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“Ready?” Natharius asks me.
“To find Arluin?”
His response comes without warning. He scoops me into his arms and clasps me to his chest. Then we’re soaring into the air, his leathery wings beating behind us and propelling us forth.
Though he remains in his demonic form, his height has diminished to that of his elven guise. His grasp is still unbearably tight, and I half worry he might accidentally snap my spine.
We climb higher into the night sky, the city shrinking beneath us. The undead crawl through the streets like insects, and the orcs fighting them beneath remind me of toy soldiers. We’re dizzyingly high now.
“Don’t drop me,” I warn.
Natharius chuckles. “Don’t tempt me.”
I consider reminding him that I’m a mage and that dropping me will achieve nothing but inciting my rage, but it’ll only tempt him to drop me and I’m far more concerned about finding Arluin before he escapes the city.
A burst of golden light flashes below. Taria. I can almost make out the priestess’s molten gold robes from this height. I’m glad to know that Taria is safe and hope the same can be said for Caya and Juron.
Only one death gate remains now. All the other beacons of ghastly white light have been extinguished. Was that Taria’s doing, or what the necromancers intended?
Natharius drifts farther over the city. Wind bites my cheeks. I turn my face into Natharius’s chest to protect myself from the gales. His crimson markings glow brightly in my eyes, and I close them to avoid being blinded by their light.
After a moment, I glance back to see where Natharius is taking us. The wind stings my eyes. I blink it away, focusing on the city beneath.
We’re flying toward the remaining death gate.
“He’s going to leave Gerazad!” I exclaim over the roaring wind.
When I peer up at Natharius, I see his jaw is tightened. I suppose his silence means he already figured out this was what Arluin plans.
Though the streets beneath are still full of undead, the necromancers’ army is only a fraction of its size. Far less entered through the death gates tonight than they did in Nolderan.
Today, Arluin didn’t seek Gerazad’s destruction, only the second ring he needs to unseal his undead master. This was his plan all along. He struck me to distract Natharius, and then shadow-stepped away to the nearest portal.
Now I fear he’s no longer in the city.
The final death gate is already closing. The ghostly beam has all but faded into the night sky.
Natharius descends rapidly, but he isn’t fast enough.
As we reach the ground, the last necromancer slips through the death gate. I lunge forth, freeing myself of Natharius’s grasp. I reach for the necromancer’s dark robes, but my fingers clasp only air.
The portal shuts.
I stand there for several long moments, inhaling deep, shaky breaths as the reality of what happened catches up with me.
Arluin is gone. And he took Lagartha’s ring with him.
Now he only needs one ring to release his undead master. Then doom will descend on Imyria.
The unmistakable shadow of fear falls on the Void Prince’s face. He says nothing. Both his fists and jaw are clenched.
“What do we do now?” I whisper.
He swallows. “I don’t know where that death gate leads.”
I doubt it’s a small thing for the Prince of Pride to admit his ignorance. And I hate it proves how grave our situation is.
“We captured one of the necromancers,” I say. “Maybe there is a way we can make her reveal Arluin’s location.”
