Chapter 18 Rising from the Ashes #3
At the center of the encampment stood the command tent. It was larger than Venrick remembered and now was surrounded by a ring of standing stones inscribed with elven runes. Ezra stood before the stone ring in the filtered sunlight, his tattooed head shiny with sweat.
The dwarf’s weathered face broke into a smile of genuine relief when he spotted them.
“You’ve made it back,” he said, clasping Hardin’s forearm before turning to Venrick.
His expression sobered as he noted the fading corruption marks.
“Cheyanne sent word of what happened at the Keep. You look like you’ve been through the veil to damnation and back, lad. ”
“I feel like it,” Venrick admitted. “But I’ll heal.”
“Sooner than expected,” Yarla added. “His mixed blood seems to be pushing the corruption out faster than my body was able to.”
Ezra nodded thoughtfully. “Let’s get you inside. There’s much to discuss, and we don’t have much time.” His gaze shifted to Quinthara, who waited at the edge of the clearing. “Your dragon should rest while she can. I have a feeling she’ll be needing all her strength for your next task.”
Quinthara settled onto her haunches, her tail curling around her body like a sleeping cat.
Inside the command tent, maps covered every available surface.
They included detailed renderings of the Everburning Forest, the surrounding kingdoms, and most prominently, Astral City and the Vermillion Keep.
Markers indicating troop positions were scattered across the tables, along with scrolls and books open to pages filled with esoteric scripts.
“The situation has evolved since you left,” Ezra said, moving to a table where the book from the Northern Sanctuary lay open. “We’ve been studying what we know of the binding ritual, but without the pages you secured.”
Hardin reached into his tunic to withdraw the metal sheets Venrick and Lark had risked their lives to obtain. “Here,” he said, placing them reverently beside the book. “According to Venrick, the Void Drinker thinks Barrik may have some final piece to perform as part of the ritual.”
Yarla and Ezra bent over the table, searching through the pages.
Every few minutes they conferred on symbols they couldn’t understand fully.
Yarla furrowed her brow as she finished.
“These are the complete instruction of how to perform the ritual, but I’m afraid Venrick is right.
The ritual requires an alloy I’ve only ever heard of in legends. ”
Ezra’s expression darkened. “Barrik is always at the center of trouble.” He examined the pages carefully, running his fingers over the etched symbols.
“This alloy is of dwarven legends. I’ve heard rumors of its existence before, but I’ve never seen it.
The alloy seems to play a leading role in the ritual itself. ”
“The Void Drinker hinted as much,” Venrick confirmed, settling heavily onto a camp stool next to the tent door flap. The exertion of their journey was catching up with him. “It claimed Barrik was seeking ‘the final pieces’ in a sanctuary beneath Wintermire’s Keep.”
“Is that possible?” Yarla asked. “Another sanctuary like the one in the North?”
“More than possible,” Ezra replied grimly.
“It’s downright likely. The original twelve dragons established sanctuaries throughout Sataran.
Most were abandoned or built over as humans expanded their territories, but the Keeps of the major kingdoms?
Those were deliberately constructed atop the most powerful sites. ”
A rustle at the tent entrance drew their attention. A figure ducked its head inside, and Venrick felt his heart skip a beat as he recognized Ingamar. His golden scales caught the lamplight, and his amber eyes fixed immediately on Venrick.
For a moment, neither moved. Then Ingamar angled his head to inspect Venrick more closely. The dragon’s breath was warm against Venrick’s face as he inhaled, scenting the lingering corruption.
Ingamar hummed, the sound resonating directly in Venrick’s chest, startling him. The dragon had never tried to communicate with him this way before. They shared no bond, but he thought he could feel Ingamar’s focus working to attract the corruption still lingering in his body.
He slid his sleeve down to cover the markings that were on his exposed skin.
Ingamar’s head tilted, his focus remaining on Venrick.
“There’s more,” Ezra said, breaking the moment. “Come. There’s someone else you need to see.”
He led them from the command tent along a winding path deeper into the camp. They passed a training area where rebels practiced with various weapons, an infirmary tent where healers tended to the wounded, and finally arrived at a small clearing ringed with protective runes.
In the center lay the white-green hatchling Hardin had rescued from Carbella, curled into a tight ball of scales. As they approached, it lifted its head, regarding them with cream-white eyes rimmed in gold that were identical to White Eye’s.
“The connection is undeniable,” Ezra said quietly. “Whatever corrupted White Eye’s egg long ago affected this one as well. The question is, how? And why?”
Venrick stepped closer, drawn by an inexplicable urge to touch the creature. The hatchling watched him warily but didn’t retreat. When Venrick’s hand made contact with its scales, a jolt ran up his arm. It wasn’t painful, but intense, like touching a Yogo Sapphire that was storing magical energy.
Images flashed through his mind: ice caves deep beneath a mountain, black tendrils reaching toward clutches of dragon eggs, a presence ancient and coldly malevolent.
He jerked his hand back. “The Void Drinker,” he said. “It was affecting this dragon while he was still in its egg, which is why we believe his eyes are that color.”
Ezra nodded, his expression grim. “I suspected as much. Lark’s dragon suffered the same fate while he was still in his shell. Luckily, he didn’t fall to the effects.”
“The dragon under Haven’s Edge, is that what the Rimeshade were planning to do to this dragon, and what they tried to do to White Eye?” Venrick asked.
“Dragons are the most powerful sources of magic next to a Hyalite. Corrupting them and turning them into wells of power for them to tap into would be the least difficult for them to do when they are still unhatched.” Ezra said.
“Which would mean the Entity’s servants have been preparing for this Flashover longer than we knew. ”
“White Eye didn’t fall to the corruption. He bonded with Lark,” Hardin said. “And this hatchling hasn’t shown any signs of corruption in its behavior.”
“True,” Ezra said. “Perhaps the bonding process provides some protection.”
“Or the Entity’s influence manifests in ways we haven’t yet recognized,” Yarla said.
The hatchling chirped, a sound too close to the resonating rumble Venrick had felt inside his mind to be a coincidence. It uncurled itself and stretched, revealing its full size, still no larger than a hunting hound, but growing rapidly.
“It’s been healing well,” Ezra continued. “Growing faster than any hatchling I’ve ever seen. But its eyes...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Those eyes have been watching me. Studying everything we do.”
“Do you think it’s dangerous?” Venrick asked.
“Everything with power is dangerous,” Ezra replied. “The question is whether it will become an ally or an enemy.” He turned back toward the command tent. “Come. There’s one more matter we need to discuss.”
As they walked, Ingamar fell into step beside Venrick, his large form forcing others to step aside.
He felt like Ingamar was trying to tell him something about the hatchling, but the throaty hum that he made didn’t come across to Venrick.
Again, he felt Ingamar’s attention being directed to the corruption lingering in his body.
“What is it, what are you trying to tell me?” Venrick asked quietly, so only Ingamar could hear.
The dragon’s amber eyes seemed to look through him rather than at him.
Venrick’s mind’s eye shifted toward what the King had said beneath the Keep. Ingamar hummed louder, seeming to know what Venrick was thinking. “A bridge between worlds,” Venrick muttered.
Back at the command tent, Ezra moved to a chest secured with three different locks. He produced keys from around his neck, opening each in turn. From within, he withdrew a bundle wrapped in oiled cloth.
“There’s something I want you to have,” Ezra said, placing the bundle on the table before Venrick. “Hardin is using a set Cheyanne has been saving for a new rider, so with Tel’s, well, I thought he might’ve wanted his to pass to you.”
With reverent hands, Venrick unwrapped the cloth. Inside lay a set of brismil armor, the distinctive blue metal gleaming like oil in the lamplight. Tel Roan’s personal armor. The same he had worn in countless battles, the same that Venrick had worn to fight Barrik and Joc against his curse.
“I can’t,” Venrick whispered, his fingers hovering over the brismil without touching it. “I’m not a Knight, let alone a Paragon.”
“Tel believed you would become more than either,” Ezra said firmly. “And now, with the Flashover approaching and the Void Drinker seeking to break the barriers between realms, we need every advantage we can muster.”
Hardin stepped forward to place a hand on Venrick’s shoulder. “It should belong to you. You felt its power before and with your half-elven resistance to the corruption, it might be exactly what we need to face what’s coming.”
Venrick looked to Ingamar, seeking guidance from the being who had known Tel best. The dragon’s eyes seemed to demand that he take it. That Tel would’ve left it to him had he known he was going to die that day.
With a deep breath, Venrick reached out and lifted the brismil scale. Instantly, he was encased in plate armor that was light as cloth, yet hard as dragon scales. It gave him an energy that came from dragon kind itself.
“It will serve you well in the battle to come,” Ezra said.
“And there will be a battle, make no mistake. Scouts are reporting a Nordraven army is on the march south. From what we’ve seen, Stormwatch is shoring up their own defenses, unable or unwilling to risk assisting Astral City with all the unrest that’s occurred recently.
To make matters more unpredictable, the Flashover will happen any day now.
We need to either have the ritual completed by then or be prepared to fight a war on two fronts.
Against the forces working against us here in Sataran and against whatever comes through when the barriers fall.
Cheyanne has ordered me and Yarla to lead the rest of her troops here in the forest on Astral City. She’s expecting something big.”
“I need to return as soon as possible,” Venrick said, his determination hardening. “I won’t abandon Lark.”
“You should really try to get some rest,” Yarla insisted. “The corruption may be fading, but your body has been through an ordeal. Lark won’t be better off if you go and get yourself killed before this is through.”
“I’ll rest on the journey,” Venrick said, his mind already made up. “We can’t afford to waste time. Lark risked everything to ensure I escaped with these pages. I won’t leave her in the Void Drinker’s clutches a moment longer than necessary.”
Ezra nodded slowly, recognizing the resolve in Venrick’s eyes. “Very well. We’ve been preparing for this since Cheyanne’s first message arrived. I’ll give the order for the Morsythians and the rest of the troops to move out at dawn.”
“Good,” Venrick said. “The more chaos in the city, the easier it will be to breach the Keep’s defenses.”
Hardin moved to the maps of the Vermillion Keep, studying the detailed rendering of its layout. “We’ll need to coordinate with Cheyanne’s forces inside the city. And we’ll need to be prepared for the King to use extraordinary measures to stop us.”
Venrick’s hand rested on the brismil armor, feeling its power resonating with something awakening within himself.
The corruption from the King’s spell had nearly run its course, but it had changed him in ways he was only beginning to understand.
Where it had touched, something new had emerged.
Almost like a heightened sensitivity to magic.
He could feel it between him and Ingamar.
“We don’t know exactly when the Flashover will begin, but like Ezra said, it’s coming within days, not weeks,” he said, more to himself than to the others.
It’s not much time to rescue Lark, find the missing pieces of the ritual, and prepare for a battle with a being that could alter the fate of our world forever, he thought.
Venrick picked up Tel’s brismil blade, testing its weight in his hand. It felt right, as if it had been waiting for him.
I’m coming, Lark, he promised silently. And this time, I won’t leave without you.