Ominek released the spell he’d been channeling for the past few hours. Opening his eyes took effort, and as they fluttered open, he saw the last vestiges of aetheric energy pouring from him into the last of the talisman’s ringing the last ritual ring. This one took the form of the most vital component of the ritual. Soul magic. It teamed with the raw power of soul energy, and even from within the rune sealed talisman he could feel it pulse, and a resonate pulse echo back from within his chest. His father had supplied him with the magic necessary to execute the ritual, so he’d lost nothing of his own. But the act of pouring the magic in the talisman had left him a little disappointed. Noting, he felt diminished for the task.
He disliked not knowing what he was here to accomplish completely. He’d merely given the location, and what to do, and the resources necessary to see the task finished. He wasn’t sure why he was about to soul bind a massive water catalyst, but his father had told him it would create a most powerful weapon they could use to take over the sector in mere days. None would be capable of opposing them once he finished. He wove several earth signs to harden the talisman to contain the magic within, then stepped back to review his work objectively. He forged and fed each talisman. Then assigned the care of a lesser dragon.
Allowing himself a moment to step back and review his craftsmanship with pride. Each piece artfully made, and the magic skillfully injected into each one. A level of care and attention to detail that few other dragons would have done, save perhaps the father of Transmutation magic and artificing. He allowed himself a passing moment of pride and smugness in the absence of his father’s derisive comments about lacking finesse. He knew few could do better than what he’d just accomplished. He stood without peer save for his father, who had him by several millennia easy to his mere couple of centuries. That diminished his self praise by little. His work was art manifest. Beautifully finely crafted, and difficult to top. Even those children on Eryn would cannot match.
He glanced skyward to the small shield he’d erected over the ritual site to keep the rain off. He needed his people to see each other. A necessary expenditure of power, since each talisman sat roughly a hundred meters apart, causing the assignment of a lesser dragon to guard each talisman. It made splitting his attention a nonproblem. He rose into the air on a gust of dark magic. Violet aether channeled from his feet as gravity struggled to keep its hold of him, yet he drifted freely away from the surface of his own will.
At a high enough altitude, he checked each guardian. The Federation would attack eventually, and while he’d done his best to stall for time and wear them down, he knew he lacked the resources to overwhelm them outright. He’d hoped for a rushed confrontation that would have seen them hilariously mismatched and facilitating a rapid and humiliating defeat. But that had been the absolute opposite. Instead, this enemy commander had prepared marshaled forces, and recruited from the local populace to march on his position with everything she had. Her tenacity alone commanded his respect and admiration, but it ended there. If she got in his way and stopped him from meeting his goal, he would simply shackle everyone she ever loved, and kill them, one at a time, until her life held no more meaning and he could do whatever he wished.
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He set aside such negative thoughts. It tempted fate to dwell on what would happen should you fail. It invited that possibility in order to settle and take root. He had no such intention. His victory today remained certain. Once they removed the stain of humanity from the sector, his people would be free to spread out and flourish once again. A tug at his soul. A gentle one, but a reminder that he was not the master of his own destiny. He felt his father's hand there, deep at his core. His firm scaled grasp clutching the center of his soul tightly.
Do not grow distracted, my child. See your task done. Do not fail me. A deep humming voice said within his mind, and a trickle of blood eased down his nose from the mind tearing strain of the power.
His father brooked no room for error, and the reminder was a not-so-subtle hint to keep control of the situation. He turned his attention to see Pyre limping back into his camp, and Ominek struggled to maintain his patience. Pyre was young and promising but never seemed to execute when it was crunch time. Ominek channeled his dark magic, and drifted over to descend before Pyre, who’d sat down in his human form. His back was bleeding badly. Ominek took a moment to regard him. Had he sustained nasty burns on his arm now as well?
“Pyre,” he said, his irritation threatening to spill into violence. “Why have you not eliminated the federations mages?”
“They vex me, my lord. They’re no mere weavers or warriors. They are skilled and carry more power than they have a right to.”
“So kill them and devour them. Why is this so difficult for you?”
An inhuman growl purred from Pyre’s throat, and Ominek sighed, rolling his eyes. “Please, are you trying to threaten me, of all people? You should be out growling at them.”
The lesser dragon bowed his head submissively after Ominek pulsed a flash of his aetheric power. “The troops I’ve been bringing to bear against them, if you could use the term, have proven short of the task. Provide me with the orcs and remaining hatchlings, and I can take down their forces.”
Ominek considered this for a moment. The Federation forces were trespassing dangerously close to interfering with his ritual. He’d held them back long enough. Pyre was correct. If they were going to succeed, he would need to commit the rest of his forces to an assault to overtake the troops marshaled against him. He’d bled the Federation for as long as he could afford. Now it was time to finish them while he still could.
Ominek’s massive draconic head bowed once in a nod of agreement. “Very well,” he purred. “Take half of what remains of each camp and march them against the Federation. Wait for an opportunity to strike, and when they show a moment of weakness, make them pay for it. The rest will remain here for me and the talisman guardians as an honor guard.”
Pyre offered a deep bow. “Thank you Dread Lord.”
Ominek turned his attention from the small mage to the pulsing ritual ring as the guardians continued to inject magic and weave rune signs, writing the spell that could claim them victory. He oversaw the entire process, ensuring there were no errors and that the magic was sufficient. This was too big to afford mistakes. That unfortunately meant that because his attention had to be rooted here, that he could not deal with the Federation himself. Dispatching them would have been such a paltry affair for himself. He’d single-handedly conquered many worlds. But their success didn’t require that he perform that role. No, for this victory, he needed to finish this ritual. He had to trust his lesser brothers to carry the task and committed the rest of his attention to his task. Victory would come soon.