Chapter 26 Ella
ELLA
Ingamar stepped between them, his wings spread wide, blocking Venrick from Lark’s view.
The golden dragon lowered his horned head, teeth showing through the thin gap between his lips as he snorted at her.
A sulfurous gust sprayed ash at her feet, washing her in a familiar scent. She stumbled, awareness returning.
What am I doing? Lark blinked, her desire to attack fading. Venrick is here to help.
She diverted her attention to the Morsythian sorcerer.
His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths as he clung to his final moments of life.
Sheathing the sword at her back, she came to the dying orc’s side.
His giant hand still gripped the dimly glowing amulet.
Dropping to a knee, she asked, “Where did you learn this magic?”
The orc was muttering in his native language, keeping his red eyes skyward as life left his body.
Shaking him, she said, “Where does this magic come from?”
The Morsythian’s voice trickled, then died. His chest stopped rising and he lay still.
“Lark, are you okay?” Venrick asked.
“I’m fi—”
Red light exploded out from the dead Morsythian sorcerer, funneling to two beams that blasted from his eyes, another streaming out his mouth.
The body lifted for a single moment that caused the earth around them to tremble.
Then the light cut off, his body fell, now limp, and the once-red amulet became a pale, almost colorless yellow.
Lark’s gut reaction was to snatch the wasted amulet off the dead Morsythian, ensuring that no more magic would come from his corpse.
“Venrick, Ingamar?” she called, concerned for their safety.
“We’re unharmed,” Venrick said
“What happened to him?” she asked.
“Whatever that was, it’s not good for us.
The lightning strike that produced these Sapphires was on the northern side of the fire.
If the outside forces of Lamar and Nordraven didn’t know where to look for them, now they do.
We need to collect what we can and get out of here,” Venrick said, taking a leather bag from Ingamar’s saddle.
She did a double-take. Ingamar had let Venrick touch him without a hostile reaction. Now that Lark was paying attention, she noticed that Ingamar was staying closer to Venrick than he was to Lark.
Was he affected by the spell?
She joined Venrick in gathering the Sapphires as quickly as possible. Within moments they’d filled one saddle bag. Lark retrieved the second, handing it to Venrick to hold while she filled it with the remaining Yogos.
“Take them on Ingamar and meet me back at the wagon with Ezra and Hardin,” Venrick said, offering the bags to Lark.
Before she could accept the handoff, a hissing sound shot overhead.
Lark scanned the smoke-filled sky. A vaporous trail of dark smoke twisted and swirled down from the clouds.
Two rings of light formed, swirling green and silver.
Robed figures adorned in flashy fillagree emerged from each ring.
Both clutched long wooden staffs topped with glowing blue Sapphires.
The one on the right had a long gray beard, speckled with more glowing Yogos.
The smooth, youthful-looking man on the left had pointed ears ringed with Sapphire earrings.
“Reveal yourself imposter,” the elf said, magic enhancing his voice to boom over the sound of the fire blazing around them.
He pointed his staff at Lark, speaking spellcraft under his breath.
A wave of power washed over her like a gale force wind.
Even in her brismil plate armor she had to dig her feet into the ground and lean forward to maintain balance.
The bearded magi planted his staff into the ashen soil and spoke in a rumbling voice.
Fire swirled around his body, turning into a vortex.
It came on, aimed at Venrick and Ingamar.
Venrick dove out of the way, the fire whirl spinning on past him.
Ingamar roared, sending his own instinctive counter magic into the tornado of fire.
The flames spun apart, but in the distraction, the mage’s staff flashed from the light of his Yogos.
The saddle bags tore free from Venrick’s grip.
They flew through the gap, landing directly in the wizard’s awaiting arms.
Lark struggled to gain ground on the elf. She drew her sword, taking slow, drawn-out steps. The elf’s eyes widened when his magic didn’t render Lark motionless. He studied Venrick more closely as he struggled to drive Lark back.
“This can’t be. That is Tel Roan’s armor… His dragon, too,” he said, in surprise.
Ingamar roared at them, the mage spellcasting another whirl of fire at Venrick and the dragon.
“Tel Roan is dead,” the man replied.
“Give us back the Yogos,” Lark growled, gaining ground as she worked to close the gap.
“The Vermillion Keep lost its right to claim powers in this region of the forest when Tel died,” the mage said. “This treasure belongs to Storm Keep now.”
“Like ash. Give us back the Sapphires or die,” Lark said through gritted teeth.
“Don’t make us drag the Keeps into conflict again,” the elf warned, a vein in his head bulging in his struggle to maintain his spell toward Lark.
“Tell your General that Tel Roan’s armor and dragon are worn by a new rider. One that will not bend to lesser Paragons or Magi,” Venrick said.
“Venrick, I can handle this. Leave them to me,” Lark said, the adrenaline that drove her to see red rising again.
“Venrick?” the wizard said. “You are no longer under contract with any Keep. As a former Squire, you have no right to be here and make such a claim. Rest assured that the Archmagus and the rest of the Magi Order will hear about this. You’ll be marked for trying to claim these, hunted down, and prosecuted as a rebel operating against the King’s contracts. ”
“No,” Venrick hissed.
“I think he will be particularly interested to hear that you’ve been seen here, at a storm of power, with hopes of finding a replacement for what you lost.”
Lark was nearly to the elf. Her movements were restrained, as though she was hauling herself through a vat of molasses.
The Sapphires in the elf’s staff began to flicker.
One flashed faster than the others and winked out.
The wind pushing against Lark eased ever so slightly.
She extended her sword tip toward at the elf.
A dark shadow spread over Lark as she struggled to propel the tip forward.
Her necklace burned again, seeming to grow hotter as the ominous shadow grew.
Both magi turned their attention to whatever created it. Another of the Sapphires in the wizard’s staff winked out, easing the tension that held Lark back. The two diverted their attention, gave one another a curt nod, then vanished in a swirl of green and silver.
Lark stumbled forward, her sword running through the vaporous cloud that now drifted away in the gathering wind.
When she regained her footing, the darkness surrounding them became more obvious.
The glow of the fire appeared brighter though the flames were flickering and blowing out in the growing gale.
“Lark, we need to go before the Giving-Rain hits,” Venrick said.
“They took the Yogos,” she replied.
“If this wall of Giving-Rain hits, we’ll be torn to shreds. I don’t know if the brismil scale will protect you.”
To her surprise, Ingamar allowed Venrick to climb on him.
Lark couldn’t feel any of the cues coming from Ingamar. The flush pulsed through her necklace, however. Then sharp and direct, Ingamar sent a rush of one pure emotion at her. It gave her a sour taste in her mouth. Fear. Whatever approached struck unequivocal and overwhelming fear into Tel’s dragon.
She looked skyward. The shadow that had been growing beyond the smoke wasn’t just from the approaching wall of the Giving-Rain. A massive set of wings spread wide; the shape of a dragon’s body outlined against the storm clouds descended.
“Oh, ash,” Lark cursed, realizing the look in the elf’s eyes wasn’t fear of her and Ingamar, it was fear of this new dragon and rider. A pair whose ominous presence was notable enough to scare away two Paragons from Storm Keep.
“Lark, come on,” Venrick urged from Ingamar’s back, glancing nervously at the sky. “It could be Marcel. I don’t think Ingamar wants to have another run-in with White Eye. Let’s go, Lar—”
Ingamar broke into a gallop, cutting Venrick off.
He charged past Lark, tucking his wing and lowering his shoulder so Lark could grab hold.
Her hand found purchase on the saddle handle as she was scooped off her feet.
The strength from the armor kept her shoulder socket in place as she bounced against Ingamar’s side.
“Give me your hand,” Venrick said, extending his.
As Ingamar spread his wings to get airborne, a flash of light sparked into existence next to her. The tingling sensation she felt whenever Nix was near cut through the burning along the chain.
“Nix?’ she said, seeing the small fire fae appear alongside them. She was in her fiery red dress like always.
Nix smiled slightly. A sickening look came over her angelic face before she said, “I’m sorry.”
Lark frowned.
A breath later, Nix transformed into a haunted woman, dark rings around her eyes, black lips with long fangs, gray claws jutting from her fingertips as she expanded ten times her size and flew as if to attack.
Lark screamed, letting go of the saddle to block herself from Nix’s shocking aggression.