grip tightened on Nightfang’s hilt. “You know who we are?”
“Of course.” The King gestured casually to the book before him. “Just as I know why you’re here. The Realmstone. The binding ritual. The Void Drinker.” His lips curved in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re too late, I’m afraid. The preparations are already in motion.”
“Preparations for what?” Venrick demanded, his blade half-drawn.
“For the new order,” King Agadorn replied, as if explaining something simple to a child. “Surely you didn’t think the Flashover was merely a random occurrence? Every five hundred years, the barriers between realms thin enough for true change to occur.”
Nix flared brighter, her flame reflecting off the polished surfaces of the library. “You’re working with the rimeshade.”
“Working with them?” The King laughed, a sound like breaking glass. “My dear creature, I elevated them. When the Fae Courts abandoned their sentinels during the first Flashover, it was my ancestors who recognized their potential.”
Lark felt sick. The pendant against her chest burned hot with Nix’s anger. “Lady Sanj in Haven’s Edge, the harvesting of magical essence, that wasn’t the Magi Order and Barrik alone? That was by your command?”
“The Magi Order are and have always been under Lamar’s control.
As I’ve learned from what happened in Red Lodge, you’re aware of what Barrik is asking of your cousin, King Greggor?
He’s aligned with the King of Wintermire.
They all believe they’re steering this change, but only I know what’s truly in place.
Their armies will be a necessary sacrifice for what’s to come.
” He turned back to the book, running his fingers over the ancient text.
“As for my shades, they can extract the raw essence of magic, yes, but they lack my level of sophistication to transform it. As I was temporarily indisposed, the Magi Order proved useful.”
You were, or the Void Drinker? Lark thought, wondering how invested with this entity the King had become.
“The Magi Order is only useful to you until they outlive their usefulness,” Venrick said. “Like Joc.”
The King’s expression darkened momentarily.
“Joc was meant to secure the Hyalite and bring you both to me. Barrik’s involvement twisted his perception.
That is why dragonriders can’t be fully trusted in these matters.
Their methods prove... excessive. But then, fanatics often misinterpret their instructions. ”
Lark took a step forward, Nightfang now fully drawn. The brismil blade gleamed in the library’s dim light. “You won’t succeed. Whatever you’re planning, we’ll stop it.”
“With what?” King Agadorn gestured around them. “Ancient knowledge? You can’t even read half the text. Power? I’ve been gathering that for much, much longer than you can imagine.” His eyes locked with hers. “Or perhaps with conviction? I assure you, mine runs deeper than even yours, rider.”
He moved away from the reading stand, revealing what lay open upon it. A book bound in dragon scale, identical to the one they had found in the Northern Sanctuary. Beside it lay several loose metal pages.
The pages that were taken from the book we found, Lark thought.
“You have a copy of the complete binding ritual,” Lark said.
“Yes. Comprehensive instructions for containing the Void Drinker. Or for releasing it fully into our world.” The King ran his fingers over the medallion on his chest. “It requires a very specific conduit, you know.”
“The Realmstone,” Lark said.
“The Realmstone is the key to opening the door and is done easily this time of the millennia. You need a wedge to hold it open. Someone who bridges worlds naturally.”
Venrick stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of Lark. “Someone half-elven.”