Lionen glanced over his shoulder and smiled. It was a smile of genuine regret, rich in sympathy and absent any irony. “I have seen enough to pity you, Shadow of Ravens.” He turned back to the fire mountains as the ground shook once more, the force of it making him stagger.
“You need to kill his creatures,” he said. “Trap them in their stolen bodies and kill them. Without tools in this world his need to act will be even greater, the lure of power impossible to resist. The black stone resides in the arena in Volar. When it’s done, take him there. One touch and it gives. A second and it takes.”
A booming roar came from the east, accompanied by a huge gout of lava, ascending in a fountain of fire before streaming down the flanks of the mountain that had birthed it. The mountain top shook, sending Lionen to his knees, the sky above turning black as the fire mountain’s glow diminished, a thick fog vomiting forth from its sundered summit and sweeping down its slopes with impossible speed.
Next to Vaelin the wolf gave a soft but urgent whine, nuzzling his hand and pressing him closer to the stone. He reached out to it, though found he couldn’t look away from Lionen, now kneeling with his arms spread wide, the burning ash sweeping towards him in an unstoppable black tide.
“My sister spoke my name!” he cried out as the ash crested the mountain top and swallowed him. The heat was unbearable, the ash choking as Vaelin pressed his hand to the stone . . .
. . . he blinked, the instant change in the air making him gasp. His eyes went to the spot where Lionen had been kneeling a second before, embracing his death. The stone was bare, without the faintest sign of his passing.
“What did you see?” Erlin asked, his brow creased in an uncertain frown. “It kept you. It must have shown you something more.”
What greater power is there? Vaelin looked away, finding the confusion in Erlin’s eyes hard to bear. I will not do that. He moved back from the stone and started towards the steps. “As you said, we have much to think on.”
? ? ?
Lorkan blinked into existence and slumped down beside Vaelin, ignoring the agitated murmur from the Sentar. Astorek’s wolves also began a distressed chorus of whines until he calmed them with a look. “I’d guess about five thousand people,” Lorkan said. “All crammed into the guts of that mountain.” He pointed to a steep-sided peak little over a mile away, a jagged scar visible in the rock a third of the way up its flank. “I didn’t go too far in, but saw enough to know they’re in a grim state, plenty recently wounded, some dying. Perhaps half are children. The older ones don’t seem to be getting on, sitting in different groups and glowering at each other.”
Vaelin had been angered to discover Dahrena had flown once more in his absence, returning to the camp to find her slumped next to the fire with Cara and Kiral pressed close on either side. “No more of this,” he said, sinking to his haunches before her, smoothing a hand over her ice-chilled brow. “Even if I have to drug you unconscious.”
“Oh don’t grumble,” she murmured with a smile, lips pale and eyes dim with fatigue. “I think I may have found some allies.”
“Did any see you?” Vaelin asked Lorkan.
“A little boy started pointing and screaming when I tried to go farther in. Assuming he was gifted, he was the only one amongst them.”
“We should go alone,” Erlin said. “A large party will arouse too much fear.”
“Fear can be useful.” Vaelin turned to Astorek. “Tell your father to bring the full host to this valley.”
He waited until midday then guided Scar towards the mountain at a walk, coming to a halt at its base. He gazed up at the jagged scar in its side, now revealed as a cave mouth, dark and silent, not even a tendril of smoke emerging to betray its occupants, though he had little doubt they had seen his approach.
He relaxed his grip on Scar’s reins, allowing him to nibble on the sparse grass of the valley floor, eyes fixed on the cave mouth. He had no real certainty of achieving his aim. Pertak had laughed when Erlin related Vaelin’s request for an alliance. The Lathera chieftain had a fresh scar on his jawline and a newly dug grave had appeared outside the walls of his settlement. He kept one hand close to the pouch on his belt and moved with the hunched, narrowed-eyed pose of a man in constant fear of attack. His laughter though, was entirely genuine.