Page 109 of The Dragonrider and the Void
“Since the corruption.” Venrick flexed his hand, watching the faint black lines pulse with his heartbeat. “It changed something within me. It’s not a rider bond, but we share a connection.”
“We need to move.” Yarla’s gaze turned to the Keep. “The inner sanctum will be beneath the central tower, if Cheyanne’s intelligence is correct.”
Venrick nodded, pushing aside his discomfort. “Stay close. When we reach the ward boundary, we’ll have one chance to slip through.”
They descended from the rooftop via a merchant’s scaffolding, keeping to the shadows as they navigated the chaotic streets. Twice they were forced to detour as skirmishes between rebels and loyalists blocked their path. The fighting had a desperate quality, neither side fully comprehending the greater threat looming over the city.
As they neared the Keep’s eastern approach, they encountered their first glimpse of the rimeshade. The creature moved with unnatural grace among a squad of royal guards, its cloaked figure shrouding its features. Frost spread in its wake, riming the cobblestones with delicate crystals despite the afternoon warmth.
“There are more of them than we thought,” Hardin murmured as they pressed into a doorway to avoid detection.
“The Void Drinker’s influence is spreading farther than anyone realized,” Venrick agreed grimly. “But not everyone in the Keep serves it willingly. Look there.”
He pointed to a confrontation unfolding at the guard checkpoint. A Knight in the crimson cloak of the Vermillion Keep was arguing heatedly with the Captain of the Watch, gesturing angrily toward the sky where the auroras continued to writhe. Other Knights gathered behind him, their hands resting meaningfully on sword hilts.
“The truth is spreading,” Yarla observed. “Thanks to Cheyanne’s influence.”
“Good. We’ll need allies inside.” Venrick studied the layout, calculating. “There, the service entrance. It’s lightly guarded, and those Knights look like they’re about to create a very useful distraction.”
As if on cue, the confrontation erupted into violence. The Knight drew his sword, bellowing about treason and corruption. His companions followed suit, engaging the loyal guards in a clash of steel that quickly drew attention from all directions.
“Now,” Venrick urged, and they sprinted toward the service entrance.
The wards around the Vermillion Keep were formidable. They contained layers of protective magic built up over centuries, designed to keep out both physical intruders and magical threats. But Hardin’s unique talent had grown stronger since bonding with Quinthara. He placed his palms against the invisible barrier, his face tight with concentration as he sought the weak points in the magical structure.
“It’s different from last time,” he muttered. “More chaotic. The Flashover is affecting the stability.”
Venrick kept watch, painfully aware of how exposed they were. The clash between Knights and guards had drawn most eyes away, but it wouldn’t last forever. “Can you breach it?”
Hardin didn’t answer immediately, his eyes half-closed as his fingers traced patterns only he could see. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he pushed. Not physically, but with his will.
“There,” he said, voice strained. “Go through directly in front of me. Hurry, it won’t hold for long.”
They slipped through the momentary gap, Venrick feeling the wards’ energy wash over him like static as they passed. The service yard beyond was mercifully empty, the regular staff had either fled or been pressed into more urgent duties elsewhere in the Keep.
Once inside, they moved through kitchen stockrooms and servants’ passages, relying on the detailed maps Cheyanne had provided. The interior of the Vermillion Keep was in a disarray. Twice they encountered groups of panicked servants fleeing deeper into the fortress, bringing word of strange occurrences,statues that turned their heads to watch passersby, corridors that led to different destinations than they had moments before.
“I think the barriers between realms are growing thinner,” Hardin said after they’d narrowly avoided a patrol of guards. “The Flashover is accelerating.”
As if to confirm his words, the stone floor beneath them briefly turned transparent, revealing an vista of a star-filled void before solidifying again. Venrick stumbled, and the corruption in his veins flared in response, sending tendrils of cold fire skating beneath his skin.
“Venrick?” Yarla’s voice seemed to come from far away. “Your eyes?—”
He blinked rapidly, forcing the world back into focus. “I’m fine. We need to keep moving.”
The deeper they penetrated into the Keep, the more pronounced the Flashover’s effects became. They navigated a corridor where gravity periodically reversed, forcing them to grab onto wall sconces to avoid falling upward. They passed through a ballroom where time flowed differently from one side to the other; servants on the far end moved at fractions of normal speed while their own movements felt unnaturally swift.
After descending a spiral staircase, they emerged onto a mezzanine overlooking a grand ceremonial hall. Below them, a disturbing tableau unfolded.
The Archmagus Hierro stood at the center of an intricate magical circle, arms raised as he chanted in a language that hurt Venrick’s ears. Around him, a dozen mages knelt in smaller circles, their bodies rigid, eyes rolled back showing only whites. From each, a stream of blue-white energy flowed toward a central figure, King Agadorn.
The King was changing. His once-regal features were melting like wax, reforming into something less human with each passing moment. The silver starlight that had flickered in hiseyes now spread through his entire body, visible beneath his skin like a constellation trapped in mortal flesh.
“They’re preparing him,” Hardin breathed.
“Making him a suitable host,” Yarla agreed.
“The Void Drinker is going to use the King for his full manifestation,” Venrick said grimly.
