CAERA DENOIR

I stood high up on the curving road that ran around the outer wall of Vildorial’s primary cavern. The highway connected the lowest levels, from which hundreds of interconnecting tunnels branched out, all the way to Lodenhold palace at the top of the cavern. Dozens of roads and hundreds of homes and businesses were built into the walls along the path. The palace was at my back, its sharp lines jutting out of the bare rock, while three large portal frames filled most of the highway not far in front of me.

The frames were alien in design to anything I had ever seen in Alacrya, but I knew they’d been developed by Scythe Nico during the final days of Agrona’s reign. Based on the teleportation gates of the ancient mages, these portals could create a stable connection from one continent to the other by detecting and connecting to an existing portal or tempus warp receiver.

It was almost ironic that the very technology that had allowed Agrona’s final assault on Dicathen would now be used by the Dicathiens to send our people home.

The scene was tense. A small group of Alacryans stood around me, including Cylrit, Uriel Frost, and Corbett. The once-powerful men and women looked strange in their simple tunics and pants, absent the trappings of their old stations.

Behind us, barring the way to the palace, was a small army of dwarves. They wore heavy armor and their weapons were drawn. The dwarven lords stood behind them on a raised dais of stone, along with Lance Mica Earthborn and two elves. These two stood out among the dwarves just as much as I did.

It was odd, seeing Cecilia’s image there. Or rather, the face I had known as Cecilia’s. I found myself inspecting her more closely now. She was of average height, perhaps a bit shorter than me, and quite slender. She was dressed in a simple green gown, but a laurel of blue flowers woven into her metallic gray hair elevated her look to that of a princess. Which she was, I had to remind myself. She remained silent as Commander Virion spoke with Lords Earthborn and Silvershale, her gaze drifting thoughtfully around the cavern.

What was the reunion between her and Arthur like? I wondered despite myself. Even considering my own complicated feelings toward him, it was difficult to picture him being romantic, inflamed with passion, pouring his heart out to this silver-haired beauty…

I put the elf out of my mind. There was too much at stake to lose myself in such thoughts. Although I regretted the way things had gone, petty jealousy was beneath me. Arthur was my friend, but even that was a difficult relationship to maintain with someone in his position. I didn’t envy anyone who attempted to be more than that with Arthur, although I did wish them both well.

Giving myself a small shake, I refocused on what was happening. In front of us, arranged in rows behind the portals, were approximately thirty exoforms and their pilots. The bestial machines were supposedly there to ensure our peaceful teleportation to Alacrya, but, alongside the army of dwarven soldiers, they seemed more like a threat than a promise of protection.

There was no part of me that blamed the Dicathians for this. We’d attacked them, and instead of destroying us, Arthur had given us a home, such as it was. In thanks, we’d attacked them again to save ourselves from the curse of our own magic. If this had happened in Alacrya, the offending bloods would have been wiped out utterly, man woman and child. Although I was glad for the Dicathians’ mercy, I could hardly believe they were capable of it. A small part of me—the Vritra-blooded part—even judged them for this mercy, knowing that it could be taken as a weakness.

That wasn’t the part of myself that I embraced, however, and I left these thoughts to linger in the dark corners of my mind.

The normally busy highway was empty of its usual traffic. Every gate and side road was blocked off by dwarven guards. The way near the bottom, below the lowest of the newly constructed prisons, was barred as well. A crowd had gathered there, and even from the top of the cavern, I could hear their shouts. Not the words, specifically, but the deep rumble of their noise. They clearly were not cheering in celebration.

Three figures watched everything from above.

Seris had donned her gleaming black battledress, and her mana was coiled tightly around her, suppressing her aura but not hiding it. There was an intentionality and protectiveness to the act, like a mother sovereign cobra coiling around her eggs. The tendrils of her power seemed to extend out to wrap around all of the Alacryans still locked up in the dwarven prisons.

Beside her on her left, Lance Bairon Wykes gleamed in shining plate armor. A long crimson spear was held comfortably in his left hand, its point down. Outwardly, he seemed stoic—perfectly calm—but there was a crackling energy to his mana signature that felt tense and nervous.

Arthur floated to Seris’s right. He was in his conjured relic armor, but it had changed since I last saw him. The black scales now sat beneath white pauldrons, gauntlets, greaves, and boots. The heavy plating had an organic look to it, as if it had been carved out of bone. Even from such a distance, his eyes gleamed golden.

He looks the part of an asura, I thought, having heard the rumors already circulating throughout Vildorial. It wasn’t difficult to imagine him shouting down dragons and basilisks around a gilded table atop some high tower in the faraway land of deities. At the very least, he stands out just as much as I do with my horns.

My gaze flicked to the elven princess and away again, wondering what she thought of all that.

I’m not doing a good job of not thinking about them, I admonished myself, firmly redirecting the spotlight of my attention.

Seris made a gesture. Many seconds dragged past, then Alacryans began to stream from the lowest prison. It took them quite some time to ascend the highway. As they walked, they shuffled into three distinct columns, each one aligned with one of the portal frames.

The portals were activated one at a time by a number of human and dwarven mages under the watchful eye of Gideon. Each portal hummed with mana, and an opaque, oily pane of energy rippled into being within the frames.

“This is not what we want!” Someone shouted, their rough voice carrying through the cavern like falling stones.

Distracted from the procession, I searched around for the source of the cry. At the mouth of the closest side street, which descended to the first row of dwarven homes beneath the level of the palace—the same street, incidentally, that I’d nearly died falling onto—a couple dozen dwarves had gathered. They pushed angrily against the line of guards blocking access to the highway, and it looked like a few even carried weapons.

“Justice for the fallen!” a red-faced dwarven man bellowed.

“Backstabbers!” a woman was screaming. “Liars! Betrayers!”

“Justice! Justice!” Several more were shouting now, picking the word up as a kind of chant.

Corbett shuffled nervously next to me. “Why aren’t they shutting those people up?”

“It isn’t their way, to govern with an iron fist,” I pointed out distractedly.

The lines of Alacryans reached a level with the screaming crowd. As I looked further down, though, I realized that all of the side streets that I could see were likewise thronging with protesters. The dwarven guards at the very bottom, only barely visible, were being pushed back, forced to slowly follow the lines of Alacryans as an angry crowd drove them along. Another squad was hurrying down the highway, apparently going to reinforce them.

“Vritra, there are hundreds of them,” Uriel Frost said, scowling.

Among the front lines of the Alacryans, I caught sight of Justus Denoir, Corbett’s uncle, and my pulse quickened. When I’d last seen him, he’d been actively attempting to kill Corbett and Lenora. He had killed Taegan, my longtime guard, and Arian had almost died during the altercation as well.

I understood the dwarves’ anger. They were not the only ones who had suffered and been betrayed. But then, was Melitta’s rage any less justified? Her husband, her children, had been slaughtered in retribution for our defiance. No, her rage was justified…but it was also misplaced. Justus and his faction of the Denoir blood had blamed Corbett and me for leading us into this folly when they should have blamed Agrona; it was the High Sovereign who had butchered sweet little Arlo and Colm like animals.

The cycle of hostility and revenge would be endless. Every reaction, every death in the name of “justice,” would only spawn another in response. In the end, though, the true originator of these crimes, Agrona himself, was already gone. It didn’t feel like justice, but it was as close as any of us would ever get.

I knew, though, that the protestors couldn’t see it that way. I had lived my entire life in the shadow of the Vritra, but these Dicathians saw us as the aggressors, the backstabbers. To them, Agrona and his ilk were nothing but that: a shadow, distant and indistinct.

I knew it would take a strong leader to bring the two sides together.

Glancing up at Seris, I considered what came next, but sudden motion drew my focus back to the ground.

Two of the exoforms had left formation. Before I realized what was happening, burning orange weapons were drawn, and swift blows fell against the leftmost portal frame.

The frame shattered with the terrible noise of breaking stone and shearing metal. The opaque surface inside it tore and melted away in an oily swirl.

I stood frozen among the other once-highbloods, not quite believing my eyes.

At nearly the same time, explosions of stone and fire struck the cordons, and suddenly spells were raining down on the unarmed Alacryan lines. A few shields flickered into existence to defend them, but most of the Alacryan mages were still too weak to use magic following the shock of Agrona’s defeat.

“How dare they!” Uriel shouted, and his voice snapped me out of my stupor.

Cylrit was already moving. I lunged to follow, heedless of Corbett yelling behind me.

One of the rebel exoforms was bringing their blade around toward the second portal. There was a purple flash, and the blade halted as Arthur caught it on his own. “Stand down,” he ordered, his voice vibrating with command.

Well ahead of me, Cylrit struck the hand from the second exoform. Its blade flipped around in the air before driving into the stone at its feet. The machine stumbled back a step.

The rest of the exoforms seemed frozen as they searched for someone to give them orders. Only one moved: the tall, lean form of an upright griffon leapt high into the air only to dive atop the back of the first exoform, hurling it to the ground and pinning in at Arthur’s feet. “Positions, damn you!” Claire Bladeheart’s distorted voice boomed.

Behind them, further down the road, a black mist of mana condensed around the Alacryans, swallowing the spellfire before it could reach the Alacryans. Beneath the cloud, many bodies lay still. Several flashes lit up the cavern, and the sharp crack of thunder in the distance cut across all other noise.

As I sprinted through the lines of shocked exoform pilots, the silver spikes released from my relic bracer and flew into the air ahead of me. Beams of soulfire shot from their points, forming a protective barrier around those Alacryans leading the way.

Behind me, the sluggish exoform pilots began to move. They hurried to form up alongside the outer edge of the highway, using their bodies or shields to fend off hurled spells and weapons.

Violet lightning struck group after group, and pulses of what I knew to be Arthur’s aetheric intent drove the dwarves to their feet.

My orbitals followed along with the Alacryans, covering them from spells or projectiles that the mists couldn’t, until they reached the portals. The process was supposed to be regulated by Gideon and his staff, not letting too many through at once, but they’d all fallen back after the first attack. There was also supposed to be a test, with predetermined individuals going through and returning to ensure the connection was stable and the teleportation didn’t go awry. Now, there was no time. Those leading the charge—Justus himself right at the front—plunged into the portals without a second’s hesitation.

This was not how I’d imagined our return to Alacrya, nor the role I would take on in this new world now that the war was over.

Over? The word echoed bitterly in my head as I sought out Seris or Arthur, the two touchstones of strength and sanity amidst the chaos. What could these people have hoped to accomplish in the presence of these great powers? I couldn’t see Arthur or Seris, but no more spells were being thrown by the protestors. The brief conflict had already been quelled.

The dwarven lines that had guarded the palace and their lords were in disarray, I noticed belatedly. Some were on the ground, most had their weapons drawn. Corbett, Uriel, and a couple of the others were watching the dwarves with distaste.

Seeing no more need for my protective barrier, I released it and started back toward the others. Gideon’s voice was echoing through some kind of amplification artifact, demanding order and calm or “you’re all likely to end up in Alacrya in pieces, damn it.” I didn’t think the words had quite the effect he was looking for as a cry went down the lines of Alacryans.

“Peace,” I said to no one in particular. “Peace, friends. The threat is gone.”

I passed the portals, pausing only a moment to watch people vanish into them before rejoining Corbett, who had stayed behind a conjured shield until the violence had passed.

“That seems to be settled, then,” Uriel said as I approached, his arms crossed over his chest, one hand absently brushing down his bushy blond goatee. “It seems to me this attack could have been ended sooner had our defenders acted more forcefully.”

I raised my brows and regarded him with barely disguised contempt. “You act as if trading Dicathian lives to defend Alacryans is the obvious choice here. We are lucky this wasn’t much worse.” As I spoke, I peered down the highway, trying to see how many bodies had been left behind in the wake of the attack, but a hundred or more Alacryans crowded around the portals, pushing and shoving to be the next through. “No, our people don’t need Dicathian protection. They need Alacryan leadership.”

“Well said, Caera.” Corbett patted my back just once, a soft, supportive touch.

I felt myself begin to flush red and turned away under the pretense of looking at the dwarven lords. Once, I would have given just about anything for such support from Corbett or Lenora. Then, for a long time, I would have smiled politely at such words only to spit on them behind my adoptive parents’ backs. Now, though…

Nearby, writhing vines pinned a group of dwarven soldiers to the ground. Even as I noticed it, the vines began to unravel, snaking their way down into the ground. Tessia Eralith landed between me and the dwarves, her hair billowing lightly in the wind of her own movement. Before any of the soldiers could get back to their feet, twenty others had surrounded them. In moments, their weapons were taken and they were being lined up with the rest of those who’d participated in the protest.

“The soldiers were a part of it as well?” I asked, unable to suppress my surprise.

Tessia faced me. I could sense her mana, twisting around her like the vines she’d conjured. It almost seemed to glow from behind her eyes. There was sweat beading her forehead, and her jaw was tight, as if she were trying to hold back a grimace of pain or concentration.

“Poor choices made in the heat of the moment,” she answered, her gaze drifting to the side.

Before I could think of anything to say in response, Commander Virion came running up. He stopped with his hands outstretched, not quite touching the sides of her face. “Tessia? Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she said, smiling wanly. “Still adjusting to my core is all.” Her gaze flicked to me, then back to Virion.

Behind the pair, Arthur floated down from above, landing in the middle of the dwarven ranks. A couple of dwarves in blue battlerobes pushed through to meet him, checking each prone form and administering some kind of magical aid.

My attention was snapped back to the pair of elves in front of me. Virion had just asked me a question. It took a couple of seconds for his words to sink through.

“Um, yes, we’re all well, of course. Thank you, Commander Virion. And you, Lady Tessia.” I nodded deeply, a respectful gesture but not quite a bow. “I’m sorry our first meeting couldn’t have been more…comfortable.”

“Perhaps another time, although”—Arthur was shouting at someone in the background, and Tessia’s mouth pressed into a thin line, her eyes crinkling into a discomforted squint—“it may be awhile before we meet again.”

She focused on something behind me, and I turned to find Seris walking quickly toward us from the remaining portals. The Alacryans from the first prison were now all gone.

Uriel led the way as he and the others attempted to intercept Seris. She didn’t break stride as she waved them off. “Go to your families. If you intended to travel to Truacia, you’ll need to go to Central Dominion or Sehz-Clar instead. But choose quickly. We won’t be waiting here to see the aftermath of this tragedy.”

Seris paid them no further attention as she approached me. Her red eyes flicked over my shoulder to where we could still hear Arthur shouting, but they returned to me before she spoke, a small smile surprising me. “I’m glad you’re safe, but there has been a change of plans. I need you to go through to Central Dominion immediately. Many of those now there were not meant to be, and instead of a stately procession, we’ve just dumped hundreds of panicked people into Cargidan City without warning.”

“And the Sehz-Clar portal?” Corbett asked, having come to stand supportively beside me.

“Cylrit has already gone,” she answered, again looking past us to Arthur.

I couldn’t help but turn to look as well: he was hovering in front of the dwarven lords and Lance Mica, wreathed in amethyst light and shouting down at them. I could only make out one of every few words, but still the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

“I’ll leave immediately,” I said. To Corbett, I added, “Please check on Seth Milview and Mayla Fairweather. Invite both to come with our blood to Cargidan, if they wish. We can help them get wherever they want to go once the smoke of this has cleared.”

“Be careful, daughter,” he said in answer. His hands twitched as if he wanted to take hold of mine, but he held himself back.

I nodded firmly, my jaw set. “Father. Seris.”

There was no need for further instructions. I knew what was needed of me. I marched through the inventors, exoforms, and dwarves, heading straight for the central portal, which was still active. Far down the highway, the second prison had been opened, and the first of those contained within were starting to pour out. Unlike the stately procedure of the first group, these people were rushed and desperate, bumping into one another and failing to form proper lines.

Arthur flew by overhead, moving to join Bairon, who was already present among the Alacryans. Mica Earthborn hurled past just behind him.

I paused only briefly to collect myself. When I had fled Alacrya, only barely escaping Scythe Dragoth and his double agent, Wolfrum of Highblood Redwater, Agrona had still been in power. The conflict in front of us had seemed nearly unwinnable. Each act had been one of desperation. Now, I was returning to a continent suddenly free of Agrona. The Vritra were gone. The entire power structure of our continent had melted away nearly overnight.

Fixing my shoulders back, settling my expression, and calming the rapid beating of my heart, I stepped through the portal.

The dim light of the cavern was almost bright compared to the dark building I found myself in on the other side. Cries of pain and despair resounded out of the shadows, washing over shouts for order and attention. The only light in the massive building came from the open front doors, which were draped with broken chains and hung listlessly on their hinges; they’d been smashed open.

There was more shouting from outside.

I marched across the lobby of Cargidan’s great library, moving from darkness into light as I approached the open doors. Although the lobby was full of breathless, weeping people, few took notice of me.

Stepping out into a fine, sunny afternoon, I found the street outside full of bodies pressed together. Mages in black and crimson had cordoned off the street from both sides. Their weapons were bared, and many had already ignited their runes to channel spells.

I was unsurprised to see Justus leading the conflict; he stood nearly nose to nose with a well-groomed young man I recognized, shouting at the top of his lungs so spittle sprayed the young man’s face.

“—nearly died at the hands of Dicathian barbarians and have returned home to be treated with such disrespect! I am highlord of the Denoir blood, you gawping little leech! If you don’t let me pass immediately, I’ll hang the entire lot of you with your own guts, I’ll—”

“Justus Denoir!”

The crowd parted around me as all eyes swiveled in my direction. My great uncle, his face blood red, a vein bulging at his temple, spun to glare across the street at me.

“Forgive us, Lord Kaenig,” I continued, holding eye contact with Justus. The tension of the last few minutes melted away. I stepped into myself, into the command and authority I’d been trained to wield like a weapon. “Am I to assume your highblood is in control of the city?”

The young man, Walter of Highblood Kaenig, smirked pompously at the side of Justus’s head before looking in my direction. “Ah, Lady Caera. A voice of reason in all this madness.”

Walter ran his fingers through his wavy blond hair and stepped out of the line of guards, brushing past Justus. My great uncle bellowed and took a swing at Walter from behind. The cheap shot came up short as one of the guards lunged forward and caught him by the arm. Two more piled on, and Justus was slammed face first into the paving stones.

Nearby, Melitta screamed at them and a dozen or more unarmed Denoir foot soldiers channeled their mana. The reaction was immediate as shields appeared and weapons were brought to bear.

“Please, tell your men to hold,” I said firmly, marching up to Walter, who had turned to look down at Justus. Some of those who were trapped in the street were already retreating back into the library to escape what could turn into a bloody confrontation. “There has been more than enough violence already, especially between Alacryans.”

Walter took his time in scanning the surrounding people, all of whom looked terrified. “From what I’ve been able to gather here, you are the remnants of the last attack force against Dicathen.”

I took a moment to explain, and by the way he nodded along, unsurprised, my version matched what details he’d been able to glean from those who arrived before me.

“As you’ve already surmised, since the shockwave, Highblood Kaenig has taken custodianship of Cargidan until further orders are received from the High Sovereign,” Walter said smoothly in his rich baritone. “With most operations in the Relictombs shut down and many of our mages still struggling to recuperate, the city is in an uncertain state at the moment and requires a firm hand.” He paused, eyeing me thoughtfully. “I understand your plight of course, Lady Caera, but we do not have the manpower or resources to deal with these people. They are simply not welcome at this time, and the Dicathians had no right to dump them into our city. You will stay here until—”

“Your people have been allowed to come home,” I said sharply, cutting him off. “And I can assure you, there won’t be any additional orders from Agrona. He was defeated in Dicathen. That was the shockwave you describe—”

“Lies,” Walter said, the back of his hand snapping toward my face.

A thought flitted through my head in the instant I had to react. Every one of the Alacryans who had just come through that portal was a mage, but most were still experiencing some level of shock from the blast that had struck them. Some couldn’t reach their mana at all, still, while the rest were weak and in no condition to fight. Most of the mages in Alacrya were likely in a similar state.

Walter had casually assumed the same of me.

I caught his hand, mana flooding my arms to strengthen them. With a twist, met with a pained gasp, I brought him to his knees. His soldiers started to move, but I held up my hand in a gesture to stop. They hesitated.

Leaning down slightly, I held his gaze. “Send word to your highlord. Convene every noble in the city. We will need every soldier at your disposal. Over a thousand Alacryans will come through that portal today, and it is up to us to assure they get home safely. Primarily, we’ll need to organize as many tempus warps as we can. Can I rely on your assistance in this matter, Lord Walter?”

The man swallowed visibly. “Of course, Lady Denoir,” he said, unable to contain the harsh edge of pain that crept into his words.

I released him, and he quickly stood and took a step back, favoring his twisted wrist. He shot a look at one of his men—the captain of his guard, based on the uniform—and I thought perhaps he was going to shout for me to be taken into custody.

I reached for my magic, ready to defend myself if necessary.

Instead, he said, “Send word to my father. We have…refugees in need of assistance.”

He looked back at me, his face slightly pale, but I was focused beyond him. “And please let my great uncle up. He may be an awful old ass, but he, like the rest of these people, has been through a hell not of his own making, and he deserves some small amount of grace.”

I clenched my fists and kept my expression cool and even, not letting my true feelings show through as I turned back to the library’s dark interior. More people were beginning to appear on the receiving platforms, forcing others to either retreat deeper into the building or be pushed back out the doors.

The lines of the Kaenig men broke, and the refugees began to spread out. Calls for calm rang out. Many went to their knees, tears streaming down their faces as they regarded the Alacryan city or the Basilisk Fang Mountains nearby. Others shouted their good cheer, and for the first time I noticed the many cloistered faces that stared down at us from townhouse windows all up and down the street.

Everywhere I looked, I found faces twisted with hope, fear, fatigue, and jubilation.

I took in all these emotions, on display both from both those newly arrived in the city and everyone who’d been no doubt bound to their homes as the highbloods struggled to figure out what was happening.

How many of them, I wondered, would accept that Agrona was truly gone?

More importantly, I considered just how much work there was to do to build our nation back up in the Vritra clan’s absence. Each step would be made even more difficult by those who refused to see the truth…the need for change.

Without fully meaning to, I began to plan for the hours, days, and weeks to come.