He advanced to Bartoth and looked up at the towering rock troll. He’d removed his helmet, revealing his tattooed features, and his savage smile. The troll may have failed in gathering Mimic, but Draeken believed that was because he’d tried to be subtle, and left his armor behind.
“You will never again remove your armor in battle,” Draeken said. “In time, the people will not even know you were a rock troll, and will simply know you as the general of War.”
He stepped to the next in line. The Raven hardly looked human anymore, her skin sunk against her bones, her features hollow, her body seemingly unable to stand on its own. Even Draeken could feel a touch of hunger at the proximity.
“Your ambition turned you into the essence of hunger,” Draeken said, “and so you will be known as Famine. By the end of this war, the people will remember you every time their harvest is slim and teach their children to flee at your return.”
The Raven smiled and accepted the new name, and Draeken advanced to Mimic. The woman looked diseased, her skin covered in sores and patches of purple and green. She regarded Draeken with dispassionate eyes.
“So much disease,” Draeken said. “It haunted you in life, and now it will haunt our foes. Your new name is Plague, the source of disease and infection. No blade can harm you. No magic can damage your flesh. On the morrow, you will ride across the battlefield and the soldiers will wither and die in your mere presence.”
“And your brothers?” she asked.
“Kill them,” Draeken said. “They are no part of me anymore.”
She smiled, and Draeken stepped in front of Gendor. The assassin held his gaze, his glowing red eyes somehow cold. Draeken chuckled at the resistance against his cloak. Gendor may not be on his side, but his sheer willpower was admirable.
“Why do you continue to resist me?” Draeken asked. “You are a killer. Is that not what you do for me?”
“My blade is mine,” Gendor said. “Even if you force me to strike in your name, that does not mean I belong to you.”
Draeken’s features hardened. “Tomorrow you will have the privilege of killing Elenyr.”
His red eyes pulsed, and Draeken smiled, sensing the truth to his assumption. The assassin had hoped Elenyr would find a way to free him from bondage. It might even be possible, given her history of aiding those in need. But not this time.
Draeken closed the gap, his voice turning to steel. “You will kill Elenyr tomorrow. When you set your gaze upon her, you will engage in a duel, and will not retreat until her body lies in pieces. If anyone gets in your way, you will kill them as well. Any soldier, any woman, any child, any king or fragment, you will kill anyone in your way to get to her.”
Gendor’s cloak shimmered as Draeken imposed his will, and Gendor glared at him, his red eyes pulsing in hatred. Draeken had considered his words with great care. Gendor would obey his command.
“You are the essence of Death,” Draeken said. “And when Elenyr dies, that will be your name forevermore. No one will remember Gendor, the once fallen assassin. But the people always remember Death. You will give voice to those fears.”
Gendor did not acknowledge the new name, by bowing his head or by speaking, but Draeken knew he would obey. The man may try to find loopholes in Draeken’s orders, but he could not outright disobey. The power of the cloak required absolute loyalty. By not bowing, he demonstrated his resistance.
Draeken retreated and examined his four new horsemen. They were men and women to be feared, beings of power, nigh impervious to any attack. Draeken imagined statues placed on the four corners of his fortress, each depicting the four horsemen.
Yet as Draeken regarded them, a touch of worry crept into his heart. His brothers had a way of victory. He’d seen it a thousand times in a thousand conflicts, and if anyone could destroy him and his generals, it was the fragments.
But how? The question nagged at his thoughts. How would Elenyr and the fragments stop such might? It seemed inconceivable, and yet the fragment of Mind had used cunning to defeat foes of great strength and power. Could they do it again?
Draeken chuckled to himself. His caution was prudent, but Draeken could not permit himself to fall to paranoia. He had a crushing army and power unmatched across Lumineia. And they possessed only the allied races and the weaker fragments.
His gaze settled on Death, and his eyes narrowed. “Have you seen any of the fragments?”
Compelled by the cloak, he answered, “Yes.”
The other three generals turned on him, and Plague growled. “When?”
Death remained silent until Draeken repeated the question. Then he said, “earlier this night.”
“Tell me everything you saw,” Draeken growled. “And tell me now.”
Death’s red eyes pulsed, and then he reluctantly said, “One departed west, alone. One went south with a single companion. One went east, with two companions. I did not see their identities.”
Draeken scowled, disliking the news. Three fragments had departed on the eve of the greatest battle in recorded history. Why? What could they hope to achieve in a single night? He barked an order and the four horsemen departed, leaving him alone. When they had left, Draeken growled and discarded his doubts. The fragments had been mighty only when they had possessed the fragment of Power. Now they were weak, and they sought a fool’s hope.
Draeken turned and surveyed the battlefield, and the bright city in the distance. Visible through the haze of smoke, the encased castle and the high aquaglass walls seemed to sparkle. One last battle, and then the kings were his. The dawn of his reign. The beginning of his empire.
Chapter 34: The Ancient Warrior
Mind leaned over the neck of Light’s wolfsteed, the animal devouring the miles. Midnight had passed hours ago but he urged the enchanted mount to greater efforts, rushing across the waving grass of eastern Talinor.
The steed glowed in the night and Mind scanned the sky, hoping Draeken did not appear. He guessed the fragment of Power would remain with his army, gloating over the impending kill. But if Draeken possessed a portion of Mind, that meant he was not bereft of strategy. Mind shifted the cloth he’d draped over the glowing mount, obscuring the bulk of the wolfsteed from view. But there was little he could do about the horse’s legs.
Mind leaned in, driving himself to greater efforts, pushing past the fatigue of the last several days. After three weeks languishing in the Krey Empire, he’d been thrust into the conflict without a moment’s rest.
As the predawn glow appeared on the horizon, he spotted Herosian. Rushing the flagging wolfsteed across the earth, he galloped straight to the eastern gates. He reached out with his magic and caught the distant thoughts of the guards left to care for the city, and ordered them to open the gates.
Responding as if the order had been spoken by an officer, the soldiers caught the handle of the mechanism that opened the door. As they spun the wheel, the long bars swung upward, and the doors opened. Mind raced through, not slowing as he rushed down the crowded streets.
Tents and other makeshift structures lined both sides of the street, housing the innumerable refugees from Griffin. Anyone able to fight had gone to Ilumidora, leaving those too young, old, or infirm. The older guards stood watch, offering aid to the overflowing inns.
Mind’s haste elicited a swell of noise, and he used his magic to send comfort to the people. The battle will begin at dawn, and we are prepared for Draeken’s invasion. Mind did not reveal the size of Draeken’s army, unwilling to stretch their tenuous hope.
Mind banked his steed down a street and turned into the wealthier rings of the city, closer to the castle. His destination loomed above the others, the spherical structure prominent among its neighboring shops. Mind raced to a stop and leapt from the saddle. He reached the door just as it opened.