Jularra, Vylas, and Briwinna slowly came to their feet, overcoming wobbly legs and foggy heads and doing their best to wipe off the blood they had fallen into.
Jularra, still finding her feet, spoke up. She had heard enough from the Voidwarden.
“I am nullifying the agreement,” she said firmly. “Our people and our lands have been your slaves for long enough. There is no excuse for expecting hundreds of generations to go on forever living in the shadow of your cruelty.”
The Voidwarden laughed.
“Detsepera came to me and asked for my help,” it said. “She knew what she was asking, and she knew my price.”
“If I was wrong,” Jularra shot back, “I would not have gained the recognition of the Gift Gods. I would not have been empowered to unite my ancestors against you.”
As the Voidwarden prepared to respond, the argument was interrupted by the shifting chamber. The teeth of the chamber began to drip. Faster and faster the drips, before turning into solid streams.
Jularra spun with confusion and locked eyes on Leona, who was in the middle of a spell. Faster and faster the water streamed into the room until it was raining inside the mountain.
Within seconds, the water had cooled off every flow of lava and clogged the cracks created by the Voidwarden. Before it could retaliate, Leona threw out her arms and squeezed the temperature down to below freezing, simultaneously forcing the rapidly-forming ice sickles to shoot towards the Voidwarden.
“Go!” Leona shouted.
“Come on!” Jularra screamed at Briwinna and Vylas. The three spun to face the tombs of their respective queens and simultaneously spoke their chants.
“Queen Hymtera. My ancestor. Lady of earth. Appear to me of your own accord.”
“Queen Lilvili. My ancestor. Lady of fire. Appear to me of your own accord.”
“Queen Oprendia. My ancestor. Lady of air. Appear to me of your own accord.”
Streams of blood rose up along the inside wall once again before streaming over the edge, down along the ground and across to the tomb doors.
“Be free, and live again! Reclaim the blood that was taken from you!”
Once the final words were spoken in unison, the blood of each remaining queen sprayed into its owner’s body. Each queen shivered to life as they once again donned their burial clothes.
The sound in the room died. As each restored queen was flooded with life, they turned as one to stare at the Voidwarden.
Twenty
In Morganon, the Ridgerazers struggled to maintain their constant barrage upon the Torgurian catapults. Columns of Latham’s archers waded through the infantry and harassed portions of the city walls, and rather than being free to attack the catapults, the Ridgerazers increasingly found themselves forced to break an attempted spell to deflect incoming arrows. Many Ridgerazers had already been wounded, and each delay was time Morganon didn’t have to spare.
After throwing herself behind the wall to dodge an arrow, Abranni crawled over to Melcayro, who was conjuring a sphere of fire. Once he had launched it, Abranni slapped his leg.
“You need to come back up here,” she told him. Melcayro barely glanced down at her before starting to conjure another ball of flame.
“There isn’t time!” he answered, dipping a shoulder to dodge an arrow.
Her back to the wall, Abranni slid slowly up to look out at the field.
“We’re getting behind, ‘Cayro,” she said. She peered up at the massive hand of shadow high overhead. “Whatever this magic is, it's really doing a number on the Acorilinian infantry. See how their lines have broken to the south down there?”
A neighboring archer on the wall confirmed Abranni’s suspicions. “I was out there earlier," he said. "Most of my line was killed. The enemies are being enchanted somehow to look like the family of our people out there.” He shuddered. “It was sick. Really sick.”
“What the hell kind of magic is this?” Abranni wondered aloud.
A Ridgerazer knelt down to join the conversation as the archer shrugged.
“All I know,” the Ridgerazer said, “is that it has to be the Voidwarden’s doing.”
“Any idea how we can overcome it?” Melcayro asked, flipping his hand up at the sky.
The Ridgerazer shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
Melcayro looked down at Abranni as he scoured his thoughts for ideas. The shade had almost completely swallowed up the entire valley, obscuring the catapults across the field. But the sounds their whipping slings made as they released their rocks could still be heard. Once again, voices of alarm rang out down the length of the wall.
“Watch out!”
“Incoming!”
But the warnings served little purpose. The defenders of Acorilan could only watch as a massive rock sped from the darkness, heading directly toward the already-weakened right side of the front wall. Despite hours of successfully destroying enemy catapults and resisting the invading infantry, the wall on which the exhausted defenders stood finally suffered a devastating breach.
The segment of blasted wall flew out deep into the city, flinging with it the Acorilinians that were on it, as well as mounds of dirt and rock. Bits from the edges of the still-upright wall crumbled down to the ground with an eerie silence which was soon replaced with the shouts of new orders.
The Ridgerazers and archers near the impact scrambled back to their feet after diving for cover. As the Acorilinians nearby struggled to register the scope of the breach, the sounds from the valley began to seep in once more.
Torgurian horns sounded. Melcayro stared back over the valley.
“The infantry is pulling back to the breach,” he said tonelessly.
“What happens if we don’t make it home?” Abranni whispered. They shared a bleak look.
The broken wall and approaching infantry slapped the siblings with the cold sting of finality. With no direction on what to do next, the Ridgerazers started to clump around Abranni, still leaning up against the wall. Melcayro regarded his sister with an aimless despair.
“I’ll stay here with the Ridgerazers,” he said. “Get back home,” he added, a note of steel entering his voice.
