Page 40 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons (Empire of Vengeance #4)

T he mountain face rose before me like a wall of black granite, its surface broken only by the occasional ledge or outcropping that might offer purchase to someone foolish enough to attempt the climb in daylight.

But I was not someone, and this was not daylight.

In the absolute darkness that preceded dawn, I moved up the treacherous slope with the fluid grace of a predator born to hunt in shadow.

My fingers found holds invisible to any eye, my body a whisper of movement against the stone. The shadows clung to me, a familiar cloak that deadened sound and blurred my form into the rock face.

My white eyes pierced the gloom as if it were bright noon, revealing every handhold, every potential misstep, every loose stone that might betray my presence to the enemy forces camped far below.

The gift of the Veyr-sha was both blessing and curse—enhanced senses that came at the price of pieces of my soul, each use a step closer to the madness that waited in the temple's deepest cells.

Just create a bridge, whispered a voice at the edge of my consciousness, seductive and reasonable. One small tendril of shadow to span that gap. So much easier than risking the jump.

I gritted my teeth and launched myself across the chasm between two outcroppings, fingers finding purchase on rough stone.

The voice wasn't mine—not entirely. It was the echo of magic used, the residue of power that cost more than gold or blood.

Each time I shaped darkness to my will, something inside me grew a little dimmer, a little more distant from the man I had been.

The whispers had started three months ago.

Small things at first—fleeting thoughts that felt foreign, moments where I couldn't quite remember if I had spoken aloud or merely thought something.

Sayven had warned me this would come, back when he still had lucid days between the episodes that left him screaming at shadows only he could see.

"The magic takes what it will," he had told me during one of our last coherent conversations. "First it takes the trivial uses, the convenience. Then it takes the joy in small things. Then the ability to love without pain. In the end, it takes everything that makes you who you are."

I hauled myself up another section of cliff face, muscles burning with the effort but refusing to acknowledge the fatigue. Physical pain was simple, honest. It didn't whisper lies or promise easy solutions that would cost me fragments of my humanity.

The Imperial army sprawled across the land beyond the valley like a plague of tiny lights, their torches firing as the sun sank lower revealing the scope of the force that had come to finish what their previous raids had started.

Thousands of soldiers, hundreds of dragons, enough steel and flame to burn what remained of my people from the face of the world.

They thought themselves safe in their numbers, protected by their formations and their enslaved beasts.

They had no idea what waited for them.

I reached the final ledge as the last pale light of the sun dipped below the western horizon.

The position was perfect - high enough to survey the entire battlefield, concealed enough that even their scouts wouldn't think to look for threats at this elevation.

More importantly, it was close enough to the valley floor that my shadows could reach their intended targets when the time came, and as darkness fell across the valley like a shroud, I could feel my power stirring in response.

This was when the trap would truly be sprung - when night claimed the battlefield and the shadows became my allies.

Settling cross-legged on the cold stone, I pressed my palms flat against the mountain's surface and closed my eyes. This was an old ritual, one Aytara had taught me in the early days of my training when I still believed the magic might be contained, controlled, used without consequence.

Feel the earth, her voice echoed in my memory. Feel the life that flows through stone and soil, the connections that bind all living things. Remember that you are part of something greater than yourself.

The mountain's heartbeat was slow and deep, a rhythm that had persisted for eons before the Empire's birth and would continue long after its fall. I let that steadiness flow into me, using it to anchor the parts of my mind that threatened to drift into the grey spaces where the whispers lived.

Below, the Imperial forces were moving with urgency, their commanders were driving them hard toward what they believed was the safety of the mountain pass.

Clearly the strategy of attacking their supply lines from the rear had fooled them into thinking we had planned to attack on open ground in the dark.

Determined to reach a better vantage point and defensible position, thousands of soldiers and their enslaved dragons flowed like a dark river between the towering peaks.

Some dragons flew above, keeping watch on their route through the mountains, but most were forced to stumble along rocky paths like mere beasts of burden rather than the magnificent creatures they had once been.

The sight filled me with a cold rage that I carefully banked and stored for the coming battle.

Soon, I promised the enslaved dragons silently. Soon you will be free, one way or another.

The sun sank lower, painting the sky in shades of blood and gold as the Imperial army pressed deeper into the basin.

Horns called urgently, officers shouted orders with increasing desperation, the great machines of Imperial conquest lurched forward in their haste to reach what they thought was defensible ground.

They moved with the confidence of a force that had never known defeat, never faced an enemy that could strike from darkness itself—but beneath that confidence, I could sense the first stirrings of unease.

That unease would soon become terror.

The basin filled with Imperial soldiers like water pouring into a bowl, exactly as we had planned.

They spread out in the wider space, their formations relaxing slightly as they gained what felt like breathing room.

Behind them, the narrow mountain passes stretched empty and inviting—the route they believed would remain open for retreat if needed.

They had no idea that Talfen warriors were already moving to seal those passes behind them.

The first Talfen war cry echoed across the valley like the scream of a hunting hawk, and I looked down to see our forces emerging from concealment among the rocks and trees behind the Imperial army.

They moved with the fluid grace of people who belonged to this land, who had learned to fight in harmony with stone and shadow rather than trying to dominate them.

At the same moment, dragons appeared along the rim of the basin—not the enslaved creatures of the Empire, but free Talfen dragons whose eyes burned with intelligence and fury. They dove toward the trapped army like falling stars, their roars shaking the very mountains.

The Imperial response was immediate and predictable—formations wheeling to face the new threat, dragons taking to the air despite their chains, a wall of steel and flame rising to meet the attack.

But I could hear the panic in their officers' voices as they realized the trap they had walked into.

They outnumbered our forces, perhaps, but they were caught between hammer and anvil with nowhere to run.

This would not be a conventional battle.

I rose to my feet and extended my awareness downward, feeling for the spaces between light and substance where my power lived.

The approaching darkness fed my strength, shadows pooling around my feet like spilled ink.

Already I could feel the cost beginning—a hollowness in my chest where something warm and vital had been only moments before.

But tonight, that cost would be worth paying.

The Imperial forces were trying to organize themselves into their regular fighting patterns, their commanders desperately attempting to maintain order as Talfen warriors struck from all sides.

I inhaled and exhaled slowly, grounding myself. The air smelled of dust and dragon fire. Sweat and steel. The pulse of battle throbbed beneath my boots, a rhythm as old as war itself. I closed my eyes and listened—not to the screaming, or the clang of swords, but to the shadows.

They whispered to me.

I stepped forward to the edge of the outcrop, raising one hand. The light had fallen just enough. Long shadows stretched across the valley floor, fractured and flickering in the smoke—but enough. More than enough.

“Come,” I said.

And they did.

Tendrils of darkness slithered out across the battlefield, thin as wire and twice as cruel. I didn’t need to see them—only to feel the shift in air, the sudden slackening of tension, the moment when stillness became death.

The first soldier vanished upward, lifted into the air with a snap of bone. Another was dragged backward across the dirt, shrieking until the shadows choked the sound from his throat. All down the line, Imperials stumbled, turning in confusion—before the ground beneath them came alive.

I felt nothing. Not joy. Not triumph. Just cold clarity.

Another gesture, and the darkness pulsed.

It wasn’t a flash. It didn’t explode. It bled. Like ink into water, shadow spilled across the field, eating light as it spread. Torches guttered. Dragon flame dimmed. The sun, already dying, was smothered entirely.

Cries rose up from the dark. Confused. Panicked.

I could have smiled, if I were a different man.

The first Imperial soldiers reached the narrow pass they had entered through, only to find it blocked by Talfen warriors who had sealed it behind them like a cork in a bottle.

The realization rippled through their ranks like wildfire—they were trapped, caught in a killing ground with no way out except through the enemy that surrounded them.