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Natharius’s sword crashes into the street, and the ground quakes with the tremendous force. With a snarl, the Void Prince tears his sword from the street, leaving behind a deep gash in the stone, and he whirls around, preparing to attack Arluin again.
Arluin slips the iron ring inside his pocket and reaches for the amulet beneath his tunic. He inhales deeply, and the icy stone hanging from the skull’s jawless mouth glows brighter and the same light fills his gray eyes. The intensity of his magical presence grows tenfold, and the air becomes as suffocating as it was inside the Ghost Woods.
Natharius pauses for a beat. His brows furrow as he regards the Amulet of Kazhul. Rage burns in his gaze, and his crimson eyes flicker like blazing flames.
“Gavirk!”Arluin calls.
Crows burst from his hands. With razor-sharp beaks, the shadowy birds dive toward Natharius.
The Void Prince swings his sword at them. The murder of crows is shredded apart. Feathers scatter through the air, disintegrating with the spell.
Natharius laughs. It’s a wicked sound which makes me shiver with fright.
“Is that all you have, necromancer?” Natharius says with a sneer. “From all Reyna has said, I expected more of a challenge than this.”
Despite Natharius’s taunts, Arluin doesn’t flinch. “I wonder what your father would think of your newest pet,” he says to me.
Natharius snarls, gripping the hilt of his sword. “You will regret belittling me, mortal.”
Arluin pointedly ignores him, as if he were an ill-tempered hound wrestling against his leash. “Why don’t we ask him?”
My breath catches in the back of my throat.
My father.
Is he here?
I grip the staff, the crystal creaking beneath my grasp.
The memory of his dead eyes and reanimated corpse makes me tremble with grief and fear.
Arluin’s eyes shut for a moment, his lips moving as if uttering a silent command. It must be intended for Father. Or at least the undead which wears Father’s corpse.
A part of me prays he won’t appear. But he has to. If he doesn’t, I’ll never be able to release his soul and lay his body to rest.
If I don’t free him, he will remain shackled to undeath for eternity.
There’s no choice but to be brave.
“Rivus,”a shout comes from the right.
A bolt of darkness hurls at me.
Grizela.
With my attention focused on Arluin and the possibility of meeting Father’s corpse, I all but forgot about the orcish necromancer.
Panic shoots through my nerves. I hurriedly draw on all the aether I can. But the shadow bolt is already upon me. I don’t have time to shield. Or teleport away.
Lhorok’s axe meets Grizela’s attack. Lightning sparks off the blade as it absorbs the dark magic. For a moment, I fear that the axe will break. That Lhorok will be left defenseless against the brunt of the dark magic. But the axe holds fast, devouring the shadows. The lightning humming through the steel blades darkens, tainted by the magic. Instead of being weakened by the shadows, the energy coursing through the axe intensifies, as if the dark magic fuels the weapon.
“I’ll deal with Grizela,” Lhorok says. His expression is as grim as his voice. “You help your demon deal with the other one.”
I give him a hasty nod, my gaze flickering across to Arluin. He and Natharius are locked in battle.
“You will deal with me?” Grizela sneers. “You are not even a stormcaller, Lhorok. How could you ever match my strength?”
“You will pay for what you have done to Orla.” Lhorok’s words shake with rage, grief, and hatred. All the emotions which churn within me.
