Draeken watched as Serak assembled the pieces of the Dark Gate. The stone fragments had shattered from Queen Erisay’s magic, and the powerful artifact had been reduced to rubble. As Serak labored, the pieces rose and shifted. Serak had feverishly worked to reassemble the broken arch, and the two sides were now whole, only the curve and keystone still absent.
“This is taking too long,” Draeken said.
“It must be perfect,” Serak said wearily. “I’m rebuilding a mechanism that transports objects through the stars. One error could be catastrophic.”
“Why aren’t we just using another Gate?” Draeken asked. “The Eternals certainly have access to Gates, and I was even a member.”
“Do you have the keys to their halls?” Serak asked.
Draeken frowned and struggled to recall where he’d placed the keys. He remembered possessing the two keys, and then they were absent. Why could he not remember? It was maddening, as if the memory had been taken.
Serak grunted in understanding. “We cannot access their Gates without keys, and so we must rebuild.”
Draeken scowled, disliking his tone. Ever since the battle at Xshaltheria, Serak had been withdrawn and taciturn, bordering on sullen. He’d immediately set to rebuilding the Dark Gate but he spoke little, and Draeken knew Serak did not agree with his actions at the battle.
They’d moved the pieces of the Dark Gate deep into the fortress so it would not be so easily attacked. The chamber Draeken had chosen hung at the extreme base of the citadel, beneath the vent that rose through the structure.
Fifty feet across, the circular floor of the chamber lacked walls or railings. Another fifty feet from the edge, the wall of the chamber stretched to the ceiling high above, where the vent extended through the heart of the fortress. The platform hung from invisible chains fashioned of heat.
Draeken walked to the edge and reached into the plume of sulfuric air rising from the magma. The air rose up the wall and curved into the central shaft that pierced the fortress from bottom to top, where the air vented into the sky.
The entrance to the chamber was high on the wall. Stairs of fire extended from the entrance corridor and bridged the gap. If an attacker sought to reach the platform, the stairs could be extinguished, leaving them to fall into the magma below.
Draeken turned and strode to the center of the platform, where the Gate was being erected. He looked upward, through the central shaft and to the dark sky. Then he turned to Serak, who sought to find a sliver for a crack in the stone. Serak sifted through the pile and then a sliver of rock rose and settled into place, the material melting and merging to become whole.
“Tell me your impression of the battle with the alliance,” Draeken said.
Serak glanced his way. “What do you wish to know?”
“It obviously did not go as intended.”
“I believe the alliance knows what they face,” Serak said. “And that was the primary purpose of the fiend army.”
Serak’s voice carried a tinge of rebuke, a reminder that the fiends were only supposed to intimidate the gathered force, not attack and kill them. It confirmed that Serak thought Draeken had erred in his sending the fiends into battle.
“When the Gate is restored, we will be able to bring the full fiend army through,” Draeken said. “Such a force possesses a single purpose, to conquer.”
“They may serve that purpose,” Serak said. “But they can also protect the people.”
“Only if that is my will,” Draeken said.
Serak glanced his way, and Draeken read the regret in his eyes. Serak was just beginning to see the truth, that he had brought Draeken into being, created him to become a master, but in so doing, he had relinquished control. Serak’s intention was not Draeken’s intention.
Draeken sensed a gulf between him and Serak, a subtle shift in their connection, and began to question if Serak needed to be killed. If Draeken continued on his current course, the day might come that Serak became a foe. Draeken faced the Gate, recognizing that only Serak could assemble the mechanism. Draeken still needed Serak. For now.
A hurried set of footsteps approached in the entrance corridor, and Draeken turned as Zoric appeared. He’d obviously rushed to arrive, because his clothes were still muddy from the road, and he hurried down the fire steps to reach the platform.
“Master Draeken,” he said. “I bring news. Bartoth and I went to the Melting but the Hauntress was already present with Shadow and others. They managed to stop us from obtaining Mimic.” His features contracted, the grief and anger tightening his muscles.
Draeken frowned. “Where is my fourth general?”
Zoric grimaced. “Bartoth managed to give Mimic the cloak, but Shadow dropped her into the acid beneath the prison.” Zoric hesitated, and then said. “She is dead.”
“Where’s your father?” Serak asked.
Zoric’s features hardened. “Sentara killed him.”
“Zenif is dead?” Serak spoke with uncharacteristic force, drawing Draeken’s gaze.
“You worry more for Zenif than Mimic? We needed her.”
Draeken passed a hand over his face and then stabbed a hand to Zoric. “With your father dead, I will need your aid to complete the Dark Gate.”
“Mine?” Zoric asked, clearly surprised.
Draeken scowled. “What do we do about Mimic?”
“If she became the fourth general, she is not dead,” Serak said.
“I saw her fall into a lake of boiling acid,” Zoric said. “No one could survive.”
Serak straightened, his features clouding with anger. “Stand forth and do as I command.”
Zoric flushed and advanced, mumbling an apology. Serak directed Zoric to stand at the center of the arch, and to use his magesight to search for tiny purple threads connecting the Gate pieces. Draeken reluctantly retreated, disliking Serak’s forceful demeanor. Was he hiding something?
“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” Zoric said.
