Page 128 of The Dragonrider and the Void
White Eye flew close enough that she could lock eyes with her cousin. Soldiers piled up against one another as they cleared an opening for the dragons to land, clearly trying to escape being crushed by them. They landed hard, White Eye roaring, Quinthara snarling and Ingamar lashing to keep the crowd clear. Despite the army’s show of force, Lark was surprised to see the soldiers holding themselves back from attacking the dragons. The troops stood with shields raised, weapons trained on them but did not voluntarily commit to engaging the three dragonriders.
As the dragons maintained the clearing, Venrick and Hardin stood in their brismil armor, swords ready to aid in any attack on Lark. She glanced up to see the Nordraven flight commander, Thorn. He kept his forces in the air, circling overhead, and watching to see what they would do.
Even he knows the three of us are not a threat to destroying the entire army,Lark thought.
“Marcel!” Greggor shouted, pushing his way to stand in front of her.
Lark dismounted in a single fluid motion and summoned Nightfang.
Greggor and his Honor Guard approached slowly. They formed a semi-circle, shields interlocked, brismil weapons drawn. Warriors she had trained with, fought alongside, shared meals and stories with, all from another life shadowed in the haze of her past. Faces she remembered from her childhood in Skol’s frozen citadels.
“I can’t believe it’s true,” one of them called out. Lark knew him as Keldrin, a lieutenant under her former command. “The terror of Nordraven returns, but under a new name.”
“And fighting for Lamar,” added another. Lark knew her as well, Vanessa, a shieldmaiden who had once saved Lark’s life during a Morsythian raid. “Have you forgotten your oaths to Skol so completely, Marcel?”
The accusation stung, but Lark kept her expression neutral. “I’ve forgotten nothing, Vanessa. Including how Barrik manipulated all of us, twisted our loyalty to serve his ambitions. And I have not come here now to fight my countrymen. All of this can be resolved without a war.”
“Silence!” Greggor pushed through the final line of his Honor Guard that separated them. She noticed he was wielding Dawnrender, the brismil sword the ruler of Skol was entitled to wield. The sword that her grandfather and her father had used in battle. The sword that should’ve been given to Lark, not her cousin.
“You abandoned Skol,” Greggor accused. “And when you abandoned Nordraven, the weight of ruling our Kingdom was left to me. Then you turned on us and disappeared. You betrayed Skol.” His voice cracked slightly on the last words, revealing the youth and uncertainty beneath his regal bearing. “And now you reappear, opposing us at the moment of our greatest triumph.”
“This isn’t triumph, Greggor,” Lark replied, taking a step forward and removing the brismil scale from her side. “Look around you. This is manipulation. The rimeshade and the VoidDrinker used Barrik’s ambition as their vector. They harvested magical essence from living beings, creating weapons that would upset the balance between realms.”
“More lies,” Greggor snarled, but Lark noted the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he looked at her with a blank, cynical stare. Then he broke into a guttural laugh. “The spell my father defeated you with in the Everburning Forest has warped your mind.”
“I defeated the Entity known as the Void Drinker. Barrik was there. When he realized he couldn’t stop what we were doing to bind the Void Drinker and stop power from ever being used again, Barrik escaped. He used a tear that formed during the Flashover and left this realm of his own doing.”
“You’re making this up. You’ve lost your mind. I don’t believe you that this creature that created rimeshade ever existed,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Then how do you explain this?” Lark exposed her arm, which flared briefly with starlight through the markings on her skin. “How do you explain what happened during the Flashover? The auroras above Astral City, the tears in reality?”
Murmurs rippled among the Honor Guard. Several of the older warriors exchanged troubled glances. They had seen enough in their long service to recognize when something fell outside the bounds of normal explanation.
“Natural phenomena,” Greggor insisted, though his conviction seemed to waver. “Magical anomalies, nothing more.”
“Your father knows the truth,” Lark pressed. “Why do you think he isn’t here leading you personally? Because he attempted to manipulate forces beyond his control, and when they threatened to consume him, he fled through a tear in reality rather than face the consequences. I trained under your father as a rider. He may have brought you up as his son, a Lord ofthe North. But he never saw me as just his niece. And to me, he wasn’t just my uncle. He was my mentor as a skilled rider. When I was under his tutelage I couldn’t see the big picture. It took me a long time to realize that his ways were flawed. That what he was trying to do by gathering more and more power, expanding his web of control over others, was selfish and dangerous.”
Greggor’s expression hardened again with Lark’s view point of Barrik. “Enough! My father is dead, killed by you and your agents of Lamar.”
“You murdered my father at the direction of Barrik,” Lark accused, holding back her rage as best she could. “I am standing here willing to negotiate now so that others will not have to suffer at our family’s hot-headed temperament and proclivity to incite violence.”
Greggor raised his sword. “Your father knew the risks of the duel. The results were me becoming crowned. You turned your back on us. You didn’t show your loyalty to Skol.” He pointed Dawnrender directly at Lark. “For that betrayal, there can be only one answer.”
“Stand down, Greggor,” Lark warned, rage boiling from within her. But despite her anger, she forced herself to say, “I don’t want to fight you.”
“Then surrender,” he replied. “Return to Skol in chains to face judgment for your treason.”
Lark’s gaze swept over the Honor Guard, noting their positioning, their readiness. Some seemed eager for battle, others more hesitant. The older warriors, those who remembered her from before, showed a reluctance she might be able to exploit.
“I cannot return to Skol,” she said, projecting her voice to reach all of them. “Not while corruption spreads through its heart. Not while my cousin wears a crown he claimed through deception and murder.”
“The succession was lawful!” Greggor’s voice rose with indignation. “When your father fell under my blade at the Challenge of Greyfell Pass, I earned the crown.”
“No, you didn’t earn it. You stole it,” Lark countered. “And when you and your father caught wind that I might pose a threat to you, you came up with a plan to get rid of me. But I survived, though wounded and without memory. And now I stand before you, blood of your blood, rightful heir to Skol’s throne by the laws of primogeniture that have governed our line for twelve generations.”
Lark’s words teased forth a new rage within her cousin. Several members of the Honor Guard shifted uncomfortably. Their training and this potential battle conflicted with the laws of succession they had sworn to uphold. Lark had counted on this. It was the deep reverence for tradition that formed the backbone of Skol’s society.
Greggor’s face flushed. “Take her,” he commanded. “Alive, if possible, but take her!”
