Chapter 21 Rebellion #3
“It speaks of an alloy,” Horgen translated, his thick fingers surprisingly delicate as they moved across the metal surface. “Something our ancient lore calls ‘Vaerdium’, the Bridge Metal.”
“Vaerdium?” Cheyanne frowned. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Few have,” Horgen replied. “It’s spoken of only in our oldest songs and scrolls. An alloy created during the first Concordat, combining metals from both realms. Dragon scale from Sataran and fae silver from beyond the veil.”
Venrick’s hand unconsciously moved to his brismil armor. “Like brismil?”
“Similar, but more complex,” Horgen said. “Brismil is dragon scale transformed through ritual of ascending to the realm of the gods. Vaerdium is a true alloy, impossible to create without both realms contributing their essence.”
Yarla studied the pages more intently. “According to this, the original binding ritual used channels of Vaerdium to direct the combined magics. The pattern formed a perfect seal between realms, preventing the Void Drinker from fully manifesting in either.”
“And these channels,” Hardin asked, “where were they placed?”
“At the nexus points,” Cheyanne answered, her eyes widening with realization. “The sanctuaries. That’s why they were built where they were. At locations where the barriers between realms were naturally thinner.”
Venrick’s mind raced. “The Keeps were built on those same sites. Vermillion Keep, Storm Keep, Nordraven Keep.”
“And Wintermire,” Horgen finished gravely. “Where our spies report Barrik had gone.”
A heavy silence fell over the group as the implications became clear.
“Barrik went seeking Vaerdium in Wintermire,” Venrick said, “that means he knows just as much as we do about the ritual. Perhaps even more.”
“Barrik has been working with those in the Magi Order who are helping the rimeshade. Why would he want with this alloy needed to contain the Void Drinker?” Hardin asked.
“And furthermore, why is his son, King Greggor, leading a Nordraven army toward Astral City? It’s almost like he’s trying to achieve the same goals as we are. ”
Sasja’s expression darkened. “For Barrik, being a Paragon and a dragonrider isn’t enough. We think Barrik believes he can use the binding to place the power of the Void Drinker and its rimeshade under his complete control. He aims to direct the power rather than seal it away.”
“That would be madness,” Horgen growled. “The ritual isn’t meant to channel power; it’s meant to contain it.”
“Barrik has always craved power above all else,” Cheyanne said bitterly. “First through conventional means: politics, dragons, armies. When those proved insufficient, he turned to more dangerous pursuits.”
Venrick remembered his encounter with the King beneath the Vermillion Keep, the silver starlight in his eyes as the Void Drinker’s influence waxed and waned. “The Entity said Barrik believed he could control the rimeshade, use them to reshape Nordraven into an empire with himself at its helm.”
“And who better to lead such an empire than a man who could control the very power that threatens to destroy the world?” Cheyanne finished.
Hardin shook his head in disbelief. “But the Void Drinker isn’t something anyone can control. It’s ancient, cunning. It would be using Barrik, not the other way around.”
“Precisely why we must complete the original ritual as intended,” Sasja insisted. “Not pervert it for personal gain.”
Horgen ran his hand through his beard, a habit when deep in thought. “There’s something else here,” he said, returning to the metal pages. “References to a vessel. The ritual requires a conduit through which both magics can flow without destroying each other.”
“A vessel?” Venrick frowned. “Like a container?”
“No,” Horgen replied, his voice dropping lower. “A living vessel. Someone who can withstand the convergence of opposing powers.”
A chill ran through Venrick as he remembered the King’s words: The ritual requires a half-magical soul. One foot in each world, you might say. The perfect bridge.
“That’s why they wanted me,” he said quietly. “The King, the Void Drinker, they need someone who bridges realms naturally.”
“A half-elf,” Yarla whispered, looking to Venrick. “Someone with blood ties to both worlds.”
“It makes a terrible kind of sense,” Cheyanne acknowledged. “The elves’ connection to ancient magic, combined with human adaptability. A living bridge.”
Hardin looked troubled. “But if Barrik is pursuing this ritual too, he’ll need his own vessel. Another half-elf.”
“They’re not common in the North,” Horgen pointed out. “Most half-elves live in the border regions between Lamar and Gambria, or in the great trading cities.”
Venrick’s mind turned to the corrupted hatchling back at the rebel camp, its cream-white eyes rimmed in gold. “Perhaps he doesn’t need a half-elf,” he suggested. “Perhaps he’s found another kind of bridge.”
“The corrupted dragons,” Sasja said, feeding off his suggestion.
“Of course,” Yarla said. “Creatures already touched by the Void Drinker’s influence yet still tied to Sataran through their dragon nature.”
“Would that work?” Hardin asked, looking to Horgen.
The dwarf frowned deeply, his thick fingers tracing the symbols again. “The text speaks of balance. Equal measures of both realms. A corrupted dragon might serve, but it would be an imperfect vessel at best. Unstable.”
“Which might explain why Barrik still needs the Vaerdium,” Cheyanne concluded. “To stabilize an otherwise dangerous conduit.”
Venrick studied the diagrams etched into the metal pages. Intricate patterns showing how the channels of Vaerdium would be arranged to contain and direct the combined magical forces. The complexity was staggering, yet beautiful in its precision.
“We need our own Vaerdium,” he said finally. “Without it, we can’t complete the ritual as intended.”
“And where do you propose we find an alloy that hasn’t been forged in centuries?” Cheyanne asked, though her tone suggested she already had suspicions.
“What happened to the Vaerdium that was used in the original binding, the Concordant that trapped the Void Drinker before?”
“It would still be in the Sanctuary,” Horgen said.
“I didn’t notice any alloy when Lark took us there,” Venrick said. “Did you Yarla?”
“I wasn’t fully myself at the time, but no, I didn’t,” she responded.
“It was likely built into the foundation of the Sanctuary,” Horgen said.
“Would the other sanctuaries have Vaerdium built into their foundations?” Venrick asked.
“Barrik found it in Wintermire. With his connections to Hierro and the Vermillion Keep, he would’ve tried there first if it had been.”
“But there could be a connection,” Horgen said.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you find anything similar between the sanctuary in the Vermillion Keep and the Northern Sanctuary?”
“Yes,” Venrick said. “The runes there were the same.”
“Are you suggesting the runes are connected to the Vaerdium in the Northern Sanctuary?” Cheyanne said.
The dwarf nodded slowly. “Aye. If there’s a way for you to channel both flows of energy, you could use the runes as a channel back to the existing Vaerdium in the sister sanctuary.
In theory, the original binding points would act as pathways to channel that source of Vaerdium, if they haven’t already been removed or otherwise corrupted. ”
“Then we could use them,” Yarla said. “If we could channel both types of magic, we can reuse the original binding points through the runes in the Vermillion Keep.”
Hardin looked uncertain. “But without Lark, who can provide both dragon and fae magic?”
A heavy silence fell over the group as they confronted this fundamental obstacle. Lark’s unique dual bond had made her the perfect conduit for the ritual.
“We’ll have to find another way,” Venrick said firmly. “One of the three dragons we are allied with can provide the draconic magic. For the fae connection,” he looked to Yarla.
“I can attempt it,” she offered. “My elven heritage gives me some connection to fae magic, though it’s not nearly comparable to what Nix provides Lark.”
“And the vessel?” Horgen asked. “The living bridge between realms?”
Venrick met their gazes steadily. “That would be me.”
“Venrick,” Cheyanne began, concern evident in her voice, “you’ve already endured the King’s corruption spell. Taking on the burden of channeling both magics could kill you.”
“I survived the corruption because of my mixed blood,” Venrick countered. “The spell marked me, yes, but it also changed something in me. Ingamar senses it. There’s a connection forming there that shouldn’t be possible without a formal bonding.”
Hardin nodded slowly. “He’s right. Quinthara has mentioned it too. Ingamar sees something in Venrick that the rest of us can’t.”
“The perfect vessel,” Horgen murmured. “Marked by both corruption and resistance to it.”
Outside the temple, the sounds of fighting had diminished as the night wore on. The rebellion had secured much of the Eastern Quarter, though Vermillion Keep remained a crimson fortress against the night sky, impregnable and threatening.
“Then we have our plan,” Cheyanne said, straightening to her full height.
“At dawn, we launch our assault on Vermillion Keep. I’ll send word to Ezra to prepare to gain entry to the city at the North Gate.
The rest of our main force will engage the King’s defenders, our smaller team will penetrate to the sanctuary beneath.
There, we’ll attempt the binding ritual using the original Vaerdium channels. ”
“And if Lark is still within the Keep?” Venrick asked, the question that had burned in him since their return.
Cheyanne’s expression softened slightly. “Then we find her. But Venrick,” she added, her voice gentle but firm, “you must be prepared for the possibility that she isn’t there. Or that she can’t be reached in time.”
The weight of those words settled over him, heavy as a mountain. But he nodded, accepting the brutal calculus of their situation.
“I understand. The binding ritual comes first. Without it, there will be no future for any of us.”
They returned to the maps, planning their approach to the Keep with methodical precision. Routes of attack, diversionary tactics, contingencies for resistance. All were considered and decided upon as the night deepened toward dawn.
Yet through it all, Venrick’s thoughts kept returning to Lark. Somewhere, whether within the Vermillion Keep or beyond, she was fighting her own battle. He could feel it in some undefinable way, a tether between them that transcended physical distance.
Hold on, Lark, he thought, willing the sentiment across whatever divide separated them. Whatever happens tomorrow, know that I tried to come back for you.
As first light the assault on the Vermillion Keep was going to begin.