Page 111 of The Dragonrider and the Void
“That was almost too easy,” he said, frowning. “They should have been more prepared.”
“Because they wanted you to reach the sanctuary,” a new voice replied.
They turned to find a figure standing in an archway that hadn’t been there moments before. Barrik, dressed in black brismil armor trimmed in copper, his expression a mask of calculated amusement.
“The prodigal Squire returns,” he said, folding his arms. “With an Elf, a Ward Walker and my favorite little spy. How predictable.”
Venrick raised his sword. “Step aside, Barrik.”
“Or what? You’ll kill me and doom both realms?” Barrik laughed, the sound echoing strangely in the confined space. “You need me, Venrick. Or rather, you need what I’ve brought.”
“The Vaerdium components,” Hardin said, his aura still humming with residual magic.
“Very good. Those are strong observations, for a bard.” Barrik gave him an approving nod. “The dwarven forgers from Wintermire still remembered how to work the ancient alloys. A shame the original binding texts were incomplete.”
“What’s your angle, Barrik?” Venrick demanded. “You’ve never served anyone’s interests but your own.”
Barrik’s smile thinned. “Some of us see farther than others.” He gestured to the archway behind him. “Come. The ritual chamber awaits. You’ll want to see this.”
Every instinct warned against following, but they had little choice. The binding ritual was their only hope of stopping the Void Drinker, and Barrik apparently had critical components. With a tight nod to his companions, Venrick followed, brismil sword still drawn.
The archway led to a vast circular chamber that could not possibly have fit within the Keep’s foundations. Its domed ceiling stretched impossibly high. It was painted with constellations that moved in slow, deliberate patterns. The floor was inlaid with an intricate mosaic depicting dragons and fae figures standing back-to-back, encircling a central well.
Dwarven smiths worked at a forge that glowed with unnatural blue flame. The metal they shaped gleamed with an inner light that hurt Venrick’s eyes to look at directly.
“Vaerdium,” Barrik explained, gesturing to their work. “Or it will be, once properly alloyed. The dwarves of Wintermire remembered the techniques, if not the complete formula.”
“It’s not enough,” Hardin said, studying the setup with a practiced eye. “The binding ritual needs four components. I count only one here.”
“Very observant.” Barrik’s smile never reached his eyes. “The other components were to come from the fae courts. But it seems our mutual friend took a rather unorthodox approach to acquiring them.”
Venrick’s heart skipped a beat. “Lark? You know where she is?”
“Not precisely. But I know what my niece attempted.” Barrik moved to a table covered in ancient texts. “She created a gateway to the fae realm from her cell. Quite impressive, really.I wouldn’t have thought it possible without a Hyalite, but then again, Ella was always my best apprentice.”
“Even better than your own son?” Venrick challenged.
“Greggor lacks the emotional control required to be a talented magician. He would’ve made a dangerous dragonrider but he’s much more useful to me as the face of the Kingdom,” Barrik said.
“You have no honor or respect for your family,” Venrick said. “Using your son as a shield, turning your niece into a weapon.”
“Ella, or Lark, as you insist on calling her now, is every bit my sister’s child. Her mother was fierce, defiant, and always sharp minded. She was a weapon and ruled Skol more than her husband ever did as King. I should’ve killed Lark’s father myself, but I needed her to remain loyal to me. My son did what I commanded of him and did it willingly. He will always follow my instruction over all others and with his defeat of the former King of Skol, is the rightful monarch. If you don’t understand what kind of sacrifices one needs to rule over the kings of this world, then you’ll never be in control.”
“That’s what it’s always about with you, control,” Venrick said through gritted teeth.
“Venrick, if Lark escaped into the fae realm, how will she get back?” Hardin said, speaking low for only Venrick’s ears. “If Barrik knows something about getting her back, we might need him.”
Venrick narrowed his eyes at Barrik, his gut telling him not to trust this dragonrider.
“And if my suspicions are correct,” Barrik continued, the arrogant tone returning to his voice. “She’s attempting to gather the remaining components directly from the sources.” Barrik shook his head in apparent admiration. “Audacious. Probably suicidal. But if anyone could manage it, it would be her.”
A tremor ran through the chamber, stronger than before. At its center, above the well, the air began to tear. Reality parted like fabric, revealing glimpses of somewhere else; stars that burned in unknown colors, landscapes beyond comprehension.
“It begins,” Barrik said softly. “The culmination of centuries of preparation.”
The tear widened, and through it stepped King Agadorn. But he was no longer recognizable as human. His form was a vessel of living darkness, flecked throughout with silver starlight that burned with cold fire. Where eyes had been, there were now swirling voids that somehow still conveyed intelligence and malevolence.
“Welcome, little pawns,” the Entity said, its voice like grinding ice. “Your presence here was foreseen. Indeed, it was required.”
