Malekith’s expression was unreadable as he studied the schematics. “And you believe this could be a threat to our forces as we advance on Brenville.”
“It’s a long shot, I know. But if the humans are desperate enough . . .” Aric let the words hang between them, the implications clear.
If the humans were desperate enough, they might resort to using the weapon, despite the risks. And that was a chance Aric was willing to bet the demon army couldn’t afford to take.
Tension hung thick in the air as Aric finished his explanation. His heart pounded, each beat a thunderous reminder of the precarious position he found himself in. Vizra’s molten gold eyes darted between him and Malekith, frustration etched into every line of her face. The demoness’s fingers twitched at her sides, as if she longed to wrap them around Aric’s throat.
Malekith remained silent, his dark gaze boring into Aric with an intensity that threatened to strip away every lie, every half-truth he’d just uttered. Aric fought the urge to squirm under that penetrating stare, forcing himself to meet it head-on. He couldn’t falter now, not when so much hung in the balance.
The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. Aric’s chest tightened, each breath a struggle as he waited for Malekith’s verdict. Would the demon prince see through his deception? Or had he managed to weave a convincing enough tale to buy himself—and the human realm—some time?
Finally, Malekith spoke, his words carefully measured. “It seems we have much to consider.” His gaze shifted to Vizra, and Aric felt a rush of relief so potent it nearly made his knees buckle. “Prepare a full report on the implications of this . . . weapon. We’ll need to adjust our strategy accordingly.”
Vizra’s eyes flashed with barely contained fury. “My lord, we cannot allow this supposed weapon to halt our advance. Every moment we delay gives the humans time to fortify their defenses, to spread word of our ability to breach the wards.” Her voice rose, passion and frustration bleeding into every word. “We have the advantage now. The humans are weak, disorganized. If we strike swiftly, we can crush them before they have a chance to regroup.”
Aric’s heart raced as he watched the demoness argue her case. He could see the logic in her words, the cold calculation that had likely won her many battles. But he also saw the bloodlust that lurked beneath, the eagerness for carnage that made his stomach churn.
“Time is not on our side,” Vizra pressed, her gaze darting between Malekith and Aric. “Every hour we waste gives them a chance to prepare, to fortify. And if word of our ability to dismantle the wards spreads . . .” She let the implications hang in the air, heavy and ominous.
Aric’s mind whirled, searching for a counter-argument. He couldn’t let Vizra’s words sway Malekith, couldn’t let the demon army march on Brenville unchecked. But as he opened his mouth to speak, Malekith raised a hand, silencing both him and Vizra with a single gesture.
Malekith’s eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking between Vizra and Aric. “Perhaps,” he said, his voice low and measured, “this decision is beyond our purview.” A chill ran down Aric’s spine as Malekith continued, “We should send word to the Sovereign. Let Zaxos choose whether we advance now or not.”
Aric’s breath caught in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs. He’d gambled everything on this deception, hoping to buy the humans precious time. But now, with Malekith’s suggestion hanging in the air, he feared it might not have been enough.
Vizra’s molten gold eyes widened, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. Even she, in her bloodthirst, seemed to hesitate at the thought of involving the Sovereign directly.
Aric fought to keep his expression neutral, to not betray the panic clawing at his insides. If Zaxos decided to push forward regardless of the supposed weapon, all would be lost. The human realm would fall, and his sacrifice—everything he’d endured—would be for nothing.
Vizra’s lips thinned, but she bowed her head in acquiescence. “As you command, my lord. But if he commands us to continue the assault, then I fully expect you to comply.”
“I would dream of nothing less,” Malekith replied frostily.
As the demoness turned to leave, Aric caught a glimpse of the fury simmering in her eyes. This wasn’t over, not by a long shot. But for now, at least, he’d bought himself a reprieve.
Malekith’s attention returned to Aric, and he felt pinned in place by that inscrutable gaze. What thoughts lurked behind those dark eyes? What plans were taking shape in that brilliant, dangerous mind? Aric longed to know, even as a part of him shrank from the knowledge.
As Vizra and Karthax left the tent to begin their preparations, Malekith lingered, his eyes never leaving Aric’s. Aric’s skin prickled with instinctive warning, but he held his ground as the demon prince approached. Malekith was like a predator on the prowl, and Aric his helpless prey, caught in the snare of those dark, dangerous eyes.
“Well played, little mage,” Malekith said. “But if the Sovereign commands, we have no choice but to obey.”
Eight
Acloaked figure rode into the captured town of Drindal as dawn threatened to break, the steed a frothy mass of lather and foam. It took the dark of night with it as the riders made their way through the camp, and Aric’s heart withered in his chest as soon as he saw them. He somehow knew, Vizra and Karthax loitering darkly at his side, that his gambit had failed.
The demons knew they had the advantage, and they would not let it slip away.
The town erupted in a flurry of activity as the soldiers prepared to march on Brenville. The high-pitched wail of a horn pierced the morning air, signaling the army to prepare to march. Aric’s hands clenched into fists, the knuckles white with tension, as he watched Malekith and General Vezera pore over their battle plans, finalizing them for the assault on Brenville.
“It’s not worth the risk,” Aric said, and prayed to the gods that he sounded convincing.
He knew what the weapon was capable of, at least in theory, but he’d never seen it in action. It was a terrible thing to unleash, a force that could rip apart the very fabric of reality. He still wasn’t sure it was worth the cost, even if it meant saving Brenville and the rest of the human realm.
The weapon had not been created with demonkind in mind, but Aric couldn’t deny the possibility that it might be used against them one day.
But the Wrathforge wanted victory, and they wanted it at any cost. Aric’s stomach turned at the thought.
Aric’s sentiment, however, was not shared. As for the rest of the demons, all they cared was that the wards were shattered, and Drindal was theirs. Next along the warding chain was the town of Brenville, leading inexorably toward the heart of Astaria, and while the mountain pass had been a costly victory, hard-won and brutal, it had proved their strength. It was a taste of what was to come for the humans, if they did not bend the knee. They were a force to be reckoned with, a storm on the horizon, and soon all of it would be his to command.
Malekith raised his hand as he surveyed his troops, and the army fell silent, the only sound the low rumble of flames and the creak of leather and the harsh rasp of demons breathing. “Brenville is another ward center on our march toward the human capital,” Malekith said, his voice carrying across the shattered streets. “They may be expecting us, but they do not know the extent of our power. We will show them no mercy, no quarter. We will raze the town to the ground, and leave no human alive. Victory is within our grasp. Let us seize it.”
A chorus of howls and roars and battle cries answered him, the demons’ bloodlust rising to a fever pitch. Aric shrank back inside himself, and battered his thoughts against the stony wall of the restrictive bonds around his wrists, dreaming of the magic he knew lay dormant on the other side.
In Malekith’s campaign tent, every surface was covered in maps, reports, and hastily scrawled notes. Aric watched from a respectful distance as Malekith and Vizra huddled over a large parchment spread out on the table, heads close together in intense conversation. With a sinking feeling, Aric recognized the map as an aerial view of Brenville.
“You’ll approach from the south, with the bulk of the forces hidden in the foothills,” Malekith was saying to General Vezera, his tone low and smooth. “Meanwhile, Vizra, you and a small vanguard will stage a feint to draw out the human defenders. Once they are engaged, the main assault will sweep in from the east, trapping them against the river.”
Aric’s stomach turned as he realized what Malekith was doing. The entire plan was a house of cards, relying on the humans falling for the feint and the demon army being able to flank them in the chaos. If a single element went awry, it could spell disaster.
But Malekith’s voice was so confident, so hypnotic, that even Aric found himself leaning in to listen. The demon prince was a master manipulator, and he was laying it on thick, buttering Vizra up with promises of a glorious victory and the honor of leading the main assault.
Vizra’s eyes gleamed with avarice as she straightened up, drawing herself to her full height. “My lord, I am honored by your trust. I will not fail you.”
“I know you won’t.” Malekith’s hand settled on her shoulder, the gesture almost possessive. “The fate of Brenville rests in your hands. Do not disappoint me.”
She bowed low, her long mane of obsidian hair spilling over her shoulders. “Never, my lord.”
