Wedding Bells, Magic Spells (27 page)

Campfires dotted the valley floor, surrounding what was supposed to be an empty city. A city that wasn’t empty any longer.

The glow of the setting sun striking the snow illuminated the valley, putting into sharp relief the tents, horses, and men that extended as far as our eyes could see and the rift’s borders would allow. I blinked and focused intently on one of the “horses.” The distance was too great for detail, but not for what froze the breath in my throat. The creature was taller than the men; that was expected. What wasn’t expected or wanted was that the thing was taller than the tent closest to it. It wasn’t a distortion due to distance; it was sheer size. The creature had four legs, but there was no way it was a horse. And there were so many of them, even in my limited viewpoint, that I couldn’t count them.

I wasn’t a general, and I’d never seen an army massing for an attack, but I knew that was what I was seeing.

Mychael’s hand found mine and gripped it, confirming my fears.

Justinius didn’t need to worry about any of the ambassadors talking. No one in the room was making a sound. No one needed to tell them what they were seeing. I’d known, and so did they.

A pair of flags flew from the top of what remained of the city’s walls. I didn’t recognize one, but I knew the other. The flags were large, and the distance great, but I’d seen the insignia on one of the flags often enough that I didn’t need a close-up. The wind must have been blowing hard in the valley because both flags were standing out, making the insignia on each all too clear.

Two red serpents twining around each other on a field of black, battling for dominance.

The insignia of the Khrynsani.

Sound definitely carried through the rift. We all heard the wind roaring across the Table of Iron.

Smell carried, too. Or more accurately, stench.

I’d smelled it before, in the caves beneath the Khrynsani temple that had been the home of a family of sea dragons.

This was no sea dragon.

The rift window was three feet tall and five feet wide. The side of the massive head that now filled it was covered in armored scales, its red eye was as big as my head, and the interior of its nostril glowed deep orange with banked fire. The nostril flared as it took our scent, the slit pupil narrowed, and a growl shook the stone floor beneath our feet.

Oh unholy hell.

The rift vanished—or more to the point, Eamaliel and Cuinn slammed it shut.

It was a good thing that silence was no longer needed.

The room erupted.

“Battle dragon,” I heard Eamaliel tell Cuinn through the chaos. “Just as big and ugly as I remembered.”

That battle dragon was on the Table of Iron for the same reason the launch pad for the Guardians’ sky dragons was on a cliff overlooking Mid’s harbor. Dragon eyes were sharp. They were more than fighters, they were lookouts. And that one had seen us. Fortunately for us, dragons couldn’t talk.

At least dragons on our world couldn’t.

The battle dragon was gone, but its stench remained.

Justinius Valerian stood motionless directly in front of the closed rift, where less than a minute before, the massive head of a battle dragon would have been close enough to touch. He had to have heard the noise around him, but gave no sign, continuing to stare fixedly at the now empty air. The archmagus closed his eyes for a moment, and his shoulders sagged.

I knew Justinius was exhausted—in body, mind, and spirit. He had been battling to clean the Conclave of corruption since he’d first taken office. The Saghred had brought that corruption—and the traitors who fed it—out into the open. The stone itself was gone, but the corruption remained, and Justinius’s efforts to clean the organization he so believed in had severely weakened it.

And now, an invasion.

To look at him, no one would have realized the toll it had taken, not unless they knew Justinius.

Tarsilia Rivalin knew him.

She went to stand beside him, and silently reached down and took his hand in hers, fiercely entwining her fingers with his. Justinius opened his eyes, his gaze searching her face as he solemnly raised her hand to his lips.

Mychael’s command cut through the panicked voices. “I need your attention.”

He didn’t shout; he didn’t need to. He let his spellsinger voice do the work, and it did it well. The room went silent; all eyes were on him.

“What we just saw confirms Sandrina Ghalfari’s threat,” Mychael said. “We have
not
seen our defeat. Fear and panic serve no purpose, and it only helps our enemy.” He paused, his blue eyes coolly meeting the gaze of each ambassador. “And there is no doubt now that we have an enemy. Sandrina left that message to be found. She wants us to know that they’re coming. She wants us to be afraid.” He smiled the slow confident smile of a man who has seen his opponent—and sees them as a challenge to be met and overcome. “She forfeited their element of surprise to sow fear on top of the distrust the Khrynsani already planted. In the past months, your kingdoms had begun preparing for war against Sarad Nukpana, who had planned to use the Saghred’s power to open a Gate large enough to drive the army under his command into any part of any kingdom at any time. Sarad Nukpana is gone. The goblin army he would have forced to do his bidding is now under the control of a king who will be eager to extinguish this last threat to what he wants for his people—peace.” There was a calm, absolute certainty to his words. “Your kingdoms were preparing for a war against Sarad Nukpana. Now we will be protecting and defending our people against Sandrina Ghalfari and a largely unknown ally. We will continue to prepare; but I strongly suggest that instead of arguing with and fighting each other, that we come together to defeat a foe who wants nothing less than our complete destruction.”

Aeron Corantine stepped forward. “Under your leadership, Tamnais Nathrach summoned the demon that carried her son to Hell, and Raine Benares destroyed the Saghred. So now all of us will be made to pay for your ill-advised actions?”

Silence.

I knew what Mychael wanted to do to Aeron Corantine. Tam wanted pretty much the same thing except with more violence, and his chilling smile said he was entertaining himself at this very moment imagining it in all its gory detail. I knew Tam well enough to know precisely what he was thinking and I approved wholeheartedly.

“Sarad Nukpana wanted the goblin throne and the Seven Kingdoms under his complete control.” Mychael’s voice was ice cold, but perfectly composed. “His mother would have been a power behind the throne, but make no mistake, she would have been a force to contend with. If Tamnais Nathrach had not summoned that demon, and Raine Benares not destroyed the Saghred, none of us would be alive right now having this discussion. All highly placed government officials would have been killed outright; or if they had magical talent, they would have been imprisoned to await their turn on the Khrynsani temple altar as Saghred sacrifices. Tam and Raine risked their lives and their very souls to prevent Sarad Nukpana from taking control of the Saghred and, in the reign of terror that would have followed, having every man, woman, and child in the Seven Kingdoms at his mercy. Gratitude is called for, Ambassador Corantine, not self-preserving, misdirected blame.”

“The ambassador is from the Nebian coast where there is much sand,” the Myloran ambassador rumbled into the tense silence that followed. “Perhaps for the past few months, he has had his head buried in it.” Herryk Geirleif addressed his next words directly to Aeron Corantine. “This ‘ill-advised action,’ as you called it, would not have kept Nukpana from killing you first, since you don’t have any magic to have made yourself even remotely useful to him. With your head in the sand, you simply wouldn’t have known about your death until it happened.”

Diplomats may have some redeeming qualities after all—at least this one did.

“I’ve heard enough,” Aeron Corantine said. “You will lead these sheep to their slaughter, but Nebia will have no part of it.”

“And this gathering has heard enough of your cowardly ranting,” said a familiar voice from the now open doorway. “In a time of war, an ambassador puts the safety of their people first, not themselves.”

Markus Sevelien was out of bed.

The director of elven intelligence was dressed from head to toe in his customary black. His dark hair was swept back from a high and pale forehead that was even paler than usual from being out of bed entirely too soon. I didn’t blame him for wanting to be here, though; I would have done the same. I’d seen Markus look better, I’d also seen him look worse, but rarely had I seen him this angry. Dalis was standing just behind Markus at his right shoulder, and Brina was at his left side. Both women looked even angrier than Markus, if that was possible, and all of it was directed at Aeron Corantine. They knew who was to blame for Markus’s insistence on coming here.

The Caesolian ambassador was closest to the door, and quickly found a chair for Markus. The man may have had a questionable backbone, but he did have a heart.

“Thank you, Bastien,” Markus said quietly, “but I have spent enough time in bed. And from what I have just overheard—I stayed there too long.” He walked forward, his steps unsteady, Dalis and Brina by his side. “I was one of Sandrina Ghalfari’s first targets,” he told the ambassadors. “I was attacked by a Rak’kari while traveling here by mirror from Silvanlar. I died in the Void. Had it not been for the bravery of Paladin Eiliesor and Raine Benares risking their lives to free me, I would not be here. Then the paladin’s astounding healing skills brought me back to life. And I would not have survived the first few hours without the paladin and the gifted healer and dear lady next to me.”

“Why weren’t we told of this?” the Caesolian ambassador asked.

“To avoid precisely what is happening now,” Markus replied. “Blaming the present goblin government for the actions of Sandrina Ghalfari, the Khrynsani, and their allies that remain hidden among us, which is exactly what they wanted you to do. I refused to play into their hands, so I asked Paladin Eiliesor not to reveal the true cause of my absence.” The elf turned to Mychael. “I take it the rift revealed the worst?”

“It did. There’s an army massing on the plains of Astava. Their banner flies over the city as does that of the Khrynsani.” Mychael turned to Eamaliel. “Was the banner the same?”

“Unfortunately, yes. So was the battle dragon.”

I tensed. How my father knew what he knew wasn’t something we had planned to explain. The ambassadors needed to know what we were up against, but at the same time, we didn’t want to shout my father’s identity from the rooftops. Not to mention, who would believe that he was over nine hundred years old?

“What do you mean by ‘was the banner the same’?” the Majafan ambassador asked.

I gave an inward cringe. Here we go.

“In addition to being an expert on rifts,” Mychael said, “Professor Anguis is a military historian. Professor, would you briefly explain what you told me and the archmagus?”

Smooth. Not a lie, but not the whole truth.

“The world of Timurus was invaded approximately seven hundred years ago,” Eamaliel said. “Few records exist detailing the war, but the invaders were not from Timurus. For one, the invaders had battle dragons, and Timurus had no dragons of any size. As you just saw, this army also has battle dragons and they match the historical description. The insignia on the flag we just saw was the same as the invaders from seven hundred years ago. It was unknown why they originally came to Timurus and what it was that they wanted, so it is also unknown as to why they have returned. The people of Timurus had mages and magic, and while they were not to our level of ability, they were by no means helpless. The invaders, on the other hand, were said to have magic different from anything that has ever been recorded.” My father paused. “When scholars revisited Timurus years later, no human life remained.”

Even Aeron Corantine had nothing to say to that.

“Bastien, I will now accept your offer of a chair,” Markus said. The chair was brought and Markus eased himself into it with Dalis’s assistance. “Mychael, do you believe any of our kingdoms separately stand a chance to defeat or turn back this invader?”

“Based on what I saw and what I know of Timurus’s fate the last time this army was there…No single kingdom could hope to defeat them.”

“And if we fought together?”

“The invaders’ exact numbers, armaments, and magical powers are unknown, as is how they will get such a large army onto our world.”

Markus smiled slightly. “It seems they have overcome that difficulty by getting to Timurus not once, but twice.”

“Unfortunately, true.”

“In your military opinion, Paladin Eiliesor, the only way we would stand a chance of avoiding Timurus’s fate of total annihilation would be to form an alliance and combine our armies, yes?”

“That is my opinion and belief.”

Markus sat back. “Then you will have Pengor’s army at your command. I will have to obtain my queen’s approval, but considering the circumstances, I am certain I will encounter no difficulty getting it. The elves will stand with you and your Guardians.”

“You didn’t even see through that rift,” Aeron Corantine objected, “yet you would—”

“And I do not need to,” Markus replied, each word sharp and distinct. “If Paladin Mychael Eiliesor tells me that we have an invader on our world’s doorstep, I believe him without question. There is no one—elf, goblin, or human—whose word I trust or whose expertise I respect more than his. If you wish to believe otherwise, Ambassador Corantine, I do not have the strength or patience to expend attempting to convince you otherwise. None of us has the time. You and your people will help defend this world, or you are a liability. At this critical point, your opinion and willful divisiveness matters very little to me, and is a waste of all of our valuable time.” Markus paused and took a shaky breath. “My fellow ambassadors, we can draw up the documents later, but for the sake of expediency, I would like to request a show of hands…”