Page 56 of The Last of the Dark Lords

I’m certain that if we were to duel in the old way of the nobles, rapier to rapier, that he would win. He had trained obsessively at the art of swordcraft for many years. He was a master.

But I was no longer his noble little brother, the one who always followed the rules. And this would not be a noble duel.

I tossed the rapier away and pulled a knife from my right side. As he brought the rapier down for the first strike, I parried it off to my left with my dagger. He took a step backward, recovering from the strength of the deflection.

With that, the fight was over before it had begun. I grabbed my second knife from my left side and thrust. The knife punctured his stomach, and he went down.

"You bastard." He curled around the wound, holding his fist against it to staunch the bleeding. "You have no honor. You were never fit to be Prime of Greatfalls. You weren't even fit to be Commander."

I bent over, grabbing his jaw roughly in my hand and lifting him up by it. "No. But I am more than fit to be the Dark Lord of Ashfuror."

I heard a deep tone, like an enormous bell, and the sound of fire crackling. Athard's face was illuminated in orange light. The Crown of Seeing had come to life of its own accord.

Athard's eyes grew wide, and he began to wail, the cry of a damned soul.

"No! Please, no, it's too much!" He started to shake, falling back to the ground as I released him from my grip. "No!"

With a great shudder and exhalation of air, he collapsed and went still.

"What...what happened?" I turned to Cyrus. Cyrus came to me, putting his hand on my back as I stared at the lifeless corpse of my brother.

"It is the Crown of Seeing. If Stahkla deems that someone has caused enough suffering, the god will use the crown to punish them. It has only happened twice since the crown has been in my possession. I do not know what they are shown. I only know that it is terrible."

We stood there in silence for what felt like an hour, but was probably only a few minutes. Athard had been my brother, and once, many years ago, we had been close, two orphans that leaned on each other for support.

But that person had been gone for many years, and the one in front of me didn't deserve any mercy.

"Skye!"

Jelenna burst out of the copse of trees at the edge of the field, running at a sprint. "Skye! You have to come!"

As she reached us, Cyrus put himself between me and her. My heart warmed at his protective instinct.

"What is happening?" Cyrus' voice was cold.

"Please. Skye, your grandmother, she's going to do something. I don't understand, but it can’t be good."

My whole body tensed at her words. "What happened?"

She bent over at the waist, catching her breath and then forcing the words out. "She took her staff and headed up the mountain. She said she was going to the altar of Vazzart, that she would defeat the enemies of Greatfalls once and for all."

Cyrus turned to me, his voice full of concern. "What do you think she's doing?”

I shook my head. I had no answers. "She's not the person I thought she was. There’s no way to know what she might try."

Jelenna reached out and grabbed my arm. Cyrus responded instinctively to block her, but I put a hand on his chest to stop him. Her eyes were wild, and her face was a mask of desperation.

"I've never seen her like this before. The staff is an artifact of Vazzart, an ancient one. I don’t know what it can do."

I locked eyes with Cyrus, and he nodded. I took off running toward the path up the mountain.

Chapter 18

The journey up was drastically different from the last time. Before there had been rustling leaves and roaming chipmunks and the restful gurgle of the stream. Now there was only silence, as if nature itself held its breath.

The air was hot and stuffy against my face and in my lungs as I ran, growing thinner the higher up I went. The sound of footsteps followed behind me. I assumed it was Cyrus, but I couldn’t slow to check. Who knew what Grandmother might do? Who knew what secrets she kept?

The clearing was no longer the lush pocket that it had been. It was desolate, and every plant in the ring around the altar had withered and died. The golden chalice still sat atop the shrine. Grandmother stood in front of it, her eyes cold and resigned.

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