“You already did,” Gendor said, and swept his skeletal hand across his body.
“Does he speak the truth?” the Raven asked.
“He does,” Draeken admitted. “But look at Bartoth.” He pointed to the towering rock troll. “I have no need of enforcing my will because he has chosen to become my general.”
“You will forever be his,” Gendor warned.
“Death,” Draeken ordered, addressing Gendor by his proper name, “go kill a child.”
Gendor’s red eyes glowed in his cowl, and then he swung his scythe into the ground. Lifting the weapon, he showed the young mouse. Draeken chuckled at his clever loophole, unable to refute his logic.
“And if I refuse?” the Raven asked.
“Then I go to Princess Melora,” Draeken said. “She too, is ambitious . . .”
The words struck the woman like a dagger to her heart, as Draeken knew they would. The Raven hated Melora, for she was a rival. The prospect that Melora might win the prize was sufficient motivation for her to straighten and reach forward.
“I’ll be your general.”
Draeken handed the woman the cloak, and then retreated. She eyed the cloak, and Draeken ordered Gendor to silence. His continued belligerence was amusing, but Draeken’s patience was not eternal.
The Raven lifted her chin and then swung the cloak about her shoulders, shoving her hands into the sleeves. Then she yanked the cowl over her head, as if the motions could hide the tremble in her fingers. The cloak rippled—and then sank into her flesh.
The Raven screamed, the sound echoing into the city, stilling even the cries of the wounded outside the estate. She sank to her knees and clawed at the cloak, desperate to remove it, but it was part of her body now, the flesh sinking inward, her bones showing against her skin, her body sunken and hollow.
Cries of fear came from the nearby homes, where men and women peeked through windows. The food in their homes crumbled on their tables, spoiling before their eyes, mold appearing and consuming bread and meat, root and leaf.
The Raven screamed again, and then sucked in her breath. Draeken had ensured the magic would not touch him and his companions, but his stomach rumbled. He smiled and stepped forward, pulling the woman to her feet.
“Rise,” he said, “and claim your place at my side.”
She stood and looked at her arms, at the flesh worn away, but her eyes bore a haunting victory. She felt the power, knew it in her bones. She could kill with a touch and rob men of flesh by standing in their midst. At a distance she could destroy food and resources, ravaging an attacking army with desperation and hunger.
“I live to serve, my master.”
Draeken smiled, the sense of victory like sweet nectar on his tongue. Three of his generals stood before him, and only the fourth remained. When the horseman of Plague had been collected, he could finally open the Dark Gate.
Serak crossed the courtyard and joined him, nodding his approval. “Our plan advances.”
Draeken met his gaze. “It does indeed.”
Serak examined Famine with pride, but Draeken’s smile was not of gratitude. Serak had prepared armies and hidden fortresses, even created the chance for Draeken to become whole, but Draeken was the master, and his plan was his own.
“Come,” Draeken said. “Our work is done for the day.”
He reached upward, and a red dragon dropped from the sky, landing in the courtyard. Bendelinish, Serak’s mount, was one of the strongest reds the dragons had produced in ages. Draeken stepped into the air, and flew.
Those still watching fell silent, their shock robbing their voices as Draeken lifted himself off the earth by force of will. Draeken alighted on the dragon’s neck, while Serak used a foreleg to join him. As the dragon flapped its wings, Draeken pointed to the estate.
“Burn it.”
The dragon lowered its maw and fire burst forth, engulfing the building. Serak’s mount rose into the air as it poured fire onto the roof of the estate, filling the halls and corridors with dragon’s breath. Draeken watched the inferno before calling down to his generals.
“You know what to do.”
They nodded and then departed, disappearing into the rising smoke. Draeken directed the dragon into the sky, rising above the wall and the soldiers huddled against the battlements. He paid them no mind as he soared over a country illuminated by the setting sun. His land. His kingdom.
“Witness the dawn of my kingdom,” he said. “And my reign will be endless.”
Chapter 1: Aftermath
Elenyr advanced into the remains of the estate, her footfalls sending ash rising in small puffs. The city guard had managed to contain the fires before they spread, but the estate itself was nothing but ruin. The supports of the home resembled a burned carcass, its bones reaching skyward. Another corner had caved in, the beams and stones a pile of debris.
“There were a handful of survivors,” the captain of the guard said from her side. “Would you like to speak with them?”
Elenyr shook her head. “No. Leave them to their healing.”
The man bowed and then departed. The fragment of Mind took his place. “Why did you want to come here?”
Elenyr frowned at the sense of fear rising in her throat. Draeken had separated from the fragments, but she had no idea what to expect from him. As the fragment of Power, he was more dangerous than he’d ever been.
“It’s been two weeks since you separated from Draeken,” Elenyr said. “I expected more from him, but he didn’t appear anywhere on Lumineia. Then he suddenly showed up here? I want to know why.”
“Witnesses say Lady Dentis put on a cloak,” Senia said, joining them. “I’m guessing it’s the same type he forced Gendor to wear. With the way the food rotted, I’d say he turned her into Famine.”
