Page 67 of Where Darkness Falls

Movement to my right catches my attention as a black steel hand pops out from the rubble. There’s no hesitancy as I release my ability to retrieve my comrades. My shadows form into a giant hand, scooping Laisren and an unconscious Riordan from beneath the waste. Laisren coughs, swatting away the dust that’s stirred in the air. Once they are free, I unwind my shadows from their bodies. “Are you two alright?” I ask.

“I believe so,” Laisren replies, steadying the now conscious Riordan.

“Has anyone seen Maeva and Virgil?” I ask, scanning the area.

“No, but what in the bloody Celestae was that?” Laisren asks. A portion of his helmet is now concave from the impact of the destruction.

“I’m not sure,” I reply, still looking for a glimpse of the two missing members of our group. “I didn’t see the creature before the collapse.”

“I saw a glimmer of silver scales,” Riordan says, brushing off dust from his armor.

“A dragon?” Laisren asks.

“Impossible,” I reply. “Dragons haven’t been seen in years.”

“No, they weren’t as luminous as dragon scales. They were peculiar—like a type of skin,” Riordan interjects.

“What sort of creature has scales like a dragon, but isn’t a dragon?” Laisren retorts.

“Hisssssssssssssssss,” the serpentine sound boomerangs off of the remaining buildings.

I growl as my shadows spread out across the expanse of my chest. Laisren and Riordan turn their heads, following my line of sight to what could be a potential threat. Their eyes scintillate, ready to call forth their own abilities.

“Stand down, Laisren,” I command. “Don’t shift until it’s absolutely necessary.” A snarl escapes his curled lips, but he nods. He understands the cost of unleashing the beast too frequently. I prefer that he not call forth his beast-form unless it’s absolutely necessary, rather than watch my friend succumb to manic episodes.

“Riordan, be ready to call forth the Nattravnen if necessary,” I say. “Don’t summon them unless I give the signal.” The Nattravnen are vicious, and I can’t afford for them to attack without cause. Riordan understands this, as training them was quite the challenge in our youth. The creatures are temperamental and prone to stray when not controlled well.

“Yes, High General,” he answers.

“Show yourself,” I shout into the dark, decimated city.

“Hissssssssssssssssss,” echoes from behind us, and there’s a tremor from beneath the ground. I whirl around in time to see a torso of silverscales, reflecting against the darkness. Just one of the scales is larger than my entire being. My gaze continues to trail up and up—its body rising into the sky. My head is cocked before I meet the red eyes of the gargantuan basilisk. The creature smiles, revealing its sharp fangs. Its gaze is trained solely on us, as its neck sways calculatingly from side-to-side.

“Siorai, save us,” Riordan murmurs. “Isn’t that thing supposed to be in the Abyss?”

“Yes,” Laisren growls, shooting a pointed glance in my direction. “Someonemust’ve released it.”

There’s only one person with the power to control the Abyss, and he’s currently the ruler of Zulgalros and Malvoria. The sick brute always enjoyed his “games.” I don’t understand why he would send this creature here to us if we were already bringing Maeva to the palace. Unless he never planned to allow us to return…

“Where issssssss the girlllll?” the basilisk hisses.

“I’m not sure who you seek,” I yell.

Over my dead body is it going to get near her.

The serpent’s hood flares, and its two prolonged fangs fling venom as it hisses. “You can’t fool me, General,” it replies. “I know ssssssheee travelsssss with you… unlesssss you failed your misssion?”

Before I can respond, the basilisk swings its head to the left, its beady eyes trained on the two figures moving through the mist. There’s a gleam in the basilisk’s features as it watches their spasmodic movements. The figures are almost close enough to see when I hear the slight creaking of armor. “Virgil?” I call.

“High General,” Virgil replies.

His gait is sporadic, as if he’s struggling to stand. The width of his silhouette is wider than usual. A smaller figure also walks beside him with a slight limp.

“I’m alive as well. Thank you for asking,” the whiny voice of Gawain calls. I groan at the misfortune of not losing the Malvorian when the width of Virgil hits me. Suddenly, his sporadic movements reveal a situation that I hadn’t considered.

He’s carrying someone.

As he nears, I see the slight sway of a limp hand and a tattered blue dress.