A Time of Darkness (The Circle of Talia) (27 page)

“Thanks.” Korden replied. “So, what now, Realmists?”

“We wait, unless you have any ideas?” Blayke dismounted.

“What if the dragon decides we’re not worth the trouble and leaves?” Korden asked.

“They’re coming!” Sander yelled.

“Looks like that won’t be a problem,” said Bronwyn. “Let me know when, Blayke.”

Concentrating, sweat speckling his face, Blayke watched, but it was hard to estimate height in the Second Realm; distance was easy, but height didn’t translate. “It’s no good. I’m going to have to go out there.” Blayke ran to stand next to Sander, out in the open, leagues of sky above, death hurtling towards them.

Sander spoke
, “Blayke, you worry about the big momma and I’ll worry about the other two.” He nocked another arrow and spied his desired trajectory.

Diving, speeding, dark masses, the dragons resembled kites with long tails. Each time Blayke breathed in, they had jumped closer:
one-hundred feet, eighty feet, sixty feet, forty feet: their eyes glowed red, barbed tails outlined against the moon. “NOW!”

Bronwyn ripped the
“lid” off the stored energy in the tree. Her net erupted like the first rock out of a volcano. Blue, spider-webbed power flung skywards towards Devorum. The creature’s scream as it tangled in the net pierced their sanity. Blayke fell to his knees, hands clapped over his ears. Bronwyn drew Second-Realm power and shielded their ears and minds.

Blayke recovered and, straining, drew his own
Second-Realm power over the net and pulled it towards them. The dragon should be shielded, but since he had not performed this particular weave before, he had no idea if it would do what it was supposed to. His stomach clenched as he wrestled the enormous creature to the ground.

Bronwyn saw Blayke struggling and ran to him. Grabbing his hand, she opened up a stream to the Second Realm to link to his. “Is that better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

A rush of air whipped Bronwyn and Blayke’s hair across their faces as one of the smaller dragons swooped near, pulling its head back to launch fire. Sander loaded the bow, drawing the shaft in one graceful movement. His fingers released another energy-infused arrow. The dragon parted its jaws.

Sander’s missile imprinted a trail of light in the darkness on its way to plunging a bloody wound into the dragon. The dragon’s eyes closed, and it crashed to the ground. Korden dug his heels into his horse and shouted, “Watch out!” as the fourth dragon came from behind Sander, fire roiling from its maw. Sander jumped off his horse and tried to roll out of the way, flames singeing his hair and incinerating his horse. Korden, helpless to do anything but wave his sword in the air, stood his horse between Sander and the dragon, who had circled around the tree and was returning for another go.

Sander scrabbled at his back and pulled another arrow, knelt and, with the dragon blocking out the moon above him, shot.
This was the one chance he had. The goddess of luck, Afrail, smiled on him. Squealing like an overgrown pig, the winged creature fell to land next to the unfortunate horse.

Blayke blocked out the commotion, trying to ignore the plight of his friends as he set Devorum down. The dragon that was, as Blayke had been warned, at least three times larger than any other dragons he’d seen, fixed his burning stare onto the two realmists. It stood inside the net, towering over them. Blayke’s stomach felt like it was somersaulting
; he kept hold of his sister’s hand.

“I
... think we did it, Bronny. We actually did it!”

Heart still racing, she wiped a sweaty hand on her hip. “I think we did.”

Her smile, somewhere between pride and relief, lit up her face; Sander thought she looked like a goddess, radiating with an aura of the power she had employed to catch the dragon, a circlet of moonlight reflecting off her hair like a crown. She turned to see him patting a lock of scorched hair. “Nice hair. I hear well-done is in right now.” She giggled. “So, now what? Do we drag this thing all the way to your king?”

Korden wiped his arm across his brow. “That could take some time. I was hoping you could use your power to hover it along.”

“Hover it? Dragons’ balls, Korden, who do you think we are?” Blayke frowned. “I don’t have enough power to hover an ant right now. I’m done for today. If you need any dragons hovered, call someone else.”

Bronwyn touched Blayke’s arm. “Um, guys
... call me pessimistic, but I don’t think we’re as good as we thought.”

They turned to see Devorum slash his claws vertically, opening a hole in the net. The net dissolved with a fizzle of blue sparks. Blayke, abandoning the elation of but a moment ago, spoke
, “Shit. Now what do we do?”

Bronwyn wanted to scream, but her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “I don’t know.”

She looked around to where they could run, but there was no way they would escape this beast. Reaching for Second-Realm power, she was too weak to hold even a drop—it was like trying to make a fist on waking.

The dragon took a giant, clawed step towards them. “Oh
, gods, Blayke, it’s him: it’s ... it’s the dragon from our nightmares.”

Her hand covered her mouth.

The roaring reply vibrated in their bones. “Yes. It is I, Devorum.”

He lunged at the realmists, his great mouth stretched wide. With nothing left to do, Blayke threw himself at his sister, shoving her to the ground. Covering and protecting her, Blayke shut his eyes tight
. Waiting for the stab of teeth into his exposed back, he wondered:
Why is it only the bad dreams come true?

Through the haze, Klazich admired the perfection of the reflective surface. Waiting in its depths lay home. Collective memories, stories, and the images he had seen when linked to High Priest Kerchex were the only way he had to see his ancestors’ birthplace. The longing burned in his veins. Even stronger than the longing was the desire for revenge. Contained within their race for over a thousand years, it would finally be given freedom to consume all in its path. Klazich wanted to bathe in the blood of Talia and wipe its ashes over his barbed crust.

He surveyed the gormons on the opposite bank of the gate. A row of four stood at the lip of the large pond
; behind them, lines of thousands faded out of sight. “How much longer, Embrax?”

“Not long, Master. The moon is almost at its zenith. I will count it down in a couple of minutes.” Embrax’s rasping voice came as close to excitement as Klazich had ever heard it.

Klazich turned to face the other way, to look at the uncertain view of the gritty plain that stretched out indefinitely. He had explored his world, walking in that direction for weeks, only to find nothing. As each new sector of desolate territory solidified into tangibility, his disappointment grew—nothing changed; no ways to escape presented themselves. The Third Realm truly was a realm devoid of sustenance: visual, visceral, and victual.

In the muted
Third-Realm atmosphere, Embrax’s metallic voice sounded like steel chain chinking together as he shouted the countdown into the dead haze. “Get ready to go. In
dex, neen, echt, sevet, simt, fev, felm, tre, durt, ens.
Now!”

The spikes on the back of Klazich’s neck and head hardened in excitement as the first of the gormons bravely dove into the gate. None of them knew what would happen: would they die instantly, bob about in water that was, literally, a pond, or would they race through to the world they’d been promised? Claws, hides,
and heads broke through the slick membrane and continued on. Klazich watched as they slipped beyond sight, then the next row, and the next, his brother Feldich gone now. Klazich needed someone he could trust at the other end, and his brother was his best choice.

Three hours passed
, and Klazich swayed just as Embrax counted sixty thousand through the gate. Talia was quickly becoming overrun with the horde. Embrax allowed himself to feel satisfaction. “Halt!” The gormons obeyed. Embrax turned to Klazich. “It is time to change the destination. Wait one moment, Revered One. Then we will continue.”

Klazich clenched his jaw and scratched a forearm
. He had never been nervous before, but this was taking too long—what if he had missed his chance? Klazich had wanted to be among the first wave through, to ensure he escaped this no-place, but he didn’t want to reach Talia and find only one thousand had made the journey with him. Returning to lose was not what he had envisaged for his rule.

Embrax opened his eyes. “It is done, Master. After you.”

The picture on the gate had changed to a dark room. The only thing Klazich could see was a table with three candles, the light beckoning him. Without saying goodbye to the world where he crawled had out of the egg—he possessed no love for this place—he nodded to the priest and dove in, the liquid closing over his rough skin. This was his triumphant rebirth into a life that would be worth living. He grinned, the warm fluid rushing into his mouth, salty and sweet bathing his tongue as he was sucked through the tunnel. But then: water rushed into his lungs, and he wondered if it had all gone wrong before shooting pain knifed through his chest.

***

Leon floated in Kwaad’s consciousness, wondering where his body was. Once he had adjusted to the depravity of Kwaad’s thoughts, he settled in, happy enough to be there, but there were moments when he wanted to be his old self and to control the body in which he resided. Occasionally Kwaad would have a rest and Leon would take turns with Tusklar controlling where they went.

Kwaad had assured the Talians that they could have their bodies back if they wanted, but they would have to wait until the other gormons came through and it would require another ceremony. They would also have to agree to be reabsorbed when Kwaad desired: if Kwaad were by himself, he would become the size of a normal gormon. Neither the king nor his wife had any objections, and now they waited in Leon’s throne room, in the middle of the night, the only light a trio of candles on a small table near his throne.

The moon had passed full some thirty minutes before. So far, the disc that hung in the center of the room, which was almost as tall as Kwaad but wider, had remained silent and black. They were expecting forty-thousand gormons to come rushing through at any moment. Scores of ebony-clad Inkrans waited, thinking they were supposed to escort the newcomers to their quarters, and in a way, they were ... just not how they thought. Some one-hundred gormons would come through as adults, but the rest would need homes. Stripped of their flesh, they would settle into the Inkrans and subvert their bodies.

Leon sensed
that Tusklar was not entirely happy about this, but her craving for power was greater: she remained silent. The king and queen waited while Kwaad concentrated. Apparently he was helping some of the gormons through the corridor so they could arrive fully formed. Leon’s awareness filled with satisfaction as he imagined how Edmund would react when confronted with these creatures.
Not long now, and I will have my revenge
.

The Inkrans, alert, were the first to notice the black disc
was bulging. Despite their training, they collectively stepped back a pace as Klazich and Embrax spilled through onto the floor, struggling to breathe, writhing in pain. Two other spindly, thorny creatures followed, then four, and another four, and another. The slimy creatures formed a writhing, growing mass on the floor as more were thrown through the gate to land on their brothers.

Klazich, not able to draw a breath with his altered lungs, fought for air as his sight darkened. Without warning, the stabbing feeling returned, tearing through his chest until, mercifully, air rushed in when he opened his mouth. He heaved, expelling a gush of putrid fluid.

Recovered somewhat, he pushed against the throng of his brothers and stood. A small, dark-robed person beckoned at him to move out of the way, and he obliged, fighting the urge to tear into him and taste warm, sweet blood. Klazich knew these people were necessary for his brothers to take their places on this world.

Soon, Klazich stood shoulder to evil shoulder with ninety-nine of his kin in a dark corner of the vast chamber wherein the gate changed, excreting green bile: the spirits of the gormons. Klazich and Embrax watched as one after another, sinuous, lichen-green tendrils drifted to the Inkrans. The first spirit reached its host and slithered into the man’s nostrils. The other Inkrans panicked when they
heard his shrieks, breaking ranks and running for the door. They were not quick enough. Persistent smoky threads, like ghostly tapeworms, chased the men and pervaded their nasal cavities with ease. When there were no men left to possess, the gormon spirits floated into the corridor where unsuspecting Inkrans waited.

A noise, similar to the wind rushing through reeds, whistled through the throne room until it became a roar. The gate started shrinking, seemed to suck into itself until it disappeared, imploding and trapping the last
ten-thousand gormons in the Third Realm. Klazich bowed his head in a final farewell and revelled in the fact that he was among the ones who had made it to Talia.

Kwaad waited until the final screams died. “Welcome
, brothers. How glad we are you have come through. Klazich, much planning has gone into today. We hope you are pleased.”