Ronith

Ronith ground her teeth as she watched Yelora don the wedding dress the Alchemist had given her for the ceremony. She wasn’t sure why it made her so angry to watch Yelora slip her arms into the ivory lace sleeves and tug the bodice over her shoulders. It was clear Yelora wasn’t any happier about this wedding than Ronith was. In fact, she’d never seen the queen so despondent. Yelora said nothing and didn’t even look Ronith’s way as she reached behind herself, struggling to fasten the numerous tiny buttons.

“Turn around,” Ronith finally muttered, setting her staff aside and coming into the cell. Yelora let her arms fall to her sides like weights as Ronith took over the job of slipping the delicate loops over the tiny pearl beads. “Are you really going to go through with this?” she demanded, tugging the dress together over Yelora’s sweaty, lean back. The queen could use a bath. Her hair needed washing, too. It was greasy and matted.

“My jailer asks why I do not flee?” Yelora growled. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you could kill me and have the horrible little creature all to yourself.”

“I don’t want to marry Gorlo, I just want to protect him,” Ronith replied, her fingers slipping on the tiny beads. Who made buttons so small?

“You’ll fail at that, just as you’ve failed at everything you’ve ever done, Dark Elf.”

Ronith stiffened. “That’s not my title anymore.”

“Fitting.” Yelora turned after Ronith had finished with the last button. Her green eyes were sharp as emerald shards. “You’re not a true Elf. You never were.”

“As you made abundantly clear every chance you got.” Ronith marched back and collected her staff. There wasn’t much Yelora could do against her with no magical weapons.

“The darkness in you poisoned you from the start.” Yelora’s bare feet smeared the water seeping up from below. “We should have left you to the wolves!”

“And you wonder why I became a Wizard!” Ronith shot back, voice shaking.

“Queen Fara tried to make a place for you. I did, too. But evil had only to wink at you and you jumped right into its bed.”

Fury boiled inside Ronith’s chest. “You never made a place for me! You barely tolerated me! The Alchemist wanted me! He saw what I had to offer!”

“Oh, and look at the lovely place he’s carved out for you—a throne of crystals decorated with the digested remains of your race!”

Ronith fought the trembling in her hands, her lips, her chest. Yelora wasn’t wrong. What was happening here was wrong, and Ronith knew it. “I didn’t know he was going to... embrace this.”

Was it too late to change sides again? The hate in Yelora’s eyes told her it was. Besides, the convergence was upon them, happening in only an hour’s time. The aliens would come, and only their allies would be protected.

“Terris will never forgive you,” Yelora growled. “Never!”

A buzzing at her ear startled Ronith. It was her bee! Where had it come from? She reached up and snatched it out of the air. What had it discovered? “Tell me your secrets,” she whispered to it.

Thank you for getting me out of here, Moyshec, the bee said in the Summoner’s voice. I really appreciate your friendship. I thought I’d be locked in this room forever. But first, take these shackles off, will you? You’re the best friend a guy could ever have!

“Sprites!” Ronith cursed, stuffing the bee into the pocket of her cloak. The Summoner could not be allowed to run loose. He would cause too much trouble. She swooped out of Yelora’s cell, locking it behind her.

Yelora threw herself at the door, gripping the bars until her fingers turned white, glaring at Ronith with more hatred than she’d ever seen. “I won’t let you walk away from this!” Yelora snarled. “Do you know who will pay for your sins, Dark Elf? Your little pet. He’ll be the one to pay. Just wait. You and your abomination will both suffer!”

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Ronith fled up the dungeon stairs. She didn’t want to think about Yelora’s threats. Once they were wed, Yelora wouldn’t be able to kill Gorlo, would she? If she did, her precious Elves wouldn’t be protected.

Ronith raced through the corridors. Everyone else was going in the opposite direction. What was going on? It was chaos, but she didn’t have time to figure out why. She had to catch the Summoner. She stopped in front of his door. It was still sealed. So Moyshec hadn’t succeeded in getting him out yet. Good. She would stop them both. Punish them both.

Ronith made the token and spoke the spell to lift the magical seal on the door, then shoved the door open and swooped inside. Something dropped on her from above, knocking her to the floor and pinning her down. Not something—someone! The Summoner. She lifted her head and began to voice a spell, her hands forming the token, but his forehead came down toward hers with a sickening crack, and everything went dark.

***

Kashur

Oh, that hurt, that hurt, that hurt, that hurt. But he’d do a healing spell as soon as he was out of these cuffs.

Once in the hall, he dipped his hands in lamp oil from a sconce, hooked the chain of his cuffs over the carved marble tip of a statue’s staff and lowered himself until his own weight plus the slipperiness of the oil slid his hands free.

He should secure Ronith, but he didn’t want to waste anymore time cuffing her. If Bayne and Ivy were inside, he needed to find them. He hadn’t felt a big explosion, which meant their mission wasn’t complete. They could be in trouble. They might need his help.

Plus, he needed to get Yelora out of that dungeon.

Blue stars! His head hurt from that crack. He voiced a quick healing spell with the accompanying token, and the throbbing pain ceased. Then he threw a shade spell over himself and raced toward the gate.

It was no longer up, but it wasn’t completely closed either. A golem had fallen just inside the entrance, and as Mol Morin’s forces closed the gate again, the great metal body propped it halfway open. Imperials and Dwarves were pouring in under it, but the other golems could not get inside. They weren’t maneuverable enough to climb over the gate or duck under it, Goblins were going head to head against their forces with swords and axes and arrows. Wizards were throwing spells, but they were offset by the magic dampening devices wielded by the Dwarf contingent.

And, high up on the ledge where Mol Morin had stood to address the troops, an enormous griffin was tearing Goblins apart like a rabid wolf.

But where were Bayne and Ivy?

He spotted movement near the downed golem and headed that way, blasting Goblins with a fireball here and there as they got in his way. Once on the ground by the golem, he found Bayne trapped in the cockpit, and Ivy trying to help him escape.

“Move over, squirt!” he told the girl, calling on celestial magic to bend the metal enough for Bayne to extricate himself.

“I need the transformer!” the Dwarf argued, tugging at it.

“The golem’s down. There’s no way to get it into the heart of the meteorite,” Kashur argued.

“I’ll have to walk it in,” Bayne said, pulling it free.

Kashur looked at him through the bars of the cockpit. “You’ll never survive.”

The Dwarf’s carrot-colored stubble spread into a thin smile. “I know it.”

Kashur and Ivy helped him crawl out. Once Bayne was free, Kashur cast a shade spell over them both. “You’ll look like goblins to anyone who’s not paying a lot of attention.” All three hurried back into the castle. The hallways were mostly empty now since those that hadn’t gone to the front lines to fight had retreated deeper into the stronghold.

“Follow them,” Kashur said, waving in the direction of some fleeing stragglers. “They’ll lead you to the meteorite, and I’ll catch up with you. First I’ve got to get Yelora out of the dungeon.”

Ivy stopped in her tracks, gazing down a wide hall to a brightly lit atrium at the end. “I don’t think you need to get Yelora out of the dungeon.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean she’s already here.”

Kashur joined her and stopped hard when he saw Yelora dressed head to toe in an ivory lace wedding gown. She was accompanied by four Elves, each with a hand on the shoulder of the one in front of her. They were making their way with careful, slippered steps down a glass walkway built over a shallow pool of purple water surrounded by a crystal garden so large it filled the room. An audience of Elves and Wizards and Goblins occupied glass benches that formed a semicircular seating area. All around them, the creeping black tendrils and purple pods were held back by Goblins with silver pitchforks. Light streamed in from the glass dome above, illuminating a glass platform where Mol Morin stood, an enigmatic smile on his face. His eyes glowed purple. Even his black skin had a purplish hue.

Two Goblins approached him with Gorlo, stopping and bowing to the Alchemist before attaching Gorlo to a silver chain at Mol Morin’s feet. Yelora joined them and took her place beside Gorlo, her coterie gliding aside, so that it was only those three.

Kashur’s stomach churned. “What is happening?”

“Welcome,” Mol Morin said, raising his hands to the sky, “to this most joyous of occasions!”