Page 75 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

“No, I have brought Saur’goth soldiers. My own creation and utterly devoted to me. Marvelous warriors. They do not tire, they do not stop. They are beautiful creatures. I have been gathering them for centuries.”

I fight the urge to cringe as I peer up at their bloodred irises and barbed horns. In no eyes could these things be admired for their beauty. They remind me of the demon Malachi unleashed on Romeria’s father all those years ago, in a dark parking lot one cold winter’s night. The male elemental caster tipped over the brink of madness after that, succumbing to the change. All a part of Malachi’s calculated plan, I realized later.

As is everything he does.

Saur’goth soldiers part, making a path for him as he strolls into the flock, undaunted. “I learned much from my last experience here. Namely, that one cannot rely solely on those who kneel before them, for it is not me they bend a knee but for themselves. No … I need an army that is devoted to me and me alone.”

I trail behind him. “How many are there?” A sea of helmets reaches deep into the cavern, as far as my vision stretches. Far beyond, surely. I have never seen so many beasts.

“Enough to overwhelm this mountain range and crush any army that challenges me. No enemy will have the strength to defeat me.” He stops before a soldier larger than all others, with streaks of black and red paint across his chest and a necklace of fangs dangling from his neck. Clearly, a leader of sorts. “Mal’Gar, my loyal servant. It is time.”

I shudder at Malachi’s words. He said something similar to me once.

“Sire.” The Saur’goth leader’s voice is sinister and deep, the two-syllable word delivered in layers that vibrate within my chest.

“Send the first wave now. It will take them time to get into position.”

“As you wish, Sire.” He shouts, drawing the attention of two other warrior-beasts wearing necklaces of fangs. His officers, I presume. They share a series of grunts and snarls in their language as he gives them their orders.

“What is the aim of this army?” I ask Malachi.

“What is the aim of any army?” he answers vaguely as Mal’Gar returns. “Have you brought what I requested?”

Mal’Gar waves a gauntlet and the horde parts.

Malachi smiles. “You have done well.”

My stomach twists with disdain as the warriors present him with his prize, and the pathetic, terrorized souls drop to their knees, begging for mercy.

I helped with this.

I didn’t even ask questions.

Will Elijah ever forgive me for the depths I’ve sunk in his name?

Malachi watches me closely.

“A truly formidable army against your enemies, my love.” I force a guise of adoration in my features.

“And now let us bring it home.” He gestures toward the stone.

21

Romeria

“What are the odds of this working?” Zander asks as our ship cuts through the water, Mordain’s port growing in our line of sight.

“Better than the odds of anything else working?” It sounds like a question rather than a statement. “If the Prime has no reason to see us as a threat, then she won’t be ready with an attack.”

He searches my wrinkled face—Agatha’s face, thanks to my silver mask. His eyes are the only part of him I can identify behind the daunting Shadow disguise. “You are right. This is a good plan. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

When I first suggested this scheme, Zander couldn’t imagine me fooling anyone into believing I was an elderly scribe, but as soon as I transformed, he demanded Solange secure Shadow armor for himself, Jarek, and Abarrane.

“It’s only half a plan.” We’ve figured out how to get into Mordain. The getting a hundred scribes out part is still a little murky.

“Lucretia said the door would work, did she not?”

“She said, ‘The Queen of All may always return to her realm,’” I admit reluctantly, because I don’t want to give Zander any more reason to worry.

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