Page 57 of The Dragonrider and the Void
And now it might hold the key to preventing the destruction of their world.
“Look there,” Nix said, floating toward the far side of the chamber. “There’s another door.”
Beyond the central dais, partially concealed behind a column, was an arch of dark stone. Unlike the entrance they had just passed through, this one bore physical hinges and a heavy metal handle. It looked to be a more conventional door, though no less imposing.
“The library,” Lark breathed, reading the old dragonrider script marking the wall next to the door.
As they approached, Venrick suddenly stopped, raising his hand in warning. “Listen.”
Lark froze, straining her ears. At first, she heard nothing but the faint hum of the ancient magic that permeated the chamber. Then, a soft scuffing sound from beyond the door.
“Something’s in there,” she whispered.
Venrick’s hand moved to his sword. “Barrik?”
“Or worse,” Nix added, her flame dimming until she was little more than a shadow with eyes of fire.
Lark reached for Nightfang, feeling the brismil blade respond to her touch even through the scabbard. She nodded to Venrick, who positioned himself on the opposite side of the door. With a silent count of three, she grasped the handle and pulled.
The door swung open with surprising ease, revealing a long room lined with shelves of ancient tomes and scrolls. Unlike the archives in the Northern Sanctuary, this collection appeared untouched by time or destructive forces. Preservation spells shimmered faintly over the shelves, keeping the precious knowledge safe from decay.
At the far end of the room, bent over an open book on a reading stand, was a figure in a hooded robe of deep crimson.
The figure straightened at the sound of the door opening, turning slowly to face them. As the hood fell back, Lark’s heart froze in her chest.
“That’s not Barrik,” Venrick whispered.
Lark recognized him from paintings, busts, and statues throughout the city. It was the King of Lamar.
King Agadorn stood before them, his silver-streaked dark hair and neatly trimmed beard exactly as depicted on Lamar’s coins. But unlike those idealized images, in person he struck a far less imposing figure. He stood shorter than the statues, his physical features less bulky and defined, yet there was a fire in his blue eyes that burned with an unnatural intensity. Something that wasn’t common in any ordinary human.
And on his chest, partially visible through his open robes, was a medallion of midnight black stone that pulsed with a familiar darkness.
“The famous Marcel Heartfell,” the King said, his voice smooth as polished stone. “Or do you prefer Lark now? And Venrick, the half-elven Squire who never quite became a Knight.” His gaze shifted to Nix. “And a fire fae, bound to a human. How fascinating.”
Lark’s grip tightened on Nightfang’s hilt. “You know who we are?”
“Of course.” The King gestured casually to the book before him. “Just as I know why you’re here. The Realmstone. The binding ritual. The Void Drinker.” His lips curved in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re too late, I’m afraid. The preparations are already in motion.”
“Preparations for what?” Venrick demanded, his blade half-drawn.
“For the new order,” King Agadorn replied, as if explaining something simple to a child. “Surely you didn’t think the Flashover was merely a random occurrence? Every five hundred years, the barriers between realms thin enough for true change to occur.”
Nix flared brighter, her flame reflecting off the polished surfaces of the library. “You’re working with the rimeshade.”
“Working with them?” The King laughed, a sound like breaking glass. “My dear creature, I elevated them. When the Fae Courts abandoned their sentinels during the first Flashover, it was my ancestors who recognized their potential.”
Lark felt sick. The pendant against her chest burned hot with Nix’s anger. “Lady Sanj in Haven’s Edge, the harvesting of magical essence, that wasn’t the Magi Order and Barrik alone? That was by your command?”
“The Magi Order are and have always been under Lamar’s control. As I’ve learned from what happened in Red Lodge, you’re aware of what Barrik is asking of your cousin, King Greggor? He’s aligned with the King of Wintermire. They allbelieve they’re steering this change, but only I know what’s truly in place. Their armies will be a necessary sacrifice for what’s to come.” He turned back to the book, running his fingers over the ancient text. “As for my shades, they can extract the raw essence of magic, yes, but they lack my level of sophistication to transform it. As I was temporarily indisposed, the Magi Order proved useful.”
You were, or the Void Drinker?Lark thought, wondering how invested with this entity the King had become.
“The Magi Order is only useful to you until they outlive their usefulness,” Venrick said. “Like Joc.”
The King’s expression darkened momentarily. “Joc was meant to secure the Hyalite and bring you both to me. Barrik’s involvement twisted his perception. That is why dragonriders can’t be fully trusted in these matters. Their methods prove... excessive. But then, fanatics often misinterpret their instructions.”
Lark took a step forward, Nightfang now fully drawn. The brismil blade gleamed in the library’s dim light. “You won’t succeed. Whatever you’re planning, we’ll stop it.”
