“They’re arguing,” Mox said. “I want to hear what they are saying.”
Erisay inclined her head and orange light sparked in her fingers, stretching into threads that extended to the ears of everyone in the group. As the light faded, Draeken’s voice came into focus . . .
Chapter 19: The Fourth General
“I’m not waiting any longer,” Draeken said.
“This plan is dangerous,” Serak said. “We do not yet have the last general. You might not be able to stand against the Dark.”
Draeken rounded on Serak. “Are you questioning my power?”
“No,” Serak said hastily. “But I have planned every contingency for this moment. My servants will bring the final general by dawn, and then the Gate can open.”
“Your servants?”
Serak lowered his gaze. “My apologies, master.”
Draeken smiled at Serak’s humbling and gave a dismissive wave. “I cannot fault you for your habits. After all, they were your servants prior to my arrival.”
“Your mercy is admirable.”
Draeken’s voice hardened. “But I can fault you for your doubt. I know my former fragments. They will not wait until dawn, not when they know the alliance was a trap. Bring the two candidates.”
Serak hesitated, but ultimately he nodded and called to a nearby guard. “Bring them.”
Two captives were led to the top of Xshaltheria, both bound at the wrists. Lady Dentis was in the lead, her red hair in shambles, dirt on her gown. They failed to obscure the seething haughtiness to her gaze, her expression matching that of the second woman.
Princess Melora, second daughter to Queen Erisay, still wore her prisoner greys. Captivity, even for a few weeks, had not been kind to her, and several wounds and bruises were on her face and arms.
“What is the meaning of this?” Melora demanded.
“Nobles,” Draeken said with smile. “You are most welcome in my fortress.”
“Why are we here?” the Raven asked.
“To witness the dawn of a new kingdom.” Draeken swept his hand to the Dark Gate. “When the portal is opened, a vast army will be released, an army leashed to my will, and the will of my generals.”
The Raven scowled. “You mean Gendor and Bartoth.”
“The same,” Draeken said, pleased by their knowledge. That would make it so much easier. “But I have two remaining cloaks.”
“For us?”
Draeken chuckled at Melora’s response, and the trace of greed. Serak had indeed chosen wisely in the two, and he wondered which it would be. He held out a hand to Serak and the Father of Guardians placed a cloak into his hands. It rippled like liquid, but unlike the others, it was brown rather than black.
“Both of you possess an insatiable ambition,” Draeken said. “A hunger for power and prestige, a craving for greatness. This is the moment that one of you will attain such a position.”
The truth settled in and the women exchanged a look. One cloak. Two candidates. The Raven bared her teeth in a snarl, while Melora smiled at the Raven, the expression one of dark anticipation. Both had served Serak in the Order of Ancients, and both had used their positions to expand their influence.
“And to the victor?” Melora asked.
“More power than you can imagine,” he said. “Each cloak is imbued with a unique magic, and touched by the Dark, the shadow on the other side of the portal. You will be my servant, but your power will be greater than you can imagine. The people will fear you, and flee from the mere whisper of your presence.”
Both women eyed the cloak, their eyes bright. Draeken ordered their bonds cut and a blade given to each. There was no need to explain the request, and as the swords were placed in their hands, Melora snarled at her sudden foe.
“This will be a pleasure.”
“You never did know how to recognize a superior,” the Raven said coldly.
As the two circled, Serak lowered his voice to Draeken. “I do not understand the need for this.”
“You said yourself,” Draeken replied. “You do not know which is better suited for the cloak. What better way than to let them decide for themselves?”
Serak fell silent, and Draeken spared him a glance. For all his preparation for Draeken’s arrival, he’d begun to express frequent doubts, and Draeken was irritated at his constant hesitation. For the first time, Draeken considered the possibility that he did not want Serak as his servant.
The Raven lunged, her blade striking low and to the side, a feint. Melora flicked her sword out, long enough to deflect the sword and giving her time to strike from above. The blade came within an inch of the Raven’s throat, slicing several red hairs as it whipped over her shoulder.
The Raven rotated, her sword slicing a shallow line across Melora’s waist, turning her smirk into a pained scowl. The duel quickly intensified, and Draeken watched with interest. He would have preferred a more ceremonial duel, but the circumstances did not permit such a display.
More blood spilled, and both women fought for dominance. Draeken didn’t care who was the victor, only that they were stronger. The Raven was obviously more skilled, but she was human, and Melora had lived for hundreds of years. To Melora’s discredit, she did not fight as one who had spent lifetimes in training.
Blades locked as the two combatants fought, and the Raven showed her skill and patience, leaving Melora bloodied, her grey prison uniform cut into tatters. Doubt flickered on Melora’s expression, and in that moment Draeken knew.
“Stop toying with her,” he commanded the Raven. “End it.”
