Page 91 of Storm of Shadows
Nathariusglaresatmeas we follow the wraith and two skeletons. Deeper through the trees, icicles hang from twisted branches, and the Void Prince has to duck a few times to avoid them. The rest of us don’t have this problem, however, seeing how Natharius stands almost a foot taller than us all.
“Please tell me you have a plan up your sleeve,” he hisses across to me, quietly enough that only I hear his words, “and that this isn’t what I fear it is.”
“And what do you fear this is?”
“A suicide mission.”
As much as I wish I have a clever plan, I unfortunately don’t. Most likely, Juron’s rescue attempt will end up with us all dead.
Or undead.
I don’t look at him as I speak. “Think about it like this,” I begin, shoving the twigs of a large bush out of my way, “you’ll probably return to the Abyss before the night is over.”
Natharius snorts. I’m not sure he’s pleased about the idea, seeing how the sound lacks any humor. He’s more concerned about ensuring the lich he sealed away one thousand years ago doesn’t escape than he is about returning to the Abyss. What a change that makes.
He says nothing more, though his stare doesn’t relent.
Zephyr was as reluctant as the Void Prince about following the wraith to her master’s fortress. He stares at me with a pleading look in his jewel-like eyes and refused to move an inch until I scooped him into my arms and carried him. Now he flutters closely behind me.
As for Taria, though she initially opposed rescuing Juron and risking Lagartha the Old’s ring falling into the hands of Arluin and his necromancers, she doesn’t protest even once. Her face is emotionless as always, but the tension has dissipated from her shoulders. Perhaps a part of her wanted to save Juron but, as the future Grand Priestess, she was unable to justify doing so. But now I’ve made the decision, the choice is out of her hands.
Caya walks ahead of us all, directly behind the wraith and her skeletal companions. She’s placed the obsidian box safely inside her saddlebags, and she marches through the trees with her sword gripped tightly in her right hand. Her jaw is clenched, and determination powers her every stride.
I hope, for her sake, that Juron is alive. That the undead didn’t kill him after gouging out his eye. If he’s already dead, we’re risking everything for nothing.
I sigh as I step over an overgrown root which has burst through the frozen ground. All I can do is pray we aren’t putting the world at stake for a man who is long dead.
The fortress isn’t as far away as I expect. It soon emerges through the trees, dark spires towering high above. No grass grows this close to the fortress. Even the gnarled trees shy away from this place.
As we draw near the fortress, dark magic slams into my senses. The intensity momentarily disorients me, and the ominous spires spin around me. The air smells rotten in my nostrils and clings to the back of my throat. Even when I cough, the vile aura won’t leave me. The dark magic seems determined to choke me from the inside out, but I force myself to continue forward into this maelstrom of darkness.
Crows perch along the spires. Some are decayed, while others are nothing but bones. Despite their lack of feathers, the skeletal crows manage to fly. As our footsteps echo across this barren patch of land, undead crows let out piercing caws and swoop high into the air. They dance above, keeping a watchful eye as we approach.
The fortress’s entrance is marked by an arch, though I’m not sure it can be called an arch, seeing how half of it has collapsed. We pick our way over the fallen stone, climbing the steep hill which leads to the fortress’s gates.
The incline is sharp, and the walk takes several minutes, though it feels far longer. With every step I take, my heart pounds more furiously in my chest. While I know of the enemy we face—Mulgath Kharak, an undead orcish necromancer who once summoned Natharius from the Abyss—I don’t know of his power. Even if Mulgath was defeated by the undead guarding the Amulet of Kazhul beneath the lake, his strength may have grown substantially during undeath.
At least I’m in the company of the Void Prince of Pride and the First Disciple of Selynis. Few others are more powerful than them both. If they can’t defeat this necromancer who fell to the Lich Lord’s undead, then we have little hope of vanquishing Arluin.
A narrow bridge leads across to the gates. The ferocious gales have worn parts of it away, and much of the bridge has fallen into the chasm below. A gush of wind blows a loose stone over the edge. My throat dries as I watch it tumble into the darkness. I don’t hear it land.
I swallow and remind myself that I’m a mage who can manipulate the winds, no matter how fierce they might be. And I also have the option of murmuringlaxusand teleporting to safety.
Having said that, I can feel little aether in the surrounding air. If I need to cast any spells, I’ll have to rely on the magic within me. And the aether flowing through my veins is yet to be entirely replenished from the wisps’ attack.
I try not to dwell on that thought for long.
The goblin wraith drifts over the bridge and glances back at us when she’s halfway across. “Mind your step,” she hisses with a smirk.
Natharius doesn’t hesitate before starting over the bridge. He has even less reason to fear falling than me, seeing how his demonic form comes complete with draconic wings. Taria is just as unfazed and follows him. I suppose Taria trusts the Mother won’t allow one of her most treasured priestesses to fall to her death and will somehow offer divine intervention should she slip.
Despite her determination to rescue her brother, Caya briefly pauses at the bridge, staring down into the shadowy chasm. But barely a heartbeat passes before she hurries after Natharius and Taria.
That leaves Zephyr and me.
My treacherous faerie dragon glances between me and the others, and seems to fancy his chances with them more than he does with me—even if it means approaching the ominous fortress.
I sway as a rush of wind hurls into me and fix my heels into the ground so it doesn’t blow me over. The wraith and the two skeletons are almost at the fortress’s gates now. Natharius glances over his shoulder. His crimson eyes narrow at me.