Page 13 of Trial By Fire
The very air seemed to warp and twist as Vizra’s power coalesced, sending ripples of raw energy coursing through the clearing. The demons around them shifted and murmured, their forms blurring and doubling in the reflections cast in the well of black flames.
“Why expend so much magical effort on the portal?” Aric asked Malekith under his breath.
“For the element of surprise. Of course,” Malekith said, a hint of amusement coloring his voice, “trying to open one too close to the human wards is likely to interfere somewhat with the spell.”
Vizra’s voice rose in a lilting chant, the words twisting and contorting, and the rift began to pulse and throb in time with her song. The stench of sulfur and brimstone filled the air, making Aric’s head swim, and the ground beneath his feet quaked as if the very earth was rebelling.
As the rift widened, the fetid stink grew, filling the clearing with a noxious haze. Vizra’s words rose to a fevered pitch, her power radiating out in a searing wave. The other demons were gathered around the portal, feeding their own dark magic into the maelstrom, the air vibrating with the combined force.
Aric took a step back, the heat of the rift scorching his face. It was like staring into the heart of a furnace, the raw power of the void threatening to consume him. The army had begun to chant, their voices rising in a tumult of otherworldly sounds, and the ground was quaking, making it hard to focus. All he could see was that yawning tear in the air, readying their forces so the demonic armies could spill through.
But Malekith moved forward, toward the gathered demons, and with a shock, Aric realized he was moving with them, into the circle of their dark magic. A sharp intake of breath was all he allowed himself as Malekith’s hand brushed against his own, the thin black leather of his gloves like the electric charge dancing over Aric’s skin. Without a word, Malekith guided him into position beside him.
“Come,” Malekith said. “Let us be ready.”
Aric nodded, mouth too dry for words. His blood was singing, the rush of it in his veins like a fever, and he struggled to focus on anything but the ripple of demonic energy that was now growing into a tidal wave. But as Malekith nodded toward the portal, Aric forced himself to look.
The rift was a seething mass of darkness, twisting and writhing. Vizra’s voice rang out, a high, keening cry, and Aric felt a sudden pressure in the air, like the world was being squeezedin a vise. The stink was overwhelming, making his eyes water and his lungs burn.
Aric’s training as a mage honed in on the subtle shifts of Vizra’s spellcraft and malevolent undercurrent to her aura. But what truly set his senses humming was the faint thrum of darkness and illusion he sensed Malekith weaving around the edges of the portal. It was so subtle, the barest whisper of shadow, and it would have been all too easy to miss it, swept up in the spectacle of Vizra’s magic.
At first, that was all he thought it was: Malekith supporting the flow of Vizra’s dark magic. A darker counterpoint to the energy she was drawing from the other demons, guiding its course. But as Aric continued to observe, he caught the subtle twists and turns he was feeding into the rift. Imperceptible adjustments that only Aric could sense. His heartbeat quickened as he realized what it was.
Malekith was siphoning energy from the portal.
It was a breathtaking display of finesse and control, the likes of which Aric had never seen. Vizra’s spell was a blunt instrument, raw power tearing a hole in the fabric of reality. But Malekith’s magic was a scalpel, deft and precise. He was weakening the rift ever so slightly, and if Aric was right, it would all but ensure the rift was highly unstable at the new location so close to Drindal’s wards.
The rift tore open wide, and the air crackled with eldritch energy as its edges shimmered.
“Armies of the Demon Realm. Of House Darioth. Of House Ixion.” Vizra stepped back, chest heaving with exertion. “Advance!”
The ground shook with the force of the demons’ howls, and then they were on the move.
The sounds of the demon army surged forward, a wave of darkness and malice. Vizra roared as she urged her fellowdemons forward. “Move!” Malekith shouted, his hand closing around Aric’s arm in a vise-like grip. “It’s time.”
Aric’s heart was pounding in his ears as he allowed Malekith to guide him forward, Malekith parting the sea of demons with the sheer force of his presence. He conjured a skeletal steed that surged up beneath them, allowing them to ride as one on its ungainly back. Aric wrapped his arms tight around Malekith’s waist as he hung on for dear life. They were far from the front of House Ixion’s forces—General Vezara was leading the charge—but still Aric braced himself for a strike.
The rift was an all-consuming maw now, hungry and vast, and the stench of sulfur was overpowering, burning the back of Aric’s throat. The ground trembled beneath his feet as they made their way toward it, and the air was thick with raw, searing power. The other demons surged forward, a relentless tide, and Aric was swept along in their wake, Malekith and a group of elite guards surrounding him on all sides.
The rift was pulling at Aric, drawing him in with its siren song of darkness and power. Despite the danger, despite the stakes, there was something undeniably thrilling about being so close to it. He could feel the raw magic of the void, taste the power that pulsed within it. It was a heady, intoxicating rush, and for a moment, Aric understood the demons’ hunger for this—this raw, unfiltered force that promised to reshape the world.
Aric stole a glance at Malekith’s face, but it was a mask of icy composure as he studied the rift. Aric wished more than anything that he could hear Malekith’s thoughts, know what the demon prince was planning in this moment.
Before he could fully comprehend the magnitude of what was happening, their steed galloped into the rift.
And his world exploded into chaos.
The air around him fractured and splintered, shards of raw magical force ripping through the space between one second andthe next. The rift howled, a maddening cacophony that tore at his mind and shredded his thoughts to ribbons. Blinding light seared his eyes, but when he looked away, an impenetrable darkness swallowed him whole. He was being stretched and compressed, pulled in a hundred different directions at once, and for a horrifying moment, he thought he might tear apart at the seams.
He lost all sense of up or down, the ground vanishing from beneath his feet. He was weightless, adrift in a sea of chaos, his senses overwhelmed by the roiling maelstrom around him. The stench was a noxious cloud that clung to his skin, and the air was so thick with dark magic that it was hard to breathe.
Through it all, one thing remained constant: the steady presence of Malekith before him.
It should have been a comfort, a lifeline to cling to in the midst of the storm. But Aric knew that Malekith was the architect of this chaos, the mastermind behind the illusion that now threatened to tear the demon army asunder. He had staked everything on this plan, on weakening the portal enough that the humans could easily collapse it, and Aric only hoped they could make it through safely before they did.
With a jolt that knocked the breath from his lungs, Aric and Malekith emerged on the other side. He lurched forward, nearly falling sideways in the saddle, and felt Malekith’s steadying hand on his arm. As his vision cleared, Aric took in their surroundings. They’d emerged in a narrow valley, steep cliffs rising on either side. Dense forests crowned the ridges, providing ample cover. To an untrained eye, it might seem the perfect place to stage their assault on the human town.
But Aric, with his knowledge of human defensive strategies, immediately recognized it as a potential deathtrap for the demon armies.