Lucien howled and launched himself through the air. Robilar caught him by the throat and slammed him to the rain-soaked cobbles. Water splashed up from the puddle the werewolf landed in as the breath left his lungs in a rush.
“Not going to happen, little brother.” Robilar sighed. “I’m sorry I could not save you, or your family, from Romulous, but I will save you from yourself.”
“You are too weak, brother.” The words came with a wheeze.
Robilar held out his hand to the side and the blue crystalline sword slapped into his palm. He held the blade length-wise across his brother’s throat with the hilt next to the ground. “I’m sorry, Lucien. I have failed you.” Tears rolled down his cheeks, blending with the rain, and fell to the lycan’s face.
“Do it, you coward. Cut my neck, if you dare.” Lucien blinked the rain from his eyes and glared up at his brother. “Damn your soul for fratricide.”
A silvery black void formed behind the werewolf’s head and Robilar threw himself to the side. As Lucien sank in, he lashed out with one last swipe of his claws.
They tore through the cobblestones of the ground, just missing their target.
Robilar jumped to his feet in time to see the werewolf vanish into the portal. “Mother fucker.” His scream ripped through the downpour.
“Language, Mr. Greenleaf.” The voice was full of mocking laughter even though none was uttered.
He whipped around to the sound so fast water flew from his soaked hair. A ball of flame popped into existence above the hand of an athletic and strong warrior woman with long, auburn hair styled in a high ponytail, which complemented her striking blue eyes. She wore a white and gold outfit resembling a battle leotard, adorned with intricate patterns and a gold tiara-like headpiece that highlights her noble and commanding presence. Thigh high leather wrapped boots that almost matched her hair completed the ensemble.
He narrowed his eyes against the rain while enjoying the bit of heat from her fire. “Who are you, and what have you done with Lucien?”
She bared her teeth in a grin as lightening flashed and thunder rolled through the sky. “Don’t worry about him. He’s safe. You should be focused on the Lamp.”
He raised his left eyebrow. “What lamp?”
She gave him another toothy grin. “The Lamp of Allah-ah-Dinh. The artifact the Mibrey Council ostensibly wants you to find.”
He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“Where are K?tharina and Erna?”
“They’re in the castle’s throne room.”
“Are you certain?”
He shrugged. “It’s where I left them.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“I trust them.”
“That’s good.” A snort escaped her. “Sorry.”
“You still haven’t told me your name.” He shifted his grip on his sword. “Nor have you told me what you’ve done with the werewolf.”
“I have not.” She leaned forward. “What will you do about it?”
“I have ways of making you talk.”
“Kinky, sir.” She waggled her eyebrows and then straightened. “But, there’s a faster way.” She walked close to him and whispered in his ear. “You could go back in time, and stop me from taking him.”
“Whu-what? Tha-that’s impossible.” Her words made ice rush through his veins. ‘How the hells does she know I can do that? Does she know I’m a Chronomancer?’
She nodded. “Yes.”
Robilar thrust his sword at her middle, but the mysterious woman vanished. She reappeared at a window and called out to him.
“Hey, Chronomancer, you have a dilemma before you: Do you come after me, or do you retrieve the Lamp? You can’t do both, and Erna is escaping with it now.”
“Gods damn it.”
Robilar splayed his hands out in front of him and pulled the latent magical energies from his core. Sweat rolled down his face as he focused on the seething sphere of molten ball of power. His arms shook and trembled as he took it from inside himself with care. A droplet of perspiration landed on the swirling orb and hissed as it flashed into vapor. The ethereal and almost living sphere roiled and rolled between his fingers before his flung his hand out, releasing the magic.
His knees shook as the ball shot into the air before exploding in a searing burst of light. The rain froze in a surreal tableau. Lightning locked mid-flash across the churning sky, its jagged fingers suspended in blinding brilliance. The roar of thunder dulled to an odd hum as it stretched endlessly into silence. The raindrops hung motionless in the air like a thousand shimmering beads. The wind, once howling and relentless, vanished in an instant, leaving an eerie stillness that pressed against the skin like a suffocating blanket. Each of his breaths felt thick and deliberate, as though the atmosphere itself congealed, and the electric tang of ozone lingered sharp in his nostrils, unbroken by the usual rush of the storm. The ground beneath his feet was slick and alive with puddles that rippled once but never settled, the entire world captured in a fleeting, eternal moment.
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He ran over to the open door in the wall of the castle and darted through the hall. He dodged a zombie locked in mid-step, its decayed limbs mid-lurch and its milky, lifeless eyes fixed in a perpetual glare. The stench of rot lingered in the still air, while flakes of dead flesh, caught mid-crumble, clung unnaturally to its motionless form like a grim testament to its unending decay. The undead was about to grab K?tharina from behind as she was focused on sneaking by an open window.
She stood frozen mid-step, her emerald robes trailing behind her as though caught in a gust, the white embroidery along the edges glistening faintly in the dim light that filtered through the open window. Raindrops clung to her robes and hair, suspended in the air like tiny jewels, reflecting the muted glow of the storm outside. Some looked as if they were about to hit her face, driven by the now still wind. Her hand hovered inches from the windowsill, fingers spread as if to steady herself, while her face, half-turned to the outside, bore an expression of cautious focus, frozen in the act of sneaking past. Beyond the window, streaks of rain hung motionless. The faint scent of wet earth mingled with the chill of the unmoving storm.
Robilar paused and considered the tableau before him. ‘Should I help her, or leave her to the zombie? On the one hand, she isn’t in the throne room where I left her, and she could be innocent. On the other, she is in danger.’
He sighed and then cleaved the zombie’s skull in two. The weight of his strike carried the crystalline sword deep into its chest cavity. He withdrew the blade and walked into the throne room.
Erna squatted by the chair, frozen in the act of pulling the prize from a hole in the floor by the throne. The oak shavings from Lucien’s claws had been swept to the side. Her left hand clutched the armrest of the throne, muscles frozen in the act of her rising to her feet. Her ebon hair trailed across her cheek and forehead. In her right hand, she clutched the modest yet enchanting vessel. It was crafted from burnished brass that gleamed in the faint torch light. Intricate carvings of swirling patterns danced along its surface. The delicate lines hinted at the arcane power sealed within.
‘The Lamp of Allah-ah-Dinh. This artifact has the power to warp worlds and grant its wielder nigh unlimited abilities.’ He prized it from her grasp with care, determined to not harm the thief. ‘It just costs them their soul.’ He opened a temporal closet and stored the Lamp within.
Time resumed with a crackling burst, the torchlight flaring wildly as thunder roared through the shattered window. Erna gasped as her hand clutched empty air where it had held the lamp. She stumbled upright.
“What the hells?”
“Behind you.” Robilar folded his arms across his chest.
She spun with a gasp to face him, one hand on her chest, the other behind her back. “What did you do with the Lamp of Allah-ah-Dinh?”
“Why are you asking me?”
“You’re the only one who could have taken it from me without a fight.” She glanced down to the winged skull on her belt. “I still have my nullstone, so I’m guessing you have found a way to circumvent it.”
“I do.”
“You’re not going to elaborate?”
He shook his head. “I don’t trust you.”
“Why? You knew my mission was to help you retrieve the Lamp. You went off to fight your brother – a werewolf, by the way – so I continued with it.”
“You didn’t know I had a brother, much less his curse, did you?”
She shook her head, raven tresses briefly covering her face. “No.”
“Interesting.”
“How?”
“Either your Court of Blood didn’t give you pertinent information, meaning they’re incompetent,” he uncrossed his arms, spreading his hands wide, “Or they didn’t know about him.”
“Meaning what?”
“They don’t know all, despite what you’ve been told.”
Lightning illuminated the throne room for a split second before thunder crashed through the air.
“Robilar.” K?tharina’s yell echoed through the area. “Where are you?”
“In the audience chamber where Lucien was.” He directed his voice over his shoulder while keeping his eyes on Erna.
“Fucking Chronomancer.” She stalked into the room, covered with rain, blood and gore. “Look at me!”
Erna leaned around Robilar. “What happened to you?”
“She’s covered in the remnants of a zombie that was about to attack her as she snuck by a window.”
“It’s nasty.” K?tharina’s voice was raised in a whine.
Robilar snorted. “You should have stayed put like I’d asked.”
“I saw an opportunity to complete our mission and I took it.” Erna placed her hands on her hips. “I’m not going to apologize for it.”
“Would you have given the lamp to myself, your Court of Blood, or the Council of Mibrey?”
“The Court of Blood, of course.”
He nodded. “And that is why I’ve placed it out of their reach.”
“Who are you to decide if something should be outside of anyone’s reach, Robilar?” K?tharina said. “You’re a Chronomancer.”
“Which means I’m uniquely qualified to say it should be outside the grasp of almost everyone.”
Erna shook her head. “How do you have so much arrogance to think you know better than those who have spent centuries studying the artifact?”
He snorted. “Only centuries?”
He shook his head and walked to the doorway he’d used when he came back in. “Amateurs.”
K?tharina reached out to stop him. “Robilar, please wait.”
He paused. “Yes?”
“How is the Court of Blood amateurs, and what do you mean, ‘only centuries?’”
“I’ve been fighting those who have misused the Lamp of Allah-ah-Dinh for millennia.”
###
Adora watched the DarkWalker studying the dragon eggs. He’d been at it for hours. They rested in a sprawling nest of molten rock and shimmering gemstones, their blue-black shells veined with fiery blue lines that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. The cavern's oppressive heat cast rippling shadows across the walls, and the faint scent of sulfur mingled with the soft crackling of the eggs' protective shells. He occasionally turned one, then the other, before delicately poking them.
“What are we doing here?”
He turned his electric blue gaze on her. She still shivered at the melted skull-like visage, but not as much as before.
“We wait.”
“Wait for what?”
The DarkWalker ignored her. She smoothed her silvery gown down as she straightened. ‘Though he is terrifying, I don’t believe the DarkWalker intends to hurt me. He’d have done so by now.’
“I do not wish to wait for an unknown time.” She turned away from the DarkWalker and crossed the cavern.
As she wove between stalagmites, she hunted for a hint of a breeze, or a cooler patch. Something to show her the way out. Rushing water brought her to a pool with a majestic waterfall at the end. Stones with streaks of emerald green, rust red, and golden ochre rested in the water, their crystalline edges catching the faint glow of luminescent fungi clinging to the ceiling.
She looked up and yelled, arms out and hands splayed before yanking them back to cover her chest, finding the skull-like face of the DarkWalker eye level to her.
“Don’t do that!”
The DarkWalker’s shoulders shook as he laughed silently.
