Page 24 of Trial By Fire

Aric’s mouth felt dry, his tongue thick and unwieldy. He was a mage, a scholar, not a warrior. He wasn’t cut out for this kindof subterfuge, this dangerous game of deceit and manipulation. But it was too late to turn back now. He had to see it through, no matter what the cost.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. This was his chance to sell the story, not just to Vizra, but to Malekith as well. He had to make them believe.

“It’s a focusing array,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It’s possible they may be able to use it to focus on the magical signature of a being—demonic, for example—and use it to target over vast distances.”

Aric’s hands shook as he pointed to the array’s central hub.

“This is the key here, I think. It has to be powered by a mage’s own life force to work. The energy transfer it appears to require, however, is . . . intense.” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “And as unstable as it is, it seems quite likely to cause some magical anomalies as a result. A—powerful feedback, as it were.”

Malekith’s expression was unreadable as he studied the schematics. “And you believe this could be a threat to our forces as we advance on Brenville.”

“It’s a long shot, I know. But if the humans are desperate enough . . .” Aric let the words hang between them, the implications clear.

If the humans were desperate enough, they might resort to using the weapon, despite the risks. And that was a chance Aric was willing to bet the demon army couldn’t afford to take.

Tension hung thick in the air as Aric finished his explanation. His heart pounded, each beat a thunderous reminder of the precarious position he found himself in. Vizra’s molten gold eyes darted between him and Malekith, frustration etched into every line of her face. The demoness’s fingers twitched at her sides, as if she longed to wrap them around Aric’s throat.

Malekith remained silent, his dark gaze boring into Aric with an intensity that threatened to strip away every lie, every half-truth he’d just uttered. Aric fought the urge to squirm under that penetrating stare, forcing himself to meet it head-on. He couldn’t falter now, not when so much hung in the balance.

The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. Aric’s chest tightened, each breath a struggle as he waited for Malekith’s verdict. Would the demon prince see through his deception? Or had he managed to weave a convincing enough tale to buy himself—and the human realm—some time?

Finally, Malekith spoke, his words carefully measured. “It seems we have much to consider.” His gaze shifted to Vizra, and Aric felt a rush of relief so potent it nearly made his knees buckle. “Prepare a full report on the implications of this . . . weapon. We’ll need to adjust our strategy accordingly.”

Vizra’s eyes flashed with barely contained fury. “My lord, we cannot allow this supposed weapon to halt our advance. Every moment we delay gives the humans time to fortify their defenses, to spread word of our ability to breach the wards.” Her voice rose, passion and frustration bleeding into every word. “We have the advantage now. The humans are weak, disorganized. If we strike swiftly, we can crush them before they have a chance to regroup.”

Aric’s heart raced as he watched the demoness argue her case. He could see the logic in her words, the cold calculation that had likely won her many battles. But he also saw the bloodlust that lurked beneath, the eagerness for carnage that made his stomach churn.

“Time is not on our side,” Vizra pressed, her gaze darting between Malekith and Aric. “Every hour we waste gives them a chance to prepare, to fortify. And if word of our ability to dismantle the wards spreads . . .” She let the implications hang in the air, heavy and ominous.

Aric’s mind whirled, searching for a counter-argument. He couldn’t let Vizra’s words sway Malekith, couldn’t let the demonarmy march on Brenville unchecked. But as he opened his mouth to speak, Malekith raised a hand, silencing both him and Vizra with a single gesture.

Malekith’s eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking between Vizra and Aric. “Perhaps,” he said, his voice low and measured, “this decision is beyond our purview.” A chill ran down Aric’s spine as Malekith continued, “We should send word to the Sovereign. Let Zaxos choose whether we advance now or not.”

Aric’s breath caught in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs. He’d gambled everything on this deception, hoping to buy the humans precious time. But now, with Malekith’s suggestion hanging in the air, he feared it might not have been enough.

Vizra’s molten gold eyes widened, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. Even she, in her bloodthirst, seemed to hesitate at the thought of involving the Sovereign directly.

Aric fought to keep his expression neutral, to not betray the panic clawing at his insides. If Zaxos decided to push forward regardless of the supposed weapon, all would be lost. The human realm would fall, and his sacrifice—everything he’d endured—would be for nothing.

Vizra’s lips thinned, but she bowed her head in acquiescence. “As you command, my lord. But if he commands us to continue the assault, then I fully expect you to comply.”

“I would dream of nothing less,” Malekith replied frostily.

As the demoness turned to leave, Aric caught a glimpse of the fury simmering in her eyes. This wasn’t over, not by a long shot. But for now, at least, he’d bought himself a reprieve.

Malekith’s attention returned to Aric, and he felt pinned in place by that inscrutable gaze. What thoughts lurked behind those dark eyes? What plans were taking shape in that brilliant, dangerous mind? Aric longed to know, even as a part of him shrank from the knowledge.

As Vizra and Karthax left the tent to begin their preparations, Malekith lingered, his eyes never leaving Aric’s. Aric’s skin prickled with instinctive warning, but he held his ground as the demon prince approached. Malekith was like a predator on the prowl, and Aric his helpless prey, caught in the snare of those dark, dangerous eyes.

“Well played, little mage,” Malekith said. “But if the Sovereign commands, we have no choice but to obey.”

Eight

Acloaked figure rode into the captured town of Drindal as dawn threatened to break, the steed a frothy mass of lather and foam. It took the dark of night with it as the riders made their way through the camp, and Aric’s heart withered in his chest as soon as he saw them. He somehow knew, Vizra and Karthax loitering darkly at his side, that his gambit had failed.

The demons knew they had the advantage, and they would not let it slip away.

The town erupted in a flurry of activity as the soldiers prepared to march on Brenville. The high-pitched wail of a horn pierced the morning air, signaling the army to prepare to march. Aric’s hands clenched into fists, the knuckles white with tension, as he watched Malekith and General Vezera pore over their battle plans, finalizing them for the assault on Brenville.

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